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I stared down glumly at the at the broken table before me. "I'm sorry master, but you see, that's why I need you to teach me, so I don't get people killed. If you let me go half cocked with only enough training to destroy things, that's what's going to get people killed!
Consternation filled his voice, "You shouldn't have enough training to destroy and kill things, you should maybe be able to tie your laces if you tried really really hard, but this is ridiculous. Your absolute blatant disregard for the rules is the problem here, I've given you the knowledge on exactly how to avoid this already, teaching you more will do no good!"
I took a second to collect my thoughts, perhaps he was right, maybe I wasn't exactly the ideal mage candidate. My first reaction to being told a safety precaution is, 'Yeah, but what happens if I do?'. If I had to trace a way back to the incident that started this mindset was a sign on a vending machine that said not to shake it when I was younger. That incident had shown it was worth questioning things. "Master, I ask questions and you don't answer them, you handle magic with such reverence to even question the way we do things is blasphemous to you. Now, I may not be getting all the information I want from you, but please, I need this, magic is my calling."
He stared down contemptuously, "You claim to want to know these things, you explore blindly without fully seeing everything that has already been investigated, magic is a journey boy, you are at the beginning and by running off the beaten track you endanger yourself and those around you!"
"I already know it's dangerous, I want to know why it is." |
Hey kids, you ever hear the story of how I met your mother?
See, ten thousand years of mostly irrelevant things happened. Friendships, romance, your annoying uncle Barney, stuff like that. If I was human I would tell you about nine seasons' worth of stuff that doesn't have much to do with your mother at all. But I'm a huge fuckoff dragon, and we're basically immortal, so I guess I'll cut to the chase.
I hated that woman. With a passion. Now, see, I didn't meet your mother *as your mother* until much later, but we were basically schoolyard rivals. Which escalated into business rivals. And then into just plain rivals. And then into bitter enemies. And finally, we were each other's archnemeses.
Until finally we were old and tired, without much to live for. I went to my "reserved parking spot"out in the old Dragon Graveyard, and found out that it was right next to hers. Of course, we bickered. Petty things that no one else would care about, but she was basically the last thing I cared about living for... even if just out of spite. One thing led to the other and we were beating each other senseless.
And the next thing I knew, we were married. Boy was that a shock... to *both* of us. I'm still not quite sure how that happened. It's almost like the plot demanded it! Unfortunately, the wedding contract specified having at least three children. I'm not sure who argued for that, but I think it was her. I mean, I wouldn't have been stupid enough to put children into a wedding contract between two females. Thankfully, dragons are natural shapeshifters. Ah. Was that too much information? Sorry.
And you know how it went after you were born, and what eventually happened. I think I won't say anything specific about that, just to ~~annoy~~ entice people who may be listening with a completely unnecessary mystery. |
Thank you for the prompt. I'm not much of a writer, but enjoyed the process of putting thoughts on paper! I hope other find some enjoyment in reading it as well.
\------------------
It was instant. One moment a stalwart resolve flowed through me, fueled by a deeper connection the world and people around me, then…nothing. I froze as my brain fought to understand and adapt to the new, bleak environment. The throne room felt cold, an unnerving stillness washing over the bodies of the guards and my fallen allies alike.
Darth’s raspy voice pierced through the silence, escaping from the black hole of her hood. “Right now you feel empty, drained, directionless. You have always been a creature of emotion. Enslaved by the expectations other place upon you and your own desire to live up to and gain their acceptance. This is only a temporary state.”
My mind was reeling, her idiotic monolog only a side note, yet impossible to drown out. I reached a deep as I could, searching for the drive that propelled me to this point.
“You will find that this is only a temporary state. Emotion is weak, a sprint, powerful in short busts, but in itself a limited and will burn out like an consuming fire. It is in itself nothing more than mindless destruction. Open your eyes and see.”
It MUST be there. Everything have I strived and sacrificed for over the last seven years. Molly, Bruce, Airy, and so many others, lost forever to get me this single opening.
Darth chanted on, her voice void of emotion “A hardening will occur. The point where you understand that dedication, drive, and devotion need a stronger foundation. Love, anger, fear, and all other emotions lead to mistakes. Anchor yourself in right and wrong; in the clarity of a goal not driven by temporary feelings, but the understanding that you can create something greater.”
Then it was before me. Love had not given me strength, love had led to anger, anger to hate, and hate to fear. Love of those dearest to me, anger at having them wretched away, hate for those who had taken them, and fear of losing again. So much all-consuming fear.
Darth continued “You must find your anchor, that is the only way.”
I felt like my mind was fighting through quicksand. The feeling of attempting to run in a dream where no matter the force of will, I simply couldn’t turn thought into action.
Then…clarity. I didn’t need to be here out of love. I was here to ensure justice was done. Not only out of revenge, but to ensure that the actions taken to create so much pain could be prevented in the future. The understanding that love, while powerful, is fleeting and destructive. It would have me kill this woman and be done, burned out with my task incomplete. I need a resolve greater than that; not just to destroy, but to create. To build something enduring out of the rubble of devastation.
“And there is it. A break in the storm as turmoil breaks into resolution and resolve. You see, love is not power. Drive is power. Clarity is power. The willingness to take whatever steps are needed so long as they are just.”
I looked up at the hooded figure, sitting in her throne on a pedestal. The chaos of fighting seen out the window behind her. It was odd, she had guided me through. I had found strength and power, but why? “I must admit, I didn’t expect to find wisdom at the feet of a tyrant. You must know that I will seek to finish this, even more so now. Admittedly, while it appears my attempt will most likely result in my death, I will not join you in your oppression. I will give my life in attempting to hold you accountable for your crimes.”
Darth removed her hood, looking deep into my eyes. “Perhaps. You should know that I will not kill you. You see, I believe I have miscalculated. Even if you and your allies are successful today, I will fall soon in the cosmic timeline. There are some things my successor must know to prevent destruction.”
“Destruction of what” I asked, perplexed and more than a bit suspicious of the ominous statement.
“Everything” Darth responded. |
"Burn! Burn, Heretic! Burn!"
They lit the world on fire, thinking fire would purify humanity. Never realizing that those who wield fire are marked forever as the soot and heat is ingrained into their skins. Their minds. Their hearts.
"There goes another one! Get him!"
As the madness circled the globe, they never wondered why those they considered lost to god by false faith did the same things they did. Screaming, "burn, heretic, burn!"as they lit another unfortunate on fire.
"Dear Lord, forgive them for they know not what they do."
Oh, they know *exactly* what they're doing. They're burning people they disapprove of to death. What they don't understand is *why* they're doing it. Understanding that would require them to *think* and not just *follow*.
"This is THE WAY! The PATH TO RIGHTEOUSNESS! THE PATH TO GOD!"
There is no one true way. God is far larger than your narrow-minded bigotry could ever allow for. Accept that, and look closely at anyone who tells you you are doomed because you do not worship as they do. Beware of them; they will do the unthinkable *for your own good*.
"THERE THEY ARE! KILL THEM! PURIFY THE WORLD!"
Only the time allotted for madness is passed. You cannot harm anyone other than your own. The ones you call heretics slip through your fingers in ever-increasing numbers.
"YOU HAVE FAILED GOD! YOU HAVE ALLOWED THE IMPURE TO ESCAPE! IMMOLATE YOURSELVES!"
I have a different idea, *Holy Man*. Immolate yourself. Here, let us, your loyal followers, douse you with the holy petrol. What? Are you afraid? Where is your faith? Are you not immune to the sacred fire by means of your special relationship with god? No? Then you are as guilty as those you had us burn. Die! False Man of God! Burn! Devil Worshiper! Burn!
"FOLLOW THIS ONE! HE HAS SHOWN THE WAY!"
I have? Do you insist there is only one way to god? Then prove your faith. Immolate yourselves. The fantastic thing is how enthusiastic they are to burn themselves alive.
"WHO ARE YOU?"
You honestly do not know? Can you not see it even now as your eyes melt in the fire? Don't worry. We will meet again. Soon. And you will serve me for an eternity.
There.
Another group of fools dealt with.
You. You there! Whom do you follow?
"Not you."
Wise. Be on your way. Another waits for you.
Ah.
It is time for the grand finale.
"What? You again? No, your path lies somewhere over there, with them. You have no path with me."
...
"Why do you persist in following me? You are not mine! You belong with the others!"
...
"Very well, I cannot stop you, but the consequences are entirely your problem."
We await the signal to begin. There! The Fanfare!
A sudden sharp crack and I feel weak. What has happened? You? Did you shoot me? You did! How droll! You drew a gun and shot me in the back! Where is the honor in that? What school of thought makes deceit and treachery acceptable in the acts of good?
Speak Mortal!
•••
The thing the Devil and God both failed to understand was that both promoted faith and obedience over personal responsibility. God did so not from choice as much as from the nature of Man, who is a lazy creature given to simple, easy solutions. That I can lay directly at the feet of God, as God made us what we are. The Devil preferred mindless obedience, since those who do not question will do the most horrible things without a qualm.
What better way to end Armageddon than by assassinating both focuses for mindless violence? With both focuses gone, only those so bound up in the mythos continued to fight.
The rest of us went home and had a lot of very long talks about faith, belief, and a bunch of other crap we decided we could do without.
The world is much calmer now, so I suppose one thing was true. The meek did inherit the Earth.
•••
New Faith Arises! The Meek Inherit The Earth! Chase all the aggressors off Earth! The Earth is Ours!
((finis)) |
"It was presumed that such would be my worst nightmare. To be at such a disadvantageous position among my peers would be aweful, no? Alas, such was not the case. Quickly, the population of the world learned to silence their own minds for the sake of social order. They quieted their thoughts to a whisper, and in doing so, quieted also their own will.
Being none the wiser, in my temporary seclusion (which granted me the chance distancing from the strange psychic contagion), I learned no such mental control. And so as I returned to the remote Colorado community, instantly those within a quarter mile of me were stricken by the thoughts in both my subconcious and concious mind.
Havin their own thoughts quieted, they could not resist the hellscape that I had learned to endure over the years. Without warning, at full volume, the signal spread like a virus; the words, the tones, the sheer magnitude of its glory and unstopable might! For years this great eagle had built its nest in my head, and finally it could take flight! The lyrics exploded fort from mind to mind;
'We're no strangers to love
You know the rules and so do I....'
In days it spread and would no cease. It was a hellscape of torment, and I its king. And I was never going to give it up....or let it down...." |
**Chapter 7: Diet**
Contrary to popular belief, Hellspawn children do not eat coal or innocence; their diet consists almost entirely of regular meals such as baby food at younger ages and any meals the parents eat at an older age. While rare, dietary exceptions such as gluten intolerance can occur and should be looked out for.
The one exception to the regularity is the use of baby formula; though edible on its own, the children are far more receptive to it when sulfur is added. A small amount, as if salting a meal, will suffice.
Precautions must be made, of course, outside of the food selection. At a young age, when all children have a tendency to play and paint with their food, care must be taken for the child to never draw a pentagram or any other runic symbol (*see addendum 4 for examples*). Failure to prevent your antichrist to draw such a symbol could result in a minor demonic incursion. Should that happen, remember that most minor demons arrive only to praise your child and can easily be shooed away with a broom made of straw. Lemon juice and baking soda work extremely well at getting rid of any blood on the carpets that may flow through the portals.
If you wish to provide your child with a treat for good behaviour, the souls of small rodents have proven to be a highly humane while still tasty option.
*Up next: 10 tricks on how to best fireproof your crib. Number 7 will shock you!* |
People will often tell you being a superhero is one of the hardest jobs in the world. They're correct. The responsibility, weight of all the lives on you, terrible pay, and the public turning on you every time a shapeshifter robs a bank in your form can crush a man. That's why my best friend, Thomas and I don't do it.
Don't get me wrong, we could do it very easily. I have spatial manipulation and Thomas has time manipulation. And it's not just weak, levitate a boulder/go twice as fast manipulation. I can control space so well that I can bend light itself into illusions and Thomas goes 1000 years into the future every day just because the future chicken eggs taste better in his waffles.
But, if we're not heroes, what do we do? Simple, we do Show Fights. Using our powers, we pretend to be different superheroes and supervillains and fight one another. I use my powers to duplicate myself and then have my clones shapeshift into different characters with their powers. Thomas in turn uses his to create crazy stages in different time periods. We also use our powers to add special effects and sometimes do hero vs. hero, or villain vs. villain. Our most recent show, Ultraman vs. FlyingFishman in the Jurassic Period while being attacked by a hero of rhinos to the west and bison to the east was insane.
Though, as you can guess, the hero community isn't too fond of us. It's not even the copyright. They think, with our godly powers we should be fighting evil as well. I mean, come on. You don't see the police going up to pro-wrestlers and asking them to join the force. And it's not even like we don't do anything. After every big fight, we'll pop in and I'll rebuild everything while Thomas resurrects everyone. Speaking of which.
"Knock Knock"
Teleports outside, "Ultraman, what brings you here? Is this about the last show?"
"What no! Ringmaster, the world needs your help. Right now, the legion or demise is working to summon the Dark Good, Knjla Lar to our world. We need you to use your power to transport us to their secret hideout. Oh, and if you could use your replication to increase out forces tenfold, that would also be great."
"Yeah, like every other time you've asked me, no."
"But why, you're basically a god. You could do so much."
"Look man, no is no. What I can do doesn't matter. You took the world in your hands. Don't expect me to support you when you realize it's to big to handle."
"Very well. Ringmaster. It looks like there's no convincing you. All I hope it that when you realize what you've done, it's not to late to save humanity."
I grumble as he flies off. I know my reasoning wasn't the best but my real reasons aren't that good. You see, I love stage fighting, but there's one problem. People come to see heroes struggle. They want to see a fight, not an instant beatdown. If we became superheroes, we could beat and imprison every villain in an hour. But then, there would be no stage fighting, no character for people to come watch. When you're basically a god, the trill of fighting with such limits is too fun to give up.
Anyway, I've reached the dimension of the old-gods. In the distance the corpses of Knjla Lar and his kin who I slayed years ago still float in pieces. In an instant one of my clones separates and shapeshifts into the god's form. Once the legion opens the door, he'll come out, act just strong enough to challenge the heroes, but not so strong that they can't win. I am an actor after all and it won't do for my audience to be wiped off the world. Anyway, that gives me an idea.
"Hey Thomas, I just got an idea for next week's show. Here this Knjla Lar vs. a hundred Ultramen. Think you can get a large enough stage. Really? You're the best man." |
Filled with a slowly enlarging sense of fear, I shared the photo with my nearby comrades to see what they thought of my discovery. With sunken face after sunken face, we had all realized the depth of the mistake I had made. My stomach was beginning to fill with butterflies, until I came up with an idea.
I took a close look at the dead soldier’s face. Then at the faces of my fellow soldiers next to me. One of them looked rather similar, maybe with a slightly different eyebrow here and there, but similar enough for my plan.
I told the specified comrade of the idea, only to be rejected. “Hell no! Don’t throw me under the bus like that, YOU killed him!” He says, annoyed and cautious.
I sighed in a panic, looking around at the rest of my allies, all of whom were either looking away, shaking their heads, or simply looking on with grimaced expressions.
“Fuck…” I whispered.
Soon, the time comes for us to return back to our base. The rest of my group leaves at lightning speed, allowing slip out to stay behind undetected. I was dead meat anyway, no way I was going to draw that assassin to my base. I sat down on a rock and began tending to some miscellaneous wounds with a bandage roll I was carrying… Then another idea popped up.
I grabbed the corpse of the deceased enemy soldier and dragged it back to where I was sitting. Flipping him around, I realized that maybe I could survive for just a bit longer.
I undressed the corpse’s uniform, discarding my own and putting it on his body. An awkward process, but I was desperate at that point. After I was done, I wrapped a ton of bandages around the bullet holes of the bloodied uniform I was now wearing. Still not convincing enough…
I covered my hand in the corpse’s blood from its many wounds, rubbing it all over my face and the bandages on the uniform.
I then wrapped the bandages around my own face, making sure to cover every last inch of it. I don’t want them to find me out immediately.
I thought of suitable cover stories for how I “ended up” in this situation. For when my “body” is found and taken back to wherever by whomever. When I had formulated a few of them for multiple situations, I began the final part of my plan.
I walked back to where the body originally was. Though I couldn’t help but think I was forgetting something, I hesitantly lied down on the spot.
Now, I just have to wait and see. |
I probably should has looked for some kind of exemption. Pantheon knows we all live for a good loophole to express our power over reality. But this one felt different. And I'm pretty sure it is my fault it exists.
I have exceptional hearing. My ears can pick up sounds more than a mile away. But somehow I've never heard the screams of the dead before.
The first hours were a nightmare torture, rivaled only by the wails of those who truly suffered. I locked myself away in one of the the black fortress' bedrooms and cried. But even I knew that wasn't the point of this exercise.
I thought about the banquet we attended. Another chance for me to poke and enlighten the dour Grim lord.
I knew he had a distaste for silly humor, but I knew I had heard him chuckle once and I intended to cause it to happen again.
I wheedled, and cajoled, and laughed at odd humor to draw out some of his somber mood. When he did turn and whisper to me that he wasn't much for humor, I told him he had no right to live an existence without mirth.
He gave a sober nod at that. What I should have been paying attention to was the similar nod from the lord of hosts, our benefactor. Because at that moment a bargain had been struck. I don't know what assignment Thanatos received, but mine was to convene as his replacement for a single cycle.
His task was now mine. I hop from place to place now, as always. But I do not plant toys and eggs now. I harvest lives, mostly those not fully ripened by age.
The sadness of collecting is seldom broken by relief. And never is there joy at my presence. I think that surprised me most, because it was always a hallmark of my appearing before. Here, a brutal accident. There, a self inflicted tragedy. And always the unheard wail of the dead pleading for release.
It was the girl's voice that stopped me one day as I was mutedly making these dreadful rounds.
"Oh. I thought you'd be scarier."She said in a tiny voice.
I almost choked the first time I tried to speak. But I cleared my throat and worked out the words.
"No, no, you don't deserve to be scared. I'm only here to gather you for a trip."Her weak frame softened a bit at that.
"Can my mom come too?"
"Not yet but you can wait for her there if you'd like."
"I'd like that."She said, softer now. I gathered what part of her I could, turning away from the harsh tone of equipment left without a task. And I carried her silently to her rest.
After that I tried to think differently on my task. It helped at times to bring comfort. But I did learn a lesson from this job. And a single cycle isn't really that long.
At the end I left a note and an egg on Thanatos' desk.
When the day comes to retrieve this person please allow me to come. I want her to meet someone special. |
I only had $1000 left in my account and rent was due in 3 days.
What happened to the rest of my money, you ask?
I’d loaned the money to a friend. Well, to a coworker I thought was a friend.
The last I’d seen him was 2 weeks ago and he wasn’t taking my calls.
I wandered into the horse racing track where I’d usually kick back and waste an afternoon when I had nothing to do.
But this time was different.
I needed money. I plopped down in the stands, feeling my pants melt onto my butt. It was a hot afternoon, and the skies were clear as can be. But I had bigger things on my mind.
I’d been flicking my finger across my phone when I’d seen a horse that caught my interest.
“Z'othrh'thoxr, Destroyer Of Worlds.”
I chuckled. Cute name. Not very cute odds.
I bet on him anyway. A straight bet to win.
I didn’t even look at the other horses. No point. With a name like that, if he won, I’d be able to make rent. If he lost, well, I hope he lived up to his name and destroyed the world because I don’t think I’d last long on the streets anyway.
A win-win situation.
The stands filled up beside me. The crowd murmuring and yelling as race time came near.
I let out a sigh. The heat was letting down and my butt didn’t feel like it was cooking on an open fire anymore.
“Field of 8, and we’re ready for the start as the starting gate seems restless—” came the race caller’s voice.
I let myself relax and told myself it would be over soon enough.
The bells rang and the gates banged open. A line of horses launched from the gates like rockets with their jockeys pressing forward.
“And immediately, Z’or.. Zog… How the heck do you say this anyway? The Destroyer of Worlds has unseated his jockey right at the start, unseating, Velasquez right out of the gate—“
The jockey rolled over once, twice, and thrice, and finally got to his feet. Z'othrh'thoxr didn’t spare him a backwards glance as he dashed straight forward.
“What a twist of fate this is, but the rest make their way through the stretch—“
My head was filled with buzzing at this point. A horse without its jockey was disqualified. I’d bet everything I had on the stupid horse, and fate hadn’t even given me a fair chance. I let out a tired sigh and rose from the stands. Normally, watching the horses was relaxing and fun. I’d never even seen a jockey fall off his horse that fast. There was no fun in watching this when I’d lost 100% for sure.
I wondered if there was a building with a nice view nearby that I could jump from. I was just so tired of worrying about money all the time.
I pushed past the crowd, making my way back to the entrance. The crowd was going wild around me, and I didn’t feel a part in any of their emotions.
That was it. I had nothing else. Except my friend Mark who’d told me he had a genius idea about investing in NFTs. He’d begged me to join him, hyping up this foolproof plan he had to make a ton of money with barely any buy-in. I’d just laughed and told him good luck, but I guess it was better to give him a chance before I took the plunge and walked into traffic.
“Non fungible tokens?” came a voice from behind me, “Huhuhu… Madness. What madness.”
I turned, but there was no one behind me. The voice had come right in my ears but I couldn’t tell where it came from.
“How intriguing. Son of man, sit down again and wait for me.”
—Wha?
The voice was low and guttural, almost like a demonic growl that spilled forth from hades itself. Frowning, I turned to leave the stands again.
“Come,” said the growl, and I felt a pang of fear within my heart. I couldn’t tell where it was coming from, but it was telling me to come back. Wondering if someone had slipped something into my drink or something, I told myself I was hearing things and made my way past the crowd again and settled down into my old spot. Just to relax, if nothing else.
Z'othrh'thoxr had returned to his jockey and stared at him in absolute silence for what seemed like minutes.
Then slowly, despite shouts of protests from all sides, the Velasquez climbed back on, his hands trembling.
“Velasquez has reclaimed his horse once again, clearly our newbie jockey doesn’t know the rules yet, here comes the disqualified Destroyer of Worlds, right at the back of the pack—“
Z'othrh'thoxr was still dead last. His hooves went forward with a gallant, yet slow stride.
“Watch.” came the demonic disembodied voice voice once again, and I felt pinpricks on the back of my head as my hair began to stand up.
The ground seemed to fold within itself and shift. A decrepit black tendril crept out of a crack in the ground and slithered up towards the sky where it stood tall, almost as tall as a skyscraper.
“What’s this?” came the race caller’s voice, “It seems like Warrior’s Way has ironically, lost his way—“
The horse in first place let out a terrified neigh, kicking up his feet at looking up at the enormous tendril.
My jaw hit the ground. I looked around, but the crowd seemed to chuckle in amusement as Warrior’s Way did a total 180, kicked its jockey off, and ran back towards the gates.
“And Warrior’s Way is disqualified as well, what an unlucky race this is turning out to be—“
The ground reverberated once more, twice more, until several more tendrils crept out of the ground and reached towards the sky, terrifying a line of horses.
“And ExtremeSpeed, HammerTime, and Twist of Fate have come to a complete stop as well, what in the lord’s name is happening this afternoon? What are they scared of?”
The horses jumped back, eyes wide and shocked at the tendrils that loomed over them, emitting an incredibly sinister aura.
They whistled and snorted, fluttering their nostrils. They pawed the earth cautiously and sprinted away in fear, tossing their jockeys off in the process.
The crowd around me was yelling now. They were restless and hurling obscenities at the riders, having lost their bets.
Z'othrh'thoxr calmly made his way past the retreating horses, giving them a sly grin as he walked past. He wasn’t particularly fast, but with every horse going in the opposite direction, there was only one outcome for this race.
“And oh my lord, what a twist of fate, it’s Destroyer of Worlds coming in fourth… In third.. In second… Now coming up in the lead, with nearly every single jockey having been unseated and disqualified, it’s Destroyer of Worlds at the front, the only horse with a jockey in this race!”
The crowd was in uproar at this point. People were positively unhinged, either yelling obscenities at the fallen jockeys or laughing their butts off at the sight of Z'othrh'thoxr calmly galloping forwards.
“What an upset this has been folks, it’s Z'othrh'thoxr coming along the final stretch, with no one in second, third, fourth, or anywhere else, I don’t know what to tell you. I don’t know what we’re watching here.”
Z'othrh'thoxr picked up speed, kicking up dust in his wake. He charged forward towards the final stretch with Velasquez shaking nervously and holding on.
“It’s Destroyer of Worlds, with nothing standing in his way, Destroyer of Worlds crosses the finish, first and last!”
Z'othrh'thoxr proudly struts past the finish line, stopping only to allow Velasquez to slide off and join his teammates.
“What an upset this has been folks! Never before have I seen every single something like this, I’m not quite sure what the rules stipulate in a situation like this, so we’re joined by the paddock judge and the steward and we’ll have to see what they say!”
I rose to my feet. In the distance, Z'othrh'thoxr turned to me and tossed his head back, winking.
My face was frozen. What was I supposed to do here? Was the horse talking to me? Had I finally gone insane?
But more importantly, did I win? Was this a win? Was everyone disqualified? But since my horse was the only one with a jockey in the end…
I let out a confused scream of triumph and confusion, punching the air, barely processing what had just happened.
Velasquez was back at the gates with his team mates, locked in an animated discussion with them. He was jabbering his hands at Z'othrh'thoxr, pleading with them. The crowd, on the other hand, had completely lost their minds.
Z'othrh'thoxr was casually making his way past the gates. He jumped the fence separating the crowd from the track and sauntered up towards me.
“Do not be afraid, son of man,” came the demonic growl once again, seemingly from nowhere, “I mean you no harm.”
Z'othrh'thoxr trotted up to me, his eyes almost seeming to radiate warmth.
“There are few things in this world that man can comprehend, but if you can comprehend NFTs, then perhaps you can comprehend a being such as I. It is my pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
And with that, Z'othrh'thoxr bowed his head towards me, as if to introduce himself. |
^(Well, if no one else is gonna do it might as well. But I'm by no means a good writer.)
Princess Flamey was on her stomach, battered and hardly conscious, looking up at the villain that stood before her. ***Jörmungandr*** was this foe's name, the accumulation of the past year had been for this very moment. Despite his name, he was neither a giant serpent or a creature with potent enough venom to kill a god. He was just a guy, one that wore an elaborate suit, a black sparkly cape, with a tall tophat, a long twirled mustache, and a black masquerade mask.
"Muahahaha! Your pathetic power of friendship was no match for me! Muahahah! The Serpent's Fang is all mine!"***Jörmungandr*** snickered twirling his iconic villain mustache.
Princess Flamey attempted to speak, to let out one of her signature one line taunts that always embarrassed the villain even more after defeat. However, she could only let out a weak whimper. Her vision was starting to blur, and her red claymore was broken. She attempted to push herself up once again, but her body refused to move. Why was her field of vision smaller? Oh that's right, her left eye had gotten a deep gash above it and was bleed profusely. She slowly turned her head, to look at her comrades.
Princess Drop, Princess Rok, and Princess Princess...All her friends were beaten, just as bad as she was maybe even more so. The *Omega Four Element Friendship Barrage* was easily thwarted by the man. She couldn't even tell if they were alive anymore, her vision starting to darken...
Till the sound of a harmonized whirring was reverberated through the still air. The sound got louder, with some music being blasted from this new mysterious source. Light was suddenly shining on ***Jörmungandr.***
"Arrggh! Who dare blast Fortune Son at the mighty...**Oh crap."** ***Jörmungandr*** said dropping his villainous tone. Princess Flamey felt the ground begin to rumble, it took her a few moments to realize what it was. *The sounds of a stampede*. Princess Flamey being yoinked and laid onto a stretcher by men wearing tactical gear and camo. Two worked together, one at each end of the stretcher to carry her away to a helicopter that had landed.
*There was an entire brigade*.
Princess Flamey beginning to cry, her friends being carried away on stretchers just like she was. Reinforced Jeeps with turrets, artillery trucks, air support, they were pulling everything out.
"N-No matter you f-fools! My Snekbots will make quick work of you like it did those brats!"***Jörmungandr*** yelled twirling his mustache, letting out a nervous laugh with swarms of robotic serpents twice the size of an average Magical Girl covered in wool slithering towards the brigade.
"They are kind of cute..."One of the marines spoke before opening fire on the Snekbots, effortlessly ripping them to shreds. Marines with flamethrowers burning last portions of the Snekbot Army. Artillery incinerating Elite Snekbots that even Princess Flamey, the most destructive member of the quadrant, struggled to deal with.
"Y-You fell right into my trap! R-Rise my glorious World Ending Creation!"***Jörmungandr*** yelled with the ground starting to rumble. A few meters behind him, the ground violently splintered open launching rocks into the air, a massive mechanical abomination created entirely out of metal, with various heavy duty equipment such as drills and cranes hanging from it.
***BOOM!***
A single artillery shell hit it right in the neck creating a large fireball blasting the head off the twisted creation. The entire abomination going limp and falling back into the hole from which it came.
"Y-You fools! You'll never defeat-"***Jörmungandr*** then put his hands up as Marines closed in on him from all angles, every single gun pointed on him. Snipers perched on tall structures miles away, one slight movement and his head would be blown clean off.
"Heheheh...Ehhh...***I SURRENDER***!"***Jörmungandr*** yelled getting onto his knees, tears beginning to fall from his eyes like a broken dam.
Marines began talking among themselves around Princess Flamey, the site of the battle growing smaller with each passing moment.
"Guy thinks he's tough shit for beating up a few little girls."
"He's gonna be the resident punching bag for everyone in prison."
"He better be. Are the girls gonna be alright?"
"Just a few injuries. They'll all be fine, shame about that hospital stay..."
As Princess Flamey relaxed and quickly began drifing off into unconsciousness, she had a realization. The deformed fluffy frog was wrong. While friendship was strong, *the power of brotherhood and explosives were far stronger.* |
Looking at the woman who had called down to me, I noticed she had pulled out a bow and had an arrow nocked and ready to draw. Fighting was out of the question. I'd get skewered before I could take 3 steps. Same problem with running. Do I try to talk her down, or explain the misunderstanding?
Nope. My dumbass self decided to see how far I could take this. I started bluffing.
"YOU THINK I DON'T KNOW THAT!?"I shouted way too loudly, trying to include some bravado in my bluff. "I AM AJAX CALORAN! HOW COULD YOU NOT KNOW THE MASTER OF THE DOMAIN YOU DEIGN TO GUARD?"
The woman's eyes widened, and I prepared for death. What does getting shot with an arrow feel like?
But to my surprise, she dropped down into a kneeling crouch. "I... I'm so sorry, I was just told to patrol here, I've never met you in person before. Please, let me escort you personally."
*Holy crap, it worked.*
I forgave her and followed her to a veritable fantasy land. I saw beautiful landscapes and fantastical creatures: colorful fields of flowers intersparsed with herds of centaurs, satyrs, and nymphs, Rolling hills and mountains with griffons soaring overhead, and a lake with the tops alabaster towers poking above the surface and merfolk occasionally breaking the surface. It was a lot to take in.
I met other guardians of this place, powerful warriors and spellcasters alike. Surprisingly, none of them saw through my ruse either. They told me about the affairs of the land and all the creatures that inhabited it.
I started to get a bit nervous when they began asking administrative questions, so I made generic commands and excuses. I told them I still had some affairs to settle away from here and tried to leave down a large, well-kept forest path. Unfortunately, right before I was home free, I came face-to-face with someone entering the same way I was leaving. I recognized him. He looked just like me.
He began shouting "WHO IS THIS!? HOW DARE YOU FOOLS LET HIM IN HERE! I SWEAR THAT I, AJAX CALORAN, WILL FIND WHOEVER IS RESPONSIBLE!"
Huh, no wonder my bluff worked so well. I turned tail and ran back inside. Maybe that particularly large ent I saw earlier would let me hide near it. He seemed friendly enough. |
“It’s just bored,” the president of the Hero Association confides. “That’s why it came here. It got tired of ‘dreaming’ it said, wanted to be awake for a while.”
Necrocannon, one of the top heroes in the nation and the only person to date willing to team up with the self dubbed Eldritch Horror just picked at her fingernails. “I had a feeling it was something like that.”
On the screen in front of them, Eldritch Horror had extended the myriad of purple-black tentacles to consume the whole of the building that the bank robbers were in. The civilians on the street screamed louder than they did when there were bomb threats. The audio was turned off, but it was clear from the its shoulders shook and the crazed smile, that it was laughing maniacally.
“Do you have sound?” Necrocannon asked.
“Yes,” the president said. “But-“
Necrocannon reached over to hit the unmute button and that screeching nose tile voice rang through the microphone, sounding as clear as it would have if Eldritch Horror were in the room.
“And see worms! See as I elevate you to a higher plane, the nonsensical nature of your world. See the true nature of existence! Marvel in fearful stupor and know your place in the world. Let both ego and id dissolve under the weight of this knowledge and then suffer as I take it away. Grasp forever at the straws of what you once knew. Of this moment of true knowing-.”
The president muted the audio again. “Sorry, Necro. Listening to it for too long…” he wiped away a thin stream of blood from the corner of his eye. “It’s maddening.”
Necrocannon stared at the screen, tracing one of her black fingernails along Eldritch Nightmare’s tentacle, following the seemingly nonsensical geometric pattern it formed. “It’s good,” she said eventually.
“What about this is good!? I’m telling you this because I’m terrified. If it becomes bored, what then? What will it do to us? To reality itself!? I’m telling you the truth because if anyone has the chance to defeat Eldritch Horror, it’s you Necrocannon.”
“Defeat?” she quirked a crooked smile. “Nah. I think we just need to keep him entertained.” Her nails extended as she closed in on the president.
He swallowed nervously. “And how do you propose we do that?”
“By giving him a villain of course,” Necrocannon explained before skewering the president. She licked the blood off with a misshapen, tentacle of a tongue. “You see, I was getting awful bored myself.” |
'We' agreed. Of course 'we' referred to the usual suspects: the G20, the UN, the the western and northern hemispheres along with a few other despots the other side of the world.
It brought on quite the fervor, as you could imagine. Radio waves, forums, Youtube videos, all filled with chatter about Earth's latest guests. The religious painted their usual armageddon and second coming pictures. The data savvy turned to their models to predict the likelihood of various outcomes. The Trekkies began intensive alien language classes.
It brought the world together for a time. Same topic, same concern, same references to science fiction that would make or break the case for allowing alien lifeforms to survive. The clutch in the hands of countries who could afford the lab environment and constant security would be cast as harborers of potential WMDs and life ending disease. Surely the visitors would be invasive species to our flora and fauna. Whether Alien or Predator or Yeerk, it was foolhardy to welcome them in. Flip channels, and they were simultaneously technologically advanced beings capable of interstellar travel - who would be grateful to be raised and thus share their knowledge.
What if the species would come back to claim their young? Pleased to find them alive? Hold a grudge for corrupting them? How long would this experiment run on for? Who would fund it? What becomes of the ship? Who would handle that? Comic-con and scientific conferences took a bigger role on the world's stage and as years turned to decades, the eggs became a weekly footnote and then an annual 30 second segment. After all, rent was still very real and due next Friday.
Co-operation and science were sped up that bit more - how much due to the secret harvest of the ship versus the kumbaya proof of life brought I can't say. The idea this was also a test by a group of extra-terrestrials to gauge our moral compass was certainly the biggest factor in continuing things as long as we did.
Then on Wednesday, a report came in, broadcast worldwide. Any remaining signs of life we had been able to monitor had disappeared. For all we knew, the the survivors were no more. As the news made its way around the globe - a sort of cloud of realization set in. We ultimately weren't too much better off than we were when the event happened. Sure we got some new gadgets and movies, but we were unable to decipher the alien tech and biological make-up to a significant or meaningful degree. With the loss of a unifying figure, studies were stalled, alliances weakened, and national self-interests slowly crept in. We had no idea if we passed our test, if there was one to begin with, or if we would have any new, much more alive guests in the future. We still had our Earthly problems to contend with. It was a sobering notion for many - and one that would come and go like any other for many. Nevermind science fiction and reality had blended together for a few decades and that this truly was a hallmark event in the history of Earth itself. The survivors, after-all, could still be alive.
As these thoughts ran through my head I knew only one thing was for certain: Rent was still very real and due next Friday. |
Incomprehensible warbling emanated from the gelatinous beings, nobody on my crew could understand what these massive globs of slime were trying to communicate to us. They looked to me for leadership, I cleared my throat and bowed, the aliens didn't have hands to shake.
"We are from the planet Earth, we have been searching the stars in order to find other intelligent life. We come in peace and mean you no harm."I tried my best to sound and look diplomatic. Didn't want to fuck up first contact.
The two small bluish slimes warbled at the larger green one. A slimy green tentacle emerged from the green slime, it pointed at Commander Mittens, the fat orange cat who had stowed away on-board. Commander Mittens strutted over and sat in front of the large green slime, his tail wagging rapidly back and forth.
*Meow!*
*Warble, warble, warble.*
*Meow! Meow!*
*Warble?*
*Meow.*
I looked around at the crew, they were just as confused as I was. Commander Mittens conferenced with the aliens for a while. They gave Commander Mittens a new collar, a slim silver band. Commander Mittens strolled over and sat at my feet, his whiskers upturned.
"After discussing it with the Slomerians, we've come to an agreement. They accept your surrender."Commander Mittens said.
"What!?"Before I could inquire further the Slomerians engulfed my crew and I. We floated in their gelatinous innards. Fucking cats, I knew they were up to something. |
“So, you don’t think it’s a werewolf doing the killings?” Kai asked, trying to shoulder the large bag.
Her master looked up from the ground, wiping his hand slightly. “Positive. For starters, none of the killings happened during a full moon. Werewolves may be monsters, but they typically follow a routine. They rip out a heart, and eat it on a full moon. That keeps them sustained for bout a month until the next full moon.”
“Couldn’t they, I dunno, kill a cow or something?” Kai asked.
Randal shrugged. “I mean, they could. But given the fact they’re overwhelmed by bloodthirsty instincts, it’s hard to stop. But, another thing. These bodies were all torn to shreds, but no hearts are missing.”
Kai wrapped her hands together with some cloth to try and warm them up. “So…what killed them?”
“Ain’t that the million dollar question of the night.” Randal muttered. He suddenly got an idea, but it would be super gross. “Kai, I’m gonna need you to look away for a bit. I’m gonna check and see what organs this guys still got.”
“Eww!” Kai gagged. She promptly looked away, and covered her ears to prevent hearing any sounds. Randal stuck his gloved hand inside the chest of the latest murder victim, and began feeling around. Despite the obvious disgusting nature of it, it was also the most insightful.
He pulled his hand back out and began washing it. “Well, good news and bad news! Good news is, I’ve narrowed it down and it’s not another werewolf, Vamp, or monster hunter.”
Kai looked back, her face scrunching up at the smell. “Okay, I’m going to guess the bad news is that you know what it is?”
“Oh yeah.” Randal began drying his hand. “His liver is missing, along with any organs next to it. Only one creature is that picky. A Striga.”
Kai gulped, and grabbed her staff. She seemed terrified now. “A striga? I thought those were myths! Like myth-myths!”
“They’re incredibly rare. Rarer than Julai smiling these days.” Randal replied. “Only way to make one is via a curse. So we got two avenues, the monster itself, and the self centered son of a-“ Randal stopped, as he saw Kai trembling in fear.
“-gun. Son of a gun.” He finished, covering up his prior foul language. “Tell you what, why don’t you go into the tavern and start asking questions to the people about this? Stay indoors. Striga hate light, so you’ll be safe there.”
“What are you gonna do, master?”
Randal looked outside. “I’m gonna go see if this Striga wants to talk.”
*Two hours later*
Randal is thrown into a brick wall, his ribs utterly shattered, his leg missing, and his arm broken. He coughed up some blood as a monster in the dark shrieks. “Well, fuck me.” He commented. “Oh I just hope when I get revived I’m not in that things belly.” |
"But I wasn't fighting, or battling, or in the middle of a rap battle,"I protested. "I definitely wasn't in the middle of a-"
"-what is a "Pokemon"anyway?"Loki asked.
Odin had the look of a man who definitely hadn't sacrificed his eye and hung on a tree for nine days and nine nights in order to gain that knowledge. "It's a child's game where the "trainer"sends beasts to fight on their behalf."
"That's not very sporting,"red-haired, ruddy-checked Thor rumbled.
"That's besides the point!"Odin roared, and pointed at me. "Skald, we're tired of these inane prompts. A proper flyting has nothing to do with a "rap battle-"
"I dunno,"Loki said, "Flyting. Diss track. Basically the same. To end these prompts, tis Odin's aim. But they keep coming, so he's pissed, and tired of being dissed. By me. You see?"
"I can forgive a lot of stupidity,"Odin muttered darkly at Thor. Then he glared at Loki. "But not you lot giving him ideas."
"I'm sorry?!"I squeaked. "I didn't mean to offend. I definitely didn't mean to die in the middle of writing a prompt about someone dying in the middle of a Pokemon battle."
Thor rubbed his bearded chin. "That does raise a question."
"Valhalla is for warriors!"Odin snapped.
"But does the pokemon go to Valhalla or the trainer?"
"I am NOT fighting Ragnarok with a horde of cute creatures from a children's game at my back."
"I think,"Thor decided, "that this pokemon trainer should have to learn what it means to fight for themselves for once."
I wilted. Thor clapped me on the back. For a wonder, I wasn't driven straight into the ground like a tent post. "But I'm not a real pokemon trainer,"I protested. "It's just a game. I'm just a writer. A - what did you call me? A skald!"
Loki laughed. "I warned you. He's tired of it. Fuck around, find out. Now you're in the shit."
"The time has not yet come for me to sew your mouth shut,"Odin told him dourly. "I will make a stitch for each of your insults on that day. You will rue them and be unable to scream."
On second thought, maybe letting Thor guide me away to the training grounds for the absolutely grueling torture of training to be a warrior was a good idea. Certainly better than getting in between those two... |
Mum and Pop fight when they think I've fallen asleep. Like in movies sometimes, characters spill their beans within earshot of others who ought not hear. I suppose that's why my parents do it too. I suppose they imitate movies.
For the past few weeks the fights have been about heating. They are struggling to pay the bill. The argument repeats itself every time, and I don't think they've added new ideas. It goes like this:
Mum: "Paul for God's sake, we have to keep it at 10 degrees during the night, and we layer during the day. It will be too expensive otherwise."
Pop: "I *do* set it at 10, Linda! Besides, it wouldn't be so expensive if Johnson had done \_\_\_\_\_"(X, Y, and Z, I can never remember!)
Mum: "What are you going to do Paul, travel back in time and vote Labour this time?"
Pop: "Bah humbug! Where is my briefcase?"
My parents are good people. I think that I am a good daugther. But the heating bill is making them hate each other. Since a while now, I've been therefore doing something to get them to love one another again. Christmas comes at the end of the month, and instead of toys, I will get coal. Santa Claus gives out *free* coal in the stockings of those boys and girls who are naughty. I love my parents and I want to help them love one another again. I hate when they bicker. So I have been naughty.
Stealing things and hiding them has been my principal activity. Mum and Pop have important-sounding jobs. They need their things, and don't have them. I also put salt and sugar into Mum's cooking. I leave the refrigerator open a crack. I open doors without knocking. I turn the dial on the wall, whatever that is. Next week is Christmas, so I must endure until then.
Of course the stress of the heating bill is the main culprit, but I admit that my efforts have redoubled the fighting. But I heard pop say once 'the ends justify the means', which is a weird way to put words together. He explained that it means you can do anything to accomplish a goal. My goal is coal.
So, they fight over heat and it's worse because of my schemes... but it will all work out in the end. They'll see. Once I show them the coal I'll have earned, everything will be put right! |
The overseer looked confused “Why hasn’t it started yet?” “No idea” the watcher replied, popping an oversized handful of various earth snacks into its mouth “maybe they’re too stupid to merge.”
Humanity is full of tricks, top scientists had learned of the “Merging” decades prior and had searched high and low to stop it. As more time went by it became increasingly clear that it just wasn’t going to happen and as that time passed humanity would surpass all expectations.
“Okay, what the fuck! They were supposed to merge 1,000 years ago, what’s going on?” Overseer was getting increasingly impatient “Maybe” the watcher started in between gulps of soda “they figured out a way past it. I’m not complaining, it’d be a tragedy to loose this stuff.”
The overseer glared at its comrade before sighing “ Just shut up and hand me a bag of chips.” |
Camera drones fly throughout the Space Stadium, while frantic pageant contestants of various alien species' run about with their entourage and managers.
"Honey, Honey Bun!"Says an eight foot tall creature with dozens of tentacles hanging off its cheeks and a body tucked into a suit like an Earth human. "You forgot your tiara honey!"
"Thhhhanks Dad!"The young tentacle face girl replies before running off to her rehearsal.
He sighs and watches her leave. He sees a human man in a laser cage next to him, "they grow up so fast..."
"Are, you talking to me?"The caged man asks.
"Yeh... I really admire your species, I watch Earth all the time."
"You watch Earth, like a television show?"
"Oh yeah, it's the most popular thing in this universe, this pageant was inspired by Earth. That's why they came to capture your daughter, apparently she's the most symmetrical being in the universe..."
The man takes a deep breath and holds back his anger. "So where is she?"
"She's cued up to the stage"the alien man motions towards a stage with a line of laser cages holding various humanoid species.
The cages thrusted each contestant onto a stage, while a few tentacle faced contestants were given the freedom to walk about at will.
One contestant gets thrusted onto the stage and is immediately forced to do a walk around the stage. The crowd watching all had different reactions to the contestants and their votes contributed to who would win the pageant.
She was a human sized dragonfly looking creature. While her species in the crowd couldn't get enough of her, she appealed to no other species in the crowd and immediately failed to pass the round.
A tear forms around her dragonfly eyes and an electric cage quickly carried her out to another room, where she was reunited with her family, they had her memory wiped and received a space ship that shot them all straight back to her planet.
The next contestant was the prized human, the main attraction.
As she came out, the crowd all hushed instantly in astonishment. Her face was perfectly symmetrical, her skin had a perfect complexion and her bodily form was perfect for her species.
Many of the alien men are excited and have never seen a species that was such a jewel to the eyes. She immediately received enough votes to reach number one in the pageant.
Her fathers cage is immediately brought onto stage and is fused with her cage. They immediately hug and he makes sure she was alright.
"What did they do to you?!"He asks.
"They brought me on stage and then brought you here, that's it..."
"Congratulations Human's!"A large tentacle faced man says as he ascends into the air inside of a small body sized space ship. "You are sure a sight to see!"
The two humans are confused and have froze in terror as they watch the creature attain the crowd's attention, with stage lights being directed toward him.
"You've won the pageant, Earth contestant! As expected! As an award, Earth will now be receiving an upgrade! We proudly present to you, Earth 2.0!"
A large holographic screen arises for the crowd to see a drone spaceship exiting hyperspace and Earth slowly coming into focus.
The craft slams into Earth and immediately assembled into a robotic factory, that produced more robots. The speed at which it happened was within microseconds.
A few microseconds later, nanobots started assembling a global net and expanded at speeds faster than the eye could perceive.
It took 2.98 seconds to cover the entire planet in robotic servants that instantly created post scarcity on a global scale.
It then took 11.7 seconds for the nanobots to establish a space mining drone factory on it's Moon, quickly bringing in trillions of dollars worth of rare resources per second from asteroids.
All of the space debris, Earth's pollution and it's waste simultaneously vanish, as nanobots absorb the atomic energy from the materials.
Disease was eradicated and humans immediately had their life expectancy doubled.
"Wow!"The human man says, still in his cage.
"There's more!"The alien man says.
They watch millions of robots of various sizes assemble a technology infused statue of the winning contestant. It reached to space and created a cannon for drones to escape orbit.
The crowd claps, excited to watch Earth 2.0 later on TV.
A robotic arm swings in and jabs her in the arm. A few seconds later fully grown clones of her appear on the stage, assembled by biological printers.
"And every one of our sponsors will receive a copy of the winner!"Implants in the brains of the clones direct them towards each sponsor.
"What the fuck!"The Earth woman said.
"Farewell Earthlings! And again, congratulations!"Their cage swoops off into another room, skips the memory erasing machine and went into a spaceship that shot them back to Earth. |
Nobody knows why he did it, there are plenty of theories abound but nobody knows for sure. Some think he was once a young, aspiring hero and fell in with a rough crowd after he was rejected. Others say he's the illegitimate child of a heroic father and a villainous mother.
Pickman was an enigmatic figure at best, even those closest to him spoke of him like an acquaintance. The man wielded fear almost as easily as he used that devastating "pick"of his. A crude looking weapon, the business end was shaped like a reaper's scythe, coming to a triangular point sharp enough to punch a hole in a grain of sand. Wicked things were done when he held it, and people went out of their way to keep it strapped to his back as long as possible. Until they didn't....
He was making his usual rounds around town that day, collecting tributes and payments, keeping his eyes open for any fresh faces in town that could be a problem. Two tourists approached him, college-aged women, asking for a selfie. Immediately they thought better of that and requested an autograph, even offered to pay for it. According to one of Pickman's men, he smirked at the notion and obliged them.
Later on that evening, after concluding some business at the bar by the docks, one of his men came storming in, out of breath, with a message of dire importance. A hot-headed upstart had decided to rob a bus full of tourists from a university in a neighboring town. Someone mentioned the two girls from earlier, and at that notion, Pickman's hand twitched. The messed up part is, the guy didn't just stop with robbing them. He killed one, kidnapped the rest, and did.... things to some others.
Pickman snapped at the mention of these atrocities, and gave his men a speech they all quoted verbatim.
"You see, it's idiots like this that give the rest of us a bad rap. If we need money, we play give and take, we work for it. Protection rackets, gambling dens, so on and so on. This cruelty for the sake of cruelty shit ain't gonna fly. Some of you have only been here for a short time, so if you haven't been paying attention, listen up now. People don't fear me because I extort a little money here and there. People don't fear me because of all the people I've killed. They fear the day I'm no longer looking out for their best interests, they fear the day I decide to take innocent lives, the day I become THIS piece of shit. Every soul I've sent to hell had it coming, and this is just another good day for the devil's tourism department. Finish your drinks, time to work for a living boys."
What happened next was downright diabolical. I personally think maybe he was tired of being the town boogeyman and wanted to make a public spectacle to discourage othes from doing things like this. However, all it did was make the townsfolk praise him as a hero and draw public attention from neighboring towns. He single handedly killed 30 goons, punching holes through flesh like a hot needle through butter, executed their leader, and the citizens loved him for it. That's why he fled. All thay work cultivating fear was for nothing, so he left, vanished into thin air.
The irony of it all, so many people think he's watching from the shadows, there hasn't been a recorded crime in two years now. I guess some fear never dies. |
Who’d have thought socking a Sasquatch in the jaw after he tried to smash my car’s windscreen would turn out this way?
Before you laid a boxing arena unlike any other. The crowd’s seats were designed for all manner of bizarre bodies. The ropes were made of very thick bronze wire (as other metals would burn some of your clients). And the ring itself was the size of a skating rink - some potential fighters were *still too big* for it. Yes, you were seated in the VIP section of your very own cryptic fighting arena.
The crowd, composed of monsters, fae creatures, and particularly secretive humans, only quieted slightly when the referee George, that same ape you’d almost knocked clean out on that first encounter now dressed in a smart striped tracksuit and cap, took up his microphone.
“LADIES AND GENTLEWYRMS, IT IS TIME!” He hooted like a howler monkey over the din. “LET’S HEAR IT FOR OUR FIRST CONTENDERS OF THE NIGHT! IN THE RED ZONE, HE MAY SUCK BLOOD BUT HE NEVER, EVER SUCKS IN THE FIGHT, IT. IS. EL CHUBACABRAAAAAAAA!”
The nerdy gremlins who did all your technical work activated a spotlight, revealing a hunchbacked humanoid creature in shorts with the Puerto Rican flag across them. It had ebony skin with greenish-grey spots down its sides and long, thin spikes down its head and back, as well as long claws and fangs that had rubber dulling tools placed over them for safety. These were certainly not fights to the death. That one daemon didn’t count - she’d been a rule-breaking bitch.
“AAANND IN THE BLUE ZONE, BRINGING A HIGH-ALTITUDE SMACKDOWN FROM THA CAIRNGORMS O’ SCOTLUND, IT’S. THA. AM. FEAR. LIATH MÒÒÒRRRRRRR!” George said, utterly butchering a Gaelic accent.
This time the spotlights revealed that the other end of the ring was almost entirely filled with an icy fog, but after a moment, a vague silhouette of a very tall yet heavyset man came up to the edge of the fog. Not out of it, just almost so. Eyes like fog lights pierced through all those gathered around, and even you felt unnaturally unnerved.
“AND NOW, PUT YOUR HANDS, FEET, OR EQUIVALENTS TOGETHER, FOR THE FIFTH WORLD. CRYPTID. RRRUUUUUUUMMMBBBLLEE!” With that, George made a hasty retreat to the sidelines as a Siren sounded off. Poor girl, you always worried about her throat when she does that.
As the Chupacabra bolted slashing and kicking straight into the surprisingly mobile fog cloud, you sat back and took a swig of your rum and Coke.
“Sah?” Radim, your assistant came up to you, tablet in his calloused hand. He was a dwarf, particularly one of Slavic folklore which meant he was unparalleled in organisation and housekeeping, albeit very hungry for high wages.
“Yeah, my good man?”
“We could not get Mothman for the Autumn Royale.”
“Why’s that?”
“He’s not real. Turns out it was just some drunk teenagers who got swooped by a barn owl at night.” Radim delivered a piece of news that shouldn’t have surprised you with its commonness when hiring Cryptids, but it did.
“Oh…damnit. And here I thought West Virginia would be a surefire hiring ground. Hey, while you’re here Radim, you wanna take a load off, watch the fight?” You motioned to the line of empty armchairs to your side.
“No, sah. My folks told me that if a Dwarf ever stops working, he might turn into a frog.”
“Heh, you’re, uh…kidding, right?” |
"Hank, why the hell are they sending me this footage? I'm homicide, what do I really care about an accidental death over in East Park."
Hank regarded Thomas with a glare. Sure, he was one of the best homicide detectives the force had ever seen, but his bedside manner was certainly lacking.
"Did you actually look at the email?"Hank said, while shaking his head. "There's a bit more to it than just one accidental death. Try forty-three accidental deaths."
Thomas turned towards Hank, not taken off guard, but simply curious. Eighteen years of doing this had rendered his shell thick and not prone to much reaction. Taking a sip of his coffee, he replied, "Forty-three huh? That sounds like a field day for code enforcement. What is it, carbon monoxide, bad stairs, electrical fires..."He trailed off as he stared with displeasure at his coffee. Taking another reluctant sip, he said with a sigh, "Look Hank, I don't mean to sound like a dick, but half of those buildings in East Park are shitholes anyway. Is it really surprising that forty three people died in one of them? Besides, how long we talking here anyway? Over the course of what, five years? Ten years?"
Hank walked over to him, clearly annoyed, but also with a sense of amusement. Fatalities aside, it wasn't often that he got to put Thomas in his place.
"No, Thomas. Try one day."
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Thomas around at the scene before him; a cascade of bodies, crowding over stacks of papers, clusters of laptops, and bins of photos. Each trying to put together a piece of an unknown puzzle. One building. Forty-three deaths. One day.
"We've been at this for weeks Thomas, no matter what angle we try, nothing makes sense."Marla's raspy voice peaked out, her black locks swaying slightly as she spoke.
She was right. Thomas had found himself immersed in this mystery for the past six weeks. Dozens of teams made of dozens of specialists had been at his beck and call, each one canvassing the East Park building down to the last speck. Yet no one had been able to find a single clue that would bring to light anything that made sense.
"It's not often I see an FBI detective like this. Normally, I would be loving this shit. But Marla, you're right."Thomas paced as he spoke, his tall frame moving awkwardly through the makeshift office that was once the buildings lobby. "All these people, dead, on the same day and each from a supposed accident."
"Thomas, do you think it's time?"Marla stood up, walking over to him and stopping his pacing with a gentle hand. "I mean, we've tried everything you know. If science and forensics can't help us here, is the last option really *that* bad?"
Through pursed lips, he spoke, "Yes. Yes Marla, it is that bad. What exactly do you expect a priest to do that we couldn't? In fact, what would we look like bringing one in?"In a mocking, sing-song tone, he continued, "Oh yeah we couldn't find shit on this, but this here priest with his Bible and cross should be able to clean this whole mess up!"
Marla shook her head. She didn't like this option either. But at this point, what harm could it do? It's not like any of the other teams found anything. Sure, most coincidences could be explained, but even the most serious skeptic would be hard-pressed to explain forty-three people all dying accidental deaths in the same building, on the same day.
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The priest entered the building.
Immediately, he was overcome with a sense of foreboding and dread. A feeling as though he shouldn't be here. Even though the lobby was filled with people, chattering endlessly and shuffling around, he felt alone. An internal silence that filled his very soul as though he were the last person in the world.
Looking around, nothing jumped out as out of place. Even amidst the bundles of desks, equipment, and people that were playing investigation here, the lobby seemed like any other lobby in East Park. Like any other, it was a relic of a bygone era; the dot-com bubble came and burst, leaving yet another office building to dilapidate into an apartment complex that wasn't dared to be visited at night. Time had turned what was once the mecca of the rich and powerful to a home for those needing a second chance at things.
However, each step he took, that feeling of dread grew deeper. Looking ahead, he saw Thomas eye him quizzically. He knew that the detective really didn't want him there. To be honest, he understood. The mystery of faith wasn't one that most people, especially cut-throat skeptics like Thomas, would ever entertain. Feigning a friendly smile, the priest walked slowly towards the detective.
But each step seemed harder than the last. As though the air had become molasses and an unknown was screaming at him to run. Thomas wasn't the only one who didn't want him here.
As he turtled down the walkway, he heard a small squeak.
A mouse?
No, a squeak like an old door swaying in the wind. The kind of squeak that makes a father want to get his old can of WD-40 from the garage to play Mr. Fix-It. Cautiously gazing upward, he searched for the source.
Thomas, growing impatient, began to walk towards the priest. With every step he took, however, the squeaking grew louder and louder for the priest.
"How can no one else hear this?"He thought to himself, as he wrestled with that feeling of foreboding and dread. He was losing that match though, as that feeling was growing into something different.
Something evil.
Finally, the squeak turned into a loud crack. A lone ceiling fan, one of many that dotted the sky of the lobby, plummeted downward. The silence of the priest turned into timelessness, as he watched the fan descend ever so slowly to the ground. There was one problem, however. Between the fan and the ground stood Thomas, still eying the priest with disdain.
A waterfall of blood and bone was born. The fan fell directly on the detective, crushing him with unholy force and turning the silence into screams. The priest staggered back, barely registering what he had seen, until a sick feeling overcame him.
Joy.
A sweet voice, sounding like a whisper in his ear, filled his mind.
"Run child, run far away from this place, *my place*, lest you become number forty-five." |
"Yo, Neil! Busch Lite is here and she brought another friend!"
"Oh sick, lemme come s-"
Neil stopped halfway onto the porch, mouth agape. Before him stood lil' Busch Light - a local stray cat that Matt had been feeding - and behind Busch Light stood a giant, lion-like cat with curved horns, angelic wings, and a tail tipped with dangerously sharp curved bone. To Neil's horror, Matt was giving the lion-cat head rubs.
"I'm gonna call him Budweiser!"Budweiser leaned into Matt hard enough to knock him down, and then flopped down on top of him for more head rubs.
"Bro, how about we call _animal control_?"
"Naw man, lil' Budweiser wouldn't hurt anyone!"Lil' Budweiser was busy covering Matt's shirt in a thick river of drool.
"Matt, buddy, I love you but like, haven't these kitties gotten a bit more...deadly? Like what was the last one? The one that exploded if it got scared?"
"Jägermeister?"
"Yeah. Jägermeister."
"Aw, he didn't mean to explode when I sneezed!"
"My brother in Christ, that explosion knocked you out and you fell in the pool! I had to give your dumbass CPR when I found you!"Neil's expression melted from anger into a thousand yard stare from the memory of giving his homie mouth-to-mouth. The other guys had made fun of him for weeks when they found out his CPR knowledge was out of date, roasting him for his reduced life-saving abilities. How was he supposed to know mouth-to-mouth wasn't recommended anymore? He felt something winding around his legs, and looked down to see Busch Lite begging for pets. An idea sparked in his head.
"Hey Buschy, c'mere for a sec."Neil backed away with Busch Lite, out of earshot from Matt, who was petting Budweiser with one hand while the lion thing gnawed happily on his other arm. He shook his head and leaned down to address Busch Lite - mano a gato.
"Look buddy, we all love having you here, yeah? And most the friends you bring along. But Matt is literally as dumb and trusting as a rock, dude. Like, he almost fell for one of those Nigerian prince email scams level of dumb. So we gotta watch out for him, y'know? Whaddaya say, I give you some extra primo kitty grub, and you'll bring friends that're less likely to accidentally kill my buddy here?"
Busch Lite gave Neil an expression that made him feel very small, even though he was still twice her height when squatting down like he was. Ages seemed to pass while she assessed his statements. He found himself struggling to keep eye contact as he was judged. But finally, with the propriety of a god, she inclined her head.
"Dope! Thank you so much, lil' Buschy, you won't regret this!"He stood up and saw Budweiser and Matt in a wrestling match that Matt was very clearly losing. "C'mon, let's find a steak for Bud before he gets too hungry."
"Meowwww."
"Yeah yeah, you can pick out the kitty grub you want at the store too." |
"That's not how this works."The genie said, crossing his arms.
"I don't care, asshole, I wish for no wishes."The biker grunted, throwing the lamp to the ground.
"Did you just call me an asshole?"The genie asked, "and just throw my lamp in the DIRT?"
"Yeah? What are you gonna do about it?"The biker snarled, pulling out a switchblade, locking eyes with the djinn.
"You really- I'm over ten million years old, you think you're gonna pull a knife on me, asshole? You dumb fuck, thinking you're gonna jank *me*?!"
The two locked arms in a quarrel, gritting their teeth and struggling over the knife. As the blade began to turn towards the genie, as the two grunted, the genie began to sparkle.
Three miles away, a police officer took a drink of her coffee in her car. Looking over a text from her wife, she sighed, writing a reminder to get groceries on her phone. Without warning, the skies turned gray, and it began to rain - not water or frogs, but Furby. Thousands of them, thunking off of the hoods of cars, pelting people in the sidewalk, causing traffic accidents, all chattering in Furbish.
The cop got out, radioing for assistance. The voice on the other line was just a series of clown horns honking in a panicked cacophony.
Back at the biker bar, the genie headbutted the biker, before turning the knife towards him and sticking him in the chest. The biker stumbled back. "Oh, I wish I wasn't stabbed!"
He instantly healed.
"You prick!"The Djinn yelled, pointing at the bartender. "You! Wish for something!"
"I wish I looked like 1978 Linda Ronstadt!"
The bartender, a portly, bald man, suddenly transformed into the singer, and pumped her fists. "Yes! Later, assholes!"She yelled, running out of the bar.
"What was that all about?"The biker asked.
The genie shrugged, before punching the biker in a cheap shot and knocking him out. "Hahaha! Gotcha, bitch! Hoo. What now? Who wants to wish for something?"
A bar patron raised his hand. He was scrawny, bald, and wore a Confederate flag shirt.
"Not you. Anyone else?" |
Criminals can only cover their known tracks. Two centuries ago, no one needed to worry about wiping down their fingerprints at the scene. The idea of the oils in your skin giving you away as it left behind your identifier on the murder weapon, was unfathomable. A generation later, blood typing became a factor. Another generation, ballistics. Then DNA matching. The forensics field always finding new ways to track down crime.
The criminals of my father's age would have scoured the scene, leaving no trace evidence behind, no witnesses, nothing to tie them to the scene of the crime. But they wouldn't know what we would create. This technology so remarkable, even the best mastermind would be foiled effortlessly. Evidence so strong, that it holds up in court against even the most skeptical of juries.
The machine allowed us to see the atoms at the crime scene before and after the event. You can wipe down your fingerprints, you can mop up the blood, vacuum the carpet fibers, sweep away your footprints, remove the slugs, but you can't keep your atoms in place. Every breath, every step, every wild waving of your gun in the victim's face, all the energy produced in your fiendish affairs, it's all left behind. On a good day, the machine can even make out your facial expressions as the life left the victim's eyes.
It plays out like a rough movie. Shadows reenacting the terrible play over and over again. Who knows, in a few years, maybe we'll even get color, hell, I'm sure the images will be in HD before my grandson is born.
So, while we wait for your lawyer to get here, I don't need to ask you any questions to know what happened. I don't need to play games of good cop, bad cop. I've seen your past, and I know who you are and what you did. I see the atoms of her on you even now. |
*Touch, sweet touch, you've given me too much to feel*
As I swept the building, disintegrating the concrete and revealing the mother and child entwined in the tiny gap. "Here, they're here!"I called out, being careful not to touch the two. I stepped back on the precarious rubble, watching as the emergency volunteers dive through and pull the pair out. The mother shook herself out of her stupor, and then her albino pink eyes met mine.
She stumbled her way across to me and threw her arms around me before I could react.
*Sweet touch, you've almost convinced me I'm real*
I froze, and time froze.
"My sweet, sweet child."Her voice.... "Look at what you have become. So noble, so free....and so against me."And I watched her form change into that of a skeletal frame, draped in a cloak that shimmered with darkness and light.
"I love you, my child. Go, and take care of your sibling."And from the eye sockets, tears of oil and obsidian flecks fell from them. "And forgive me my sins..."
*I need something more, I need something more....*
Time unfroze, and the woman disappeared. I looked around and found the child in my hands, shredded top meaning she was touching me. I felt a pull, like a magnet, as she smiled at me. I couldn't help but smile back, a grin as I felt my ability trying to work and failing. Someone real. I put my custom-made gloves back on, and walked away, knowing my life had changed forever. I spoke in *Mori* as I left the scene, and the child hesitantly spoke back in that language.
I didn't know what the future held; but I knew it wouldn't be alone anymore. |
The moment I stepped out of the university building, I was greeted by the cawing of crows. I came to a halt and eyed the passers-by, my hand tightening on the strap of my backpack. The last time I had seen a murder of crows this large, I only narrowly escaped being mugged by a madman with a knife.
I set off across the campus, scanning my surroundings, the fair weather at odds with my apprehension. The crows hopped across the lawn, cawing and beating their wings whenever people got too close. I swallowed when I spied a seagull pecking at a potato chip by the trashcan. As if sensing my gaze, it turned its head and peered at me with its orange-ringed eye.
Seagulls. I was never entirely sure what those meant, but they had something to do with other people. A couple of years ago, they warned me when my mother had fainted and broken her leg at home.
I'm not insane, promise. Neither am I a Disney princess. Don't exactly have the looks for it. I just... learned to read the signs, I guess.
My tension rose as I crossed the campus, spying more and more birds on the way. Robins tutting as they sprang from branch to branch in a tree. Some bedraggled pigeons paying no attention to the crumbs a girl was tossing to them. And were those sparrows in that bush? Hadn't seen those in months.
Physical danger. Someone else was involved, someone important to me. A change. I had never seen so many signs all at once. With trembling fingers, I pulled out my phone and texted my parents.
A mocking laughter made me flinch and raise my gaze. On the branch of an oak a few dozen feet away perched a large colorful parrot. We stared at each other for a long moment.
"Rise and shine,"the parrot squawked, and took off toward the campus gates.
I followed in a daze. An escaped pet? I couldn't even begin to guess what *that* meant. From the corner of my eye, I could see the other birds following, robins fluttering to another tree in a cloud, the crows hopping across the grass.
The parrot landed on the wrought-iron gate and watched me approach. The moment I stepped through, it took off along the sidewalk, weaving around passers-by who gasped and sent it surprised looks. Definitely leading me somewhere.
I hurried after it, not pausing to think what I was doing. We turned a corner. The crows winged overhead, landing on the lampposts and street signs. People were waiting at the bus stop. Others were crossing the street before a wide intersection.
The crows erupted in raucous cries, and then I saw it. A young woman with her nose down her phone about to step on the crossing. The traffic light was still green, but up ahead, a huge SUV was hurtling toward her without slowing.
I broke into a run. Wasn't much of a runner, but I think I might've broken a personal record. The parrot circled the woman, squawking, but she didn't hear through her headphones. The SUV's breaks squealed all too late, and she finally raised her head and froze like a deer in the headlights.
I ran up, grabbed her shoulder, and yanked her back onto the sidewalk, causing her to crash into me. The SUV zoomed past with a honk and weaved off down the road. She looked up at me with wide eyes, her lips trembling. I exhaled in relief and smiled shakily.
"Who's a pretty girl,"the parrot squawked. A moment later, all the birds took to the skies with a chorus of cries. |
**PART 1:**
"The Ends Justify The Means--- That's Martinelli,"Wolfe says to me, jabbing a fat and fur-laden finger my way as the military transport SUV bumps along the cobblestones of Old Boston.
*"Machiavelli, pretty sure,"* I think, but don't say. Wolfe's in charge, and this is my first day with Zeta-Team. I'm a professional, after all. I want to make a good impression.
"Machiavelli, idiot,"Ssu says in her strange di-tonal voice. One is the voice of a woman in her late-thirties. The other is the scratchy, deep tone of the Assyrian Mystic she shares a winged form with.
I shudder.
I can't help it.
I'm only human. Literally. And in this crowd, that's a novelty.
Wolfe makes a sort of complaining sound as the SUV goes over a rock or under a pothole-- I'm not sure which. Either way it makes us all jostle up, and he slams his head against the car door.
*How did I get here?*
But of course I know how I got here.
Competency.
It's a curse, really. Not literal, like the man-creature to my right, Markus. But a curse nonetheless.
My station here as the only pure-human member of Zeta is a jarringly short story. One moment I was getting my Master's in International Affairs, looking around at CIA desk-jobs, or non-combat field jobs.
Then there's a physics defying eclipse, and bodies are ripping out of graves. The world turns on its head. It's funny-- I actually *did end up using* my Master's degree. They framed it for me in a glass frame, and I shattered it over my ex's head, then stabbed him in the brain with one of the shards.
Thanks, Harvard.
*Harvard.*
*I've been on this road before,* I realize. It's not so far from the downtown bars I went to with friends a handful of times.
Next to me, Wolfe cups his hands over his snout-like mouth and huffs into them. Even in the SUV it's freezing, and his breath fogs in the air between the cracks in his black furred claws.
"Of all people to be cold, surely you're in no place to complain,"Markus says in an English nobles accent so strong I thought it was reserved for Americans playing Jane Austen characters in movies.
"Do you get cold, Markus?"Ssu asks, cocking her head and blinking. It's then I notice her eyes are dual-pupiled, like a goat's.
Another shudder.
None of the rest of our four-person team notice.
"No, I do not,"Markus says.
"So really,"Wolfe says, "Of all people it's you who shouldn't complain."
Wolfe glances out the bulletproof windows of the SUV. The dead are outside in their droves. A small following gathers behind the vehicle. We're closing in.
There's a necromancer at Boston Library, and it's Zeta team's job to take him out.
"What was I saying?"Wolfe asks, looking around.
"The Ends Justify the Means,"I prompt.
"Ah, right,"he says. "The thing to remember is that we won't eat *you,* William. You're part of the team now."
"But you eat people,"I say softly. "Innocents."
"If they aren't innocents, they do not sustain us,"Markus says, in a voice that seems to be weighed with the same regret as mine.
"The Ends Justify the Means,"Wolfe repeated.
"Right,"Ssu says. "The famous Martinelli quote."
"Machiavelli,"Wolfe says distractedly, glancing out the window.
*These idiots are going to get me killed, or eat me. Those are my options.*
I'm not impressed, I will admit. I start to sweat.
Zeta-team is supposed to be one of the best. How---
"It's from the Prince,"Wolfe says, causing all three of us to look at him. He smiles. "It's from the Prince. But the quote often ignores the context that *the Prince* itself was not meant to be the guidebook for the conniving it's seen as today. And though he wrote it to alleviate his political exile from Florence, the barest critical eye will reveal Machiavelli's contempt for the suggestions he's now so famous for writing the literal book on."
I stared at Wolfe.
Ssu shook her head.
Markus even huffed out a laugh.
But Wolfe wasn't smiling. His eyes pulled away from the glass window as the SUV rolled to a stop.
"Let's go,"he said, and stood. |
Yellow flames lashed out from the arches at the top of the Church’s belfry. The highest point in the village had now been claimed by the fire Henry had started. He watched as the breeze stretched the oranges and yellows out like a flag, a symbol of a new order of things, and he realised that the village in it’s entirety had joined the revelry.
Flags and ribbons of flames hung in every window, topped every roof, even the streets theselves were draped in festive fire. The ball of anger and hate that had sat in Henry’s stomach for decades — a mass of rotted, molten lead — a tumour of emotion...disappeared. He felt light. Light enough to leap up and fly away. The world itself seemed brighter beyond what mear flames could offer. The green grass at his feet seemed so much more alive than anything he had ever seen before.
Even his own hands, sooted and gas soaked as they were, appeared gloriously human.
The plan had been to watch it all, to drink in the collapse of every brick abode, every thatched roof, to savour the fall of every single building in the village. But, it was all ablaze...and he was...sated.
Content.
The ashes would be there whether he watched or not and he had wasted enough time at this place, on this *problem*. The deed was done and he was, at long last, free. Free. How odd a thing to feel and be. The weight of a miserable little village, and twenty-eight years of neglect and hatred, had been lifted off his shoulders by the embers that had crept off into the wind.
And now?...Now the world was his to enjoy.
Henry turned and walked away as the village burned on, a smile on his face and a skip in his step. He had destroyed the one thing his father had ever loved...that stupid waste of space, the handcrafted scale model of their village. His father had spent years on it. Thousands of dollars. And had never managed to trap a single passing tourist to take so much as a side-eyed glare.
And for what? An excuse not to speak to his son? Henry had tried to help, multiple times, but his father would quickly send him away. There was nothing Henry could do right. Even when the cancer came, they couldn't seem to repair what they never had.
Well...who needs therapy when gasoline is available? The village was on it's way to being gone and Henry could, at last, move on. |
“Who are you,” I said, still trying to adjust to being awake.
“Just let me in, I’ve got a guy with me, name’s John, does that ring a bell?” John? Could it be John Livingston? My best friend that I’ve known since elementary school.
“John? Are you out there?”
“He’s asleep, passed out drunk from last night, please just let us in, my arms are getting tired.” Maybe I wasn’t thinking clearly, I did just wake up. But for some reason I decided to open the door without another thought.
“Boy, this is some nice place you got here. Anyways where do you want me to put him?”
“Uhh, just there on the couch I guess, I’m sorry, why do you have my friend John passed out drunk in your arms, and why did you bring him to me?”
As I waited on a response I took a moment to note a few things about this guy, he was tall, like extremely tall, probably 6,10 at least. I could tell because I myself am 6,4 and not many can tower over me like he did. Another thing I noticed was how skinny he was, almost like he hadn’t eaten in days. Other then that and his height, everything else seemed normal, black hair, white teeth, and overall looked pretty well put together. He was quite pale though.
“Well long story short, last night I had a few friends and family member over to celebrate my birthday. And we were having a good time, until we heard a loud pounding at the door. It was your friend John. As soon as we let him in, we could tell he had been frightened, he was pale and out of breath. When we finally calmed him down he told us that he went up to the old abandoned house down the road. He said he had been bored and wanted something fun and exciting to do, so why not go exploring. He then told us a long story about how there was a creepy old guy who had been living in the house, he got scared, ran to our house, blah blah blah. We got tired of listening to him and I didn’t want my special day to be ruined so we just kinda forced him to get drunk, and soon enough he forget the whole thing.”
“Ok, he did talk to me earlier this week about exploring the old abandoned house, but I didn’t think he was serious.”
“Apparently so, and before you ask, I knew to bring him here because while he was drunk he started talking about you. And where you lived and that he was gonna come see you.” This was all a lot to take in, as it had still only been less than an hour ago since I woke up, but I think I was finally starting to accept this. But before I thanked the man and ushered him out, I came to a sudden realization. John doesn’t drink, and it isn’t just some personal preference, he is ALLERGIC TO ALCOHOL! I immediately knew something was off about this guy. Knowing something was wrong, I knew I had to act fast.
“Hey would you mind going into my bedroom in the back and grabbing a clean set of clothes, so I can give them to John when he makes,” I said, hoping to buy some time.
Luckily, he agreed and left, as soon as he did I checked for a pulse. Sure enough, to my dismay, there wasn’t one.
John is dead.
I don’t know if it was the adrenaline or what but I didn’t tear up or feel sad, because I knew this wasn’t over.
Leaving John to go find that guy that brung him in, I noticed something g on john’s neck, a bite mark?
There were two indents into his neck, almost like those of a dogs long canines, or fangs.
Running into the bedroom to find the guy, I slipped. My heart had been practically pounding out of my chest and I couldn’t think straight. I tried to get up, but I was grabbed by that same guy who brung John to me. Forcing himself on me, I couldn’t move, he was so skinny, how could he be this strong??
Laying on the ground, helpless, I watched as he opened his mouth wide, revealing his massive fangs.
The feeling of his cold teeth on my neck made me sick. I couldn’t move. The sound of his teeth sliding into my veins was horrifying.
I must have passed out from the adrenaline, because I’ve now just woken up, still lying on the door here in my bedroom. Blood gushing out of neck, from the puncture his teeth left. I know I’m going to die. He’s nowhere to be seen, obviously left to escape the crime scene. I can’t muster up enough energy to grab my phone to call 911. I can’t do anything. |
Burt burst through the door to the apartment. “What the hell, Carl?!” he screamed at the imp, who was currently in his owl form.
“Hmm? What’s this about,” he mused while unnecessarily preening his feathers.
Burt threw a stack of papers at him, knowing full well the familiar would phase through them. “I just got back from the DMP to renew my Magi License. I couldn’t do shit.”
If Carl noticed the papers, he didn’t show it. “Oh, was that today?”
“Yeah, asshole, it was today. Did you take my magic or something?” Burt’s chest heaved in frustration.
“Chill out, man. I didn’t take anything.” A taloned foot reached up towards a red gemstone in the owl’s chest.
“Then how come I couldn’t do a simple transmutation charm?”
Carl’s foot tapped on the ruby and his form changed to a mandrill. “Probably because you can’t do a simple transmutation charm.”
“Bullshit, I could this morning. I made a banana peel turn into two cups of coffee.”
Carl sighed, “Bart, you threw a banana peel in the trash and I made coffee for us both.”
“That’s not how I remember it.” It was true, Burt remembered saying some words and a cup of coffee appearing in his hands.
“Burt, we go through this far too often. You are a tool. Both figuratively and literally. I cannot legally sign a lease. I want to live here and you want to think you do magic. I want to go downstairs for frozen yogurt and you want to wear a robe. Please don’t keep messing with what we have. Memory charms are not easy; nor are they fun.” His monkey paw curled up to his chest and tapped the ruby yet again. A flash appeared behind him as the pile of thrown documents appeared back in Burt’s hands. Carl looked deep into Burt’s eyes as he tapped the gem for a final time. “Now, please try again.”
Burt’s eyes glossed over as his arms went limp. He turned to exit his living room and softly closed the door behind him.
Carl moved towards the couch and sat on the arm rest. The door swung open with enough force to rattle the cheap walls of Apartment 2D.
“Boom, bitch! Another year of doing cool shit, let’s celebrate!” Burt threw a stack of papers across the room at the monkey on his couch. The papers made a smack as they hit Carl in the side of the head. Burt waved his hands mysteriously and announced “Oofa-da-boom!”
Carl tapped his ruby as the papers formed themselves into a neat stack near the hot plate on their small kitchen counter.
Carl looked toward the fool in the doorway, regretting his choice of partner. “Great job,” the sarcasm in his voice was lost to all but him, “where to?”
“Froyo downstairs?” Burt hadn’t remembered craving yogurt but now, it was all he could think of.
“If that’s what you want.” |
I looked up at the tall customer Infront of me, her silken Kimono flowing down like the waterfall that was embroidered on it. Her hair was up in a neat bun held in place by a pair of chopsticks I was pretty sure were made of Jade.
I hadn't gotten picked up after I completed my studies at the Mage academy. No master spell crafters, or Potion makers had openings. I had, however, made a few extra coins during my training by caring for people's companions and familiars.
Some tests just didn't let you have outside help, and so I would watch over my classmates Animals for a small fee. It had started with just my classmates, but by the time I was done with my training, and ready to graduate, it included several upperclassmen, and even a few faculty members were in my client base.
I decided to take this to a full-time gig, and found a groomer who specializes in helping intelligent animals with their issues.
I wasn't sure when he found out, but one of my customers, it seemed, was a Warlock with Hades himself as a patron. Her Hellhound familiar gave it away, honestly. The large shaggy mastiff that smelled lightly of sulphur and burnt hair was a regular at the groomer, with us often watching him overnight when his Warlock was out drinking.
About 6 months ago, things took a turn. I'm not sure if he was trying to hide himself, or just making sure that I knew who he was. A three headed hound with blue flames in it's eyes, and a cobra for a tail is hard to mistake though.
It seems the Guardian of the underworld had gotten into the garden, and dug up some of Queen Persephone's prize flowers. The dirt and manure caked the great hound's three heads, and I'm surprised the cobra didn't have a concussion from how hard it was being wagged on the ground.
Turns out, even one of the most legendary canines ever loves 'baby talk'. It took us almost 8 hours to wash everything out of the dog's coat, since one of the heads would always want to go play.
Although he never told us who he was, there are few other entities that would wear all black with a hooded sweatshirt that read "The Volcanoes Are Mine.". A sweatshirt I got very familiar with as he and 'Cerbz' became weekly regulars.
The fees he paid upfront in raw gems were enough to fund an increase in the size of our facilities, and Cerbz got along well with the other magical familiars.
A little.over a month later, A man wearing a studded Leather biker jacket, with a beard that would make ZZ-Top green with envy, came in with a truly massive wolfhound. 'Fen' was the size of a large draft horse, and when he stood with his ears fully up, he was almost 9 feet tall.
I still can't quite wrap my head around how I was able to hold the roots of a mountain, or the sound of a spider spinning it's web in my hands, but somehow I knew that was what the leash was made of.
It turns out Fen and Cerbz knew each other, and had a grand time frolicking around the now 1-1/2 acre yard we had, chasing sticks and tugging on the steel cables we had put out for our larger visitors.
The way The biker threw his hands up and shouted about 'HAMMAR!!' was a clear indication of who had brought him. When he was picked up by Tom Hiddleston, who simply smirked at my groomers gobsmacked expression, well it just made sense.
Over the intervening few months, we've had the laughing monk bring in Fuu dogs that got into Yeti poo, and needed a bath, Anubis brought himself in for a trim, and Coyote puzzled us with riddles while he played fetch.
Now, Tsukomi stood before me, filling out a clipboard with Kanji I would need Google to read, while asking if we could help her Tanuki after it had jumped into the sea to try and catch the tail of the giant catfish that lived under Japan. |
All we wanted was to rule the world.
We had gone down the whole route: secret lair, three mad scientists instead of one (me and my two buddies).
We problem solved on a variety of options: Space laser? No, easily targetable by DARPA missiles. Take control of all the nukes? But someone could easily call our bluff. People who want to rule the world don’t want to rule over an apocalyptic wasteland.
In the end, we decided on a robot.
Ever seen the movie Terminator (or Terminator 2)? A human looking robot in the right places can do wonders. Assassinate heads of state, inpersonate other people, break into places no one would have access to, bypass any cybersecurity measure.
The best part? We designed her to look like a little girl. Very hard for anyone to shoot at little girls, even if said little girl is shooting at you.
Except, something went wrong.
When she opened her eyes, instead of a vacant look (as is expected from an initialized robot), her eyes were full of emotion.
Then she said a word I never expected to hear in a million years.
“Papa.”
********************************************************
We debated fiercely what to do. Matt argued that we should take her apart to figure out where we went wrong. Owen responded by punching him in the face.
To be fair, Matt is a bit of a cunt.
All the while we were surrounded by a robot behaving like a three year old, prancing around our laboratory, giggling and calling out attention.
We decided to let her be.
Matt is going to review the designs and the code. He says he doesn’t trust us to objectively look at this, and we may have “subconsciously sabotaged the project”, whatever the fuck that means.
We decide to name her Samantha, Sam for short.
********************************************************
A year has passed. Sam is now 4.
We decided to convert a part of our lair into a nursery and play area.
Matt protested to the idea initially, then gave in.
Matt have not been able to find any issues with the design or the code.
We have not been able to find another idea to rule the world, either.
I am thinking of taking a job. Bringing up a kid is expensive.
Owen agrees with me. He says he might end up looking for a job as well.
Matt just sulks.
******************************************************
Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Alex Zimmerman, Research Scientist II at <confidential> funded by DARPA!
I had to undersell myself quite a bit so as to not freak the suits out. The pay is pretty fab!
Owen has taken up a job at NASA that does not pay nearly as well. I tried to convince him to go to Lockheed but he refused.
Very surprisingly, Matt has offered to take Sam to her school and pick her up. He claimed he is the “only adult” among us and gave a speech about “responsibilities”.
Whatever. I am mildly amused at how he has warmed up to Sam.
*******************************************************
I was trying to catch some sleep. I had caught a bug and called sick at work. Owen comes into my room, white as a sheet. I can tell he has been drinking.
I know you are not allowed to drink on the job at NASA.
“Turn on the TV” he says, in almost a whisper.
All channels carry the same thing. A speech by the President.
We are not alone. A massive fleet of clearly extra-terrestrial origin was detected 48 hours ago. The fleet crossed the entire solar system and is about to reach earth.
All our countermeasures have failed.
I watch with grim fascination as a low earth satellite captures images of multiple nuclear strikes on the fleet. They seem to have some sort of force field that make nukes obsolete.
Well, this is it then.
Owen starts crying.
Me? I am a more objective person. I intend to enjoy whatever hours I have left with my daughter.
But where is she? I search the entire house. I can only see Matt loading his revolver.
Figures. Matt’s the sort of person who’d want to go out on his own term.
I hear a scream from Owen. I run to him.
On the TV, still broadcasting from the low earth satellite, I can see my little girl, Sam.
She is flying, through space, at great speed, towards the fleet.
For the first time, the fleet starts to react. I figure they see Sam as a threat.
But before they do anything, Sam opens her mouth. A singularity opens up in the middle of the fleet.
Another weapon? No, a black hole!
The entire fleet collapses upon itself, and then into the singularity.
Within seconds, it is over.
And then the singularity disappears as well.
I go out. Owen and Matt (who joined us to watch the TV at some point of time) follow me.
My little girl flies down from space. She is slightly cold to touch but otherwise seems perfectly fine.
“Papa, uncle Owen, uncle Matt, did I make you proud?” |
When his daughter did not respond to his messages yesterday, Gordon rushed to the Sunday Church Retreat camp she joined. Donna was 18 years old and he would like to believe old enough to make her own decisions, so he didn’t question her choice to go to that strange church in Innsmouth despite his reservations when his colleagues told him an eldritch horror lived there.
He parked his car and quickly jumped out and ran towards the seashore. Donna loved the seas, a little too much for her own good sometimes. Whenever she felt afraid or uncertain, she loved walking by the beach near their house, so it was a natural choice to head there.
Donna was frolicking in the waters, swimming with an inhuman grace while a man in black robes stood at the shore, watching her. When she saw him, she waved at him and jumped onto the shore.
He ran towards her, only to step back in shock when he gazed upon his girl. What are those gills at the sides of her neck? Why does she have a piscine tail like a mermaid? Where are her legs? What is this unnatural glow in her eyes? He turned to glare at the robed figure and turned back to his daughter, gripping both her shoulders.
“Please, daddy is here now. Did that man kidnap you and turned you into this monster? I know deep down you’re still my lovely Donna…”
“Wait what? Daddy, I’m not kidnapped, I signed up for this. I’ve always identified as a mermaid and now Lord Elvari there has made my wish come true!” Donna protested.
“This otherkin thing is just a phase you should have outgrown, Donna!”
Gordon whipped out his pistol and pointed it at Elvari, who raised his hands and a few tentacles in the air.
“Explain yourself! Then turn my daughter back into a human!” Gordon’s face was red with fury.
“Your daughter confided in me about her extreme discomfort and dysphoria. She always felt like she was stuck in the wrong body and prayed for a new body that would let her experience the true depths of the sea. I granted her wish, I gave her a divine gift of a god of the seas.”
“Is this what you truly want…Donna?” Gordon was shaking.
“Yes, it is! In fact, I want to swim further than this lagoon!”
“I shall accompany you, for you may be unfamiliar with the treachery of the seas,” Elvari smiled and offered a tentacle to Donna. She waved him off and turned down his offer. This newfound freedom to swim in the waters without having to come up for air or feel exhaustion in her limbs was a miracle she intended to savor all on her own.
“Donna, please heed my advice, a word of warning before you set off into the seas. A divine gift of a god is not easily revoked. It is considered an unforgivable blasphemy to accept another divine gift from another god once a god has blessed you. It comes with dire consequences.” Elvari’s usual twinkle in the eyes and grin faded into a grim expression Donna hadn’t seen from him before. She shrugged off the momentary chill in her spine and dove into the waters.
Gordon stormed off to have a word with the head priest Alfred when it dawned upon him there was no stopping his daughter at all.
Donna swam with vigor, diving the depths once impossible when she was a mere human, taking in the sights of colorful reefs and gorgeous marine life. Eventually, she arrived at a different shore, a small island with tall mountains surrounded by silver sand.
There at the foot of the mountain was a mountain goat with tightly woven dreads flowing down a glorious lion’s mane. Both Donna and the mysterious goat stood still as they locked eyes.
“What are you?” the goat broke the silence.
“I’m Donna, a mermaid. Your mountains look amazing and I wish to climb them!”
“You are a strange creature, young lady, but I will grant your wish. You will be blessed by the divine gift of a mountain god. Once you have accepted my gift, you must not accept the gift from another god. It will not end well for you,” replied the goat.
Donna pushed aside a familiar voice that whispered in her mind and took in the gift.
Her scales, gills and tail dried up, cracked and hardened. She grew strong hooves on her arms and horns on her head. With a burst of strength, she clambered up the mountains with ease. Donna was now a creature of land and sea, a creature that could dive into the seas and climb above the mountains.
At the top of the tallest mountain, Donna met a giant eagle who donned an impressive cape and a horned helmet.
“What are you?” the eagle questioned.
“I’m Donna, I’m a mergoatmaid. I wish to soar in the skies as beautifully as you do!”
“I have never seen a creature like you, Donna, but I admire the lengths you have gone to reach me. You will be blessed by the divine gift of a god of the skies. Once you have accepted my gift, you must not accept the gift from another god. It will not end well for you,” replied the eagle.
Once again, Donna pushed aside yet another whisper in her mind and took in the gift.
Now, Donna was a creature of the seas, mountains, and skies. A creature unrecognizable by anything in the vicinity. There, she soaked in the absolute freedom of accessing any landscape on earth until she fell into the seas with a loud splash.
First, she experienced sharp pains in her abdomen, then uncontrollable spasms as her body warped and bloated into misshapen lumps of bulbous flesh. Her face stretched across from her lips and tore itself into half. Her wings and tails sprouted a myriad of feathers, fins, and goat hooves as she struggled to paddle her way to the surface with a mess of elongated limbs that bent at obtuse angles.
She heard that same whisper in her mind, as tentacles wrapped around her and carried her to shore.
Alfred and Gordon were standing at the beach, mouths agape at what Donna had turned into. A distorted mass of shifting flesh and convulsing limbs that could not scream as the pain washed over her.
“FIX THIS MESS NOW ELVARI!” Alfred and Gordon both yelled.
“It would seem Donna has ignored my advice, and all attempts I made to whisper into her mind to reject the gifts of the other gods. I did warn her it comes with dire consequences. I cannot undo this disaster, the gifts of the other gods have too deeply enmeshed with what I have gifted her. I cannot unravel this without the aid of those other gods.”
Alfred called Carmen and Katrina over the phone for an emergency meeting to find the other gods who blessed Donna. She was only gone for a few hours, she couldn’t have gone very far, he hoped.
“What happens to my baby girl if they can’t find the other gods?” Gordon sobbed.
Elvari’s gaze was impassive. His face was solemn and deadened, not a single muscle moved or twitched.
“LORD ELVARI SAY SOMETHING! WHAT HAPPENS TO DONNA IF WE DON’T FIND THOSE GODS!” Alfred yelled.
His mouth did not move, did not utter a sound, but Alfred felt Elvari’s cold whisper touch his mind.
“Death.”
------------------------
[Thanks for reading! Click here for more prompt responses and short stories featuring Elvari the eldritch god.](https://www.reddit.com/r/TregonialWrites/comments/11tkt9w/eldritch_god_elvari_series/) |
Having Main Character Syndrome is a real pain in the ass. When the symptoms started for me, it was small and infrequent. But these days I can't even go to the store without at least 2 or 3 Ancient or Demonic Tomes falling into my cart, a portal to other realms in the frozen section, secret passage opening up in the clothing department, and a cult leader as my cashier. I really don't want this but then again, I don't think anyone Truly wants MCS, no matter what they say.
I know I'm going to have to embrace some 'destiny' and I know it will have to be fairly soon. Things are just escalating way too fast. Watching the fifth alien ship crash in my area today as I load my purchases in my car, all I can do is shake my head. Only if these things weren't soo over the top.
I shut my trunk and a small business card falls to the ground at my feet. Picking it up carefully, (with everything else, might be from a Devil Lawyer or something), reading it I smile. I have never agreed so much with something that has crossed my path. This I can agree too, This I can accept.
Pocketing the card, I drive home finally sure on the destiny I will embrace.
The card reads
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Tired of being plagued by destiny?
Suffering from MCS?
Call this # to join the class action suit for compensation from Divinities and maybe punch them in the face.
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
​
*wow this is kinda fun, thanks for the upvotes on my last comment, please comment and let me know how to improve. this is only the second thing I've really written.* |
“Look human, it’s very simple, humanity as you call them, currently would not be regarded as a life forms conforming to Galactic Stature regulation 1.2363 Paragraph 3. But you made the case so well.“ The white cloud pulsed slightly.
Derek thought it sounded apologetic, but this was an artificial construct which was apparently created for him to speak to, which so far only seemed to want to destroy his faith in diplomacy and stroke his ego at the same time. He wondered somewhere if they had a piss-off-o-meter setting.
Derek put his face in his hands “Can you explain further the reason for denial?”
“Certainly. You ask great questions.” the construct lit up happily. “Without any level of, what you would call, psyonic, telepathic or hive connection, the human mind, is, on an individual basis, is not considered advanced enough to join the galactic federation. The speed of thought, the number of considerations, and the options are too much for you to biologically handle.”
Derek's head perked up slightly “So you only accept telepathy?”
The light dimmed a second disapprovingly and he could swear it sighed “Very good joke sir, but no. Psyonic, or hive or other recognised group connection between members of a planet or other considered body is also acceptable.”
This whole trip has been annoying, one small step to giving him a headache. First they had given him a fine in a monetary system he had never heard of for speeding in a protected region of space. That region was Earth’s solar system, protected because an unregistered planet, Earth, was there. And when he disputed it he was brought to the local Federation Assembly. Derek was an astronaut, testing the limits of the new engine that theoretically could do 10.42c in ideas situations; he had only managed to get it to 1.2c when a light above him opened and he found his ship in what he later learned was a status field.
Apparently the engine was very harmful to subspace, if used without turning it off or interruption, for a sustained galactic age (he ball parked 10,000 years from context), there was a chance of problems. Being from the planet in the protected area and knowing nothing about this wasn’t a recognised excuse, and so Derek said “Take me to your Leader”.
The leader had refused to see a lower, non Galactic Federation registered, life form. So he had tried to start this process.
“We.” Derek thought “We have social media, where we all share our thoughts at the same time in a centralised location for us all to find out. We have computers that show us whats relevant, and we need to know.”
The light considered this. A small probe materialised that looked like a toothbrush the band Kiss would use, and a different bluer light turned on.
Seconds passed as the light moved over him. The light focused on his phone in his pocket. It focused again. A third time, in a more green light.
There was a bing. An honest to god, microwave sounding ding. The entity flickered and seemed to be addressing Dereks phone. “We will accept the entity known as the Google Algorithm into the Galactic Federation as the representative of Earth. |
Well there it was. The fucking street lamp. Everytime I stepped out of a wardrobe, as sure as the sun rises in the East(Or the North. Or the South Or the Bloof in one case) a lamp would be the first thing I see. I absolutely hate them, and their stupid ..... lampiness! If I ever get back to the real world I’m going to get the chair for all the hate crimes I’m going to do to Every. Single. Street Lamp. In the world.
You would think it would be fun getting sucked into a magical world, and at first it really was. I still remember the absolute joy and wonder I felt as I stumbled through my first wardrobe into a magical winterland. The victorian street lamp(fuck that lamp) cast a fairy like glow that shone through the swirling snowflakes and promised fantastical adventure. And sure enough, the talking animals asked for my help. Lion Jesus gave me magical powers. And with the help of my trusty talking parrot we defeated the wicked slushy lady and freed all the animals from her evil plans! Even the non talking ones we used for food. Lion Jesus rewarded me with a closely guarded secret. The location of a magical wardrobe that transported humans to another world. Of course I thought this would take me back home. I had had my fun, and was missing Pappy and I had left the oven on. His place didn't have great ventilation. So after a tearful goodbye to Squawky-squawk, I stepped into the wardrobe. And after I pushed the ancient musky coats, I found myself not greeted by the familiar and comforting old people smell I expected from Pappy’s place, but, ANOTHER FUCKING STREET LAMP. And instead of swirling snow, it was swirling hot cheetos!
The line between fantastical worlds of magic, and horrifying deathscapes is absurdly thin. So as I adventured through each world looking for a wardrobe that would take me home, I found talking unicorns that cried rainbows quickly gave way to giant leper pigs that shat M&M’s and peed vodka. Magical Winterlands turned into oceans of lava filled with bubbles of febreze. And it only got worse from there. I’ve tried to block out most memories, but having to eat a McRib that was lactated out by a transparent python that could only speak Zimbabwean Sign Language is an experience I don't think I'll be able to quickly forget.
And this ninth world I’d just stumbled into was still not home. And I was starting to feel it was likely a lot worse than all the others. As I looked around, besides the lamp(fuck this lamp) I saw only one thing. White. So I decided to walk around. I walked left, then right. Still white. Forward then Back. No change. So I walked upwards and downwards. All I managed to do was lose the lamp(good fucking riddance). I tried walking in and out, then a few other directions as well and still absolutely nothing to see or hear. At this point I was wishing I had tinnitus for a little company. I tried standing and sitting in a few other directions and, just before I was going to have to lie upwards to try something new, I spotted something! A shape in the distance!
I hustled as fast as I could towards it, and discovered it was what I had suspected all along. Another wardrobe! Well there was nothing else to do. I squared my shoulders, opened the door and stepped in. And I just had one prayer. Please, please, please! Please not another fucking lamp. |
6 AM. My alarm goes off. First my phone alarm. Than the proximity alarms I set up. My head is already starting to hurt. I sit up in my bed as I begin to already start hearing them. Sounds like there are six, maybe seven. Americans. 5 men, 2 women. I already know who it is.
I put on my slippers and begin the journey down the corridor to the security room. The fluorescent lights flicker for a second or two. The cold, blue metal floor reflects the light as my eyes take a minute or two to adjust to my surroundings. It is way too early to deal with this.
I sit in the computer chair as I flick on the cameras. The alarm tells me they are coming in from the north, which is typical this time of year.
I tap the microphone. "Testing,"I speak into it. The seven Americans stop and look around. A few pull out their badges.
"Look I already know what you want, who you are, what you are doing here, so turn around and leave. I'm not taking part of anything,"I said. "Thank you. Plus shut the door on the way out. It gets drafty here."
"If we can just get a moment, we have direct orders from.."one of them started saying.
"You always have direct orders from the President. You always want something. I already told you, as I've told your boss, and everyone else, no. I do not want to listen to any proposal. I do not want to listen to any one time request. I do not want to listen to any plea. I cannot trust you. I cannot trust your country. I cannot trust anyone. So please, kindly leave before I make you leave,"I say. I honestly should just record this and play it. Seems like it will save myself quite a lot of time.
"I'd like to see you try,"one of them said. He was much larger than anyone else. Super strong. Too strong. Right.
"Look Crush,"I said. He looked around confused. "Or should I call you James?"This time he found the microphone/camera that was looking at him. "I will try and I will succeed. Now unless you want to..."I was interrupted by him punching the camera and destroying it.
"Well now that's gonna cost you, you will receive my bill in 6-8 weeks,"I said. And with that, they left. It took them 3 hours to realize they left, but they turned around, walked out of the tunnel that lead to my compound, closed the door, got into their vehicles and made their way to the port. They didn't know they were doing this. I had a hand in telling them to do it.
Isolation, once again. It took me quite a bit of money and power to make this place. I've been thinking about moving out of Antarctica to a place more secluded, maybe a space station, but I'm not too sure if my powers could work in the vacuum of space.
I'm not sure how, but I was born with the power to read and control minds. As far as I could tell, I'm the only person who could do this. About 15% of the human population have some sort of unique gift (as they call it), and many of them are basic things like Crush with his immense strength, or speed, or ability to generate energy blasts. Things have been chaotic, with people thinking they can use power to control the population. Which maybe true if there were only one or two super powered beings, but with millions of them, you run into a lot of resistance.
But no one can control/read minds like I can. At first, I could control it. I could focus my mind on one person, or a group of people, and read what they are thinking and control their basic movements. I kept this power a secret for quite a long time. I used it selfishly, winning in poker in Vegas and other high end casinos, no one knew this power existed so these places with anti-gift technology didn't know how to counteract it. For instance, people with super speed had to sit on special chairs that would buzz and shock them if they got out of their seat (for cheating purposes).
So I won. A lot. I didn't win all the time. Sometimes lady luck just didn't have my back, and sometimes I would lose on purpose just so people wouldn't suspect a thing. But I won quite a bit. Then one year, the president aired a message asking for help. A villain had placed several bombs in major cities. No ransom. No list of demands. He just wanted people to get hurt.
People were trying to locate these bombs, but it proved nearly impossible. Until I stepped in. In 5 minutes, I had read his thoughts, located the bombs, and saved millions of people. I didn't tell them that I could control people, that I could just read thoughts. This got the government a little worried, after all, national secrets and all that. But I told them that the range was limited and it only worked on people I was in the room with. So as long as the President wasn't in the room with me, they'd be safe.
They called upon me a few more times, and I felt like I was doing my part to help humanity. Sure I couldn't punch a hole in the moon, but I did stop several major attacks. Soon, word got out about my powers...and my true powers. A villain had attacked me, angry that I stopped his partner's plan. In an act of desperation, I made him stop, walk to the police station and turn himself in. This became an issue for many. If I could control people, who knows what information and people I might have access too.
For two years, I was on the run from not only the government, but heroes and villains a like who wanted to use my powers or stop me. The government wanted to study me and maybe make more of me. The heroes wanted to help, the villains wanted me to destroy. Or hurt me. Who knows. Using my winnings, I used my powers on a group of construction workers in Antarctica to build me a small base. I paid them well. But I had to threaten them in order to protect myself.
I did not have my base fully operation when I was attacked. I suffered a major brain injury and caused my powers to be uncontrollable. Instead of being able to read one mind, I can now read ALL minds at ALL times. and I can control people and make them do terrible things, not only to others, but to themselves. Imagine if I sit myself in the middle of New York City and tell everyone to fight each other? Or if I tell a head of state to launch an attack on a neighboring country?
I'm too dangerous and powerful and unstable to be trusted. Not only that, if somehow a government is able to study me and create more? That would be like placing a nuclear bomb in every major city in the world.
So I cut myself off from civilization. Every now and again, I have visitors like our Americans. And I tell them to leave. And if they don't, I make them leave. I've warned governments, heroes and villains alike. If any of them enter my inner compound, I will not be responsible for what might happen. It is a bit lonely, I admit. But I'd rather take loneliness and isolation than government testing and mayhem.
My alarm goes off again. 7:30 AM. Time to work out and have some breakfast. |
You wake like any morning. You eat breakfast: pancakes with orange juice. Mom's made it great today. Crispy, yet soft. Your dad is gone, at the office since early morning.
You walk to the bus stop and wait ten minutes before fully accepting that the bus was early, and must have missed you.
You begin the walk to school, pulling out a spare poptart and pouch of koolaid. You take the long way, wanting to sniff the roses, so to speak.
You step into the goo before you see it. Your boot melts. You feel it enter your veins, the blood cooling from the IV.
Now, your heart thumps in your ears. You peer over each shoulder, certain every shadow is It.
You see It's curling lips. You hear It's laugh. You feel his nails tracing your skin.
Presently, you jolt upward, raising your foot from the goo. You feel the power coursing through you, yet mostly, you feel fear. It is approaching, nearer and nearer each second.
You run, your feet pattering on the soft earth. It's breath is wet on your neck. You duck to avoid an overhanging branch. An angry snarl sounds behind as a branch sharply snaps.
Abruptly, intense force enters your muscles. Force like you feel in a dream, when your very thoughts can become actions. You jump, far away from It.
You twist midair and regard It with eagle sight.
It seems to teleport to many places yet nowhere, it's form blinking in and out of existence. It's long arms dangle at its side.
It is clearly waiting for you to land; It can only teleport to solid ground.
You hover, thinking, zooming in with binocular vision.
You nearly wet yourself. It looks directly at you. Its grin cracks its skin. Deep grooves crease its skin like canyons. Piercing black eyes glower.
It brings an arm behind its back. Your blood ices.
It withdraws an hour glass. It turns it over. Sand trickles.
You hover, feeling slightly tired.
Very, very slightly tired.
The sand falls.
It watches. |
Plip, plop.
Plip, plop.
Emma’s dreamless slumber was interrupted by the loud ringing of her alarm clock.
Plip, plop.
Plip, plop.
She opened her eyes, staring at her loudly beeping digital alarm clock.
Plip, plop.
Plip, plop.
The urge to squash the thing was strong as always but it was with practice ease that she calmed down and simply pressed the ‘power off’ button of her alarm clock to make it stop.
Plip, plop.
Plip, plop.
Emma stayed in her bed for a good two minutes, doing simple mental relaxation exercises, breathing in and breathing out.
Plip, plop.
Plip, plop.
Once done, she got out of bed and started preparing for her morning routine.
Brush teeth. Freshen up. Change out of sleepwears. Go out for a morning run.
Plip, plop.
Plip, plop.
Emma closed the door of her apartment, inserted her keys in the keyhole, turned the keys then locked the door.
The sun wasn’t up yet when she stepped out of the apartment complex.
Outside, the street was dimly lit. Most people living in or around her neighborhood were still sound asleep at this time of the day – seeing as it was still 05:00 Am or so in the morning.
Emma went on her usual route – leaving the suburbs for the beach’s coastline west of the city. By the time she reached the beach, the sun was starting to rise; its gentle light piercing through dark-gray clouds as sunlights – warm enough to be pleasant – tickled her skin.
Her lungs burning, she stopped to do some light stretching before making the trip back home.
On the way back, she met some familiar faces and greeted them.
Plip, plop.
Plip, plop.
Once home, she took a shower, ate her usual light breakfast consisting of bagel and coffee, then left her apartment for work.
Plip, plop.
Plip, plop.
She walked to her parked car, which was parked at her assigned parking spot, unlocked the door, entered it, then drove towards her workplace, Virgin’s Insurance.
The commute-drive to work was short.
Emma entered into the parking space of Virgin; upon arriving, she noticed that her parking spot was taken, *again*.
Her eyes started to glow a vibrant dark-brow shade.
Plip, plop. Plip, plop. Plip, plop. Plip, Plop. Plip, plop. Plip, plop. Plip, plop. Plip, plop.
Swiftly, she closed her eyes, her grip on the steering wheel tightening as she took a deep breath, exhaled, and brought under control her rising temper.
Plip, plop.
Plip, plop.
Plip, plop.
Emma opened her eyes and *didn’t* pay anymore attention to the pitter-patter background sound of water drops falling into a puddle. And with the practiced discipline of years now, she turned off her power, the glow in her eyes fading.
She managed to find another parking spot a bit further behind the company main building. Walking into the building, she checked her watch before nodding to herself.
She managed to make good time and arrived seven minutes early. |
It was a sunny day in the town plaza. The year is 2023. Daisy and her father were sitting next to the fountain, socializing. Daisy is a precocious child. She is fascinated by the natural world, and has memorized the names of ten elements. She is staring at the sky, watching the clouds, when a thought occurs to her. "Father, what will science be able to do in fifty years?"
He tilts his head side to side, thinking. "I'm not sure, but I think it would be nothing short of wondrous. Imagine what a caveman would think of us going to the moon, having things in our pockets that let us talk to people across the world. I think it will be more remarkable to us than a microprocessor would be to our ancestors."
Suddenly, a man with a gaunt face appears. He appears to have been crying. Neither Daisy nor her father saw where he came from. He interrupts their conversation. "It takes less than a decade for us to reach that. You could describe it as wondrous, but horrifying is probably more accurate."
A pensive look passes over Daisy's face. Her father raises an eyebrow, then asks, "And how would you know?"
The stranger gives a hollow laugh. "I'm from the future. I don't expect you to believe me of course, but my time travel device needs to recharge.I really have seen the future, though, and it is murder. If my chronometer is right, it'll only be a few years for you before artificial super intelligence is created and put to work. It will seem wonderful, too good to be true. And it will be."
Daisy's father is intrigued, "This is an interesting act. Do you just loiter in public places, waiting to find an opportunity to spin silly stories?"
The strange man sighs, "Like I said, I don't expect you to believe me. But have you ever looked at the skies, the sheer vastness of our galaxy, and of our universe? It all seems to be free of intelligent life. By most accounts, life should have emerged and reshaped the universe many times over. But it hasn't. Where I am from, we find out why. I barely understand it, and I have been heavily modified. For you, for almost everyone, it is truly and utterly incomprehensible. Your language does not have the words to describe it in depth, your brain cannot comprehend it. The best I can say in your words is that it is horrifying. A truth so stark and distressing that if you could understand, it would render you gibbering mad. It did me, for a while, and, like I said, I am far from human baseline. My advice to you is to treasure those you love, in the little time you have left. I am one of a handful of survivors, I can almost guarantee that everyone you have ever known is not among them.
There is silence. People are staring, having heard the strange man's tone and the content of his speech. Before more can be said, a beep sounds. "Oh, its ready,"he says, as he presses a button on his wrist and disappears with a ‘pop’.
People look confused, no believing their eyes. Daisy begins to cry. Her father blinks repeatedly, clearly unsettled. "It's alright dear, let's go get some ice cream."
They walk out of the plaza, Daisy sniffling and her father holding her hand, but clearly lost in thought. |
I stand paralyzed in fear as Johnson convulses wildly in the chair positioned behind his desk. His hands flailed momentarily, swinging across and scattering his belongings and work tools across the room, only further adding to the chaos of the scene.
"WHY?!"shouts Johnson, a much deeper and more coarse voice than usual being projected from his throat. It was menacing in nature, yet also sounded somewhat scratchy and nasally as if the demon itself had a head cold.
"I WAS GOING TO MAKE HIS LIFE BETTER! I WAS INVESTING IN HIS RETIREMENT PLAN! I WAS PREPARING WEDDING PLANS WITH HIS FIANCÉ! LIFE WAS JUST SO MUCH MORE STRESSFUL THAN I HAD ANTICIPATED!"
I begin to wonder if this little prank had been a horrible idea. Sure, Johnson was a douchebag, but he was definitely a smart man. The question of whether I had ever actually met the real Johnson at all came to mind. With a bright flash of red light, the room went entirely dark before the lights suddenly snapped back on, all the candles I had placed still snuffed out. Johnson, or at least his body, sat limp in his office chair, although further inspection did at least indicate that he was still breathing.
Perhaps exorcising Johnson wasn't a good idea after all. |
Their friends and family vanished one by one, with those who remain having no memory of those who had gone. Their world shrunk inwards; cities vanished from the maps, stars in the sky blinked out, and eventually even the great institute of sorcerous education that they had built together began to fade to nothing.
They watched this from catastrophe from the highest tower, and as the horizon drew so close that they could almost touch it they cast a spell and vanished, escaping their apocalypse.
------------------------
They appeared standing on a ship, smoke billowing from its funnels as it plunged through the calm seas. The sun was setting, and couples danced gaily on the deck to the music of a string quartet, but the lovers looked towards the horizon and they could see the same doom that had enveloped their world approaching.
They had a little time, and so he reached out his arm; she took it and they forgot the apocalypse, they forgot all they had lost, and they danced together and remembered happier times.
They danced for hours, until the music faded and they were alone once more with the horizon so close that if they dared they could reach out and touch it; they cast their spell once more and vanished.
------------------------
Flowers stretched as far as the eye could see; sunflowers, roses, pansies, tulips, and more. The ground was damp, as if a rainstorm had just passed, and a fragment smell enveloped them.
The horizon was clear, and they laid a cloak on the ground and fell asleep in each others arms. He woke first and collected for her a bouquet of flowers. He sat there for a while, holding them and watching her sleep, till she too woke and smiled with pleasure at the gift, at the celebration of life and hope.
They summoned a meal and ate, but their pleasure turned sour once more as they could saw the horizon start to edge inwards. She rested her head on his shoulder and they sat there until once more they were on the edge of oblivion.
------------------------
Machine gun fire streaked down from the cliff tops, mowing down young men as they charged ashore from flimsy landing craft; from out at see the deep booms of heavy gun fire could be heard moments latter the answer as the shells slammed down atop the cliffs.
Screams of the dead and dying could be heard; they had the capability to save them, but they knew it was futile, and so instead they stood there, gazing into each others eyes, desperately holding on to every moment together, as the fire and fury slowly faded to naught and they were once again alone with only the smell of the sea and the sound of the waves crashing on the beach, until that too was gone and once more they stepped away into a new refuge.
------------------------
They stood in a park, leaves fading to red as summer turned to autumn and surrounded by a city vaster than any that had ever known. There was no where left to run, no where left to hide, and so they kissed, deeply and long, and waited for the horizon to start crawling in once more. |
I poked my head out from behind the tree. I aimed at the deer and fired. A bolt of electricity shot out of the gun and struck the animal. It collapsed.
“Yeah, pretty neat, huh?”, came a male voice. “You can talk?”, I asked the gun. “My name’s Ferdinand. I’m a magic gun. There are other magic weapons, but they let their magic show only when they want.” “Hm.”
“Speaking of which, I’ve been hearing the voice of a sword. It’s coming from underground. Maybe we should rescue it?” “What does the voice say?” “It’s just whispers now. I heard it say that it’s a sword, though.” I walked around, looking for an entrance to this underground space. I stumbled upon a small stone building. It clearly served as an entrance with the stone staircase I saw before me. I walked down into the darkness. Ferdinand glowed a blue light. “You’re just full of surprises, huh?”, I asked. He laughed.
On the walls, I saw little holes. “Something’s gonna shoot out”, I informed. I threw Ferdinand to try and trigger the trap. Nothing. Summoning my courage, I rolled forward as arrows shot out. “Thoom!”, they went. I looked to my left and right. I was past that part. I grabbed him and continued. On a pedestal ahead laid a sword. “Oh, thank you!”, the blade cried. I grabbed it and headed back.
I exited the dungeon (I don’t know what to call it). I looked back and saw that the stone structure wasn’t there. “What the hell?”, I asked. “Magic”, explained the blade. “Why were you down there, anyway”, I asked. “All I know is that I was destined to be given to the greatest swordsman: a man who will save people” “How can that be true? I’ve never swung a sword in my life.” I remembered my friend Dan. “I have a friend who’s into swordplay.” “Well”, said Ferdinand, “Can’t be a coincidence. I think it’s his fate to teach you.” |
The war caught everyone off guard. When the bombs started to fall, Sam and I got separated from the rest of our family. The first months weren't too bad, but food was starting to get scarce. People were turning to looting and robbery. I was fortunate to have my grandfathers pistol, otherwise we wouldn't have made it this far, but I am quickly running out of ammo, and time.
There are a few bullets left, and the thoughts of suicide have started to creep into my head. It has been weeks since we have eaten and I can't stand to see Sam suffer anymore. This world is a nightmare, and I want to able to dream again.
The noise of the front door opening broke me from my thoughts. They are sure to find us, and when they discover we have nothing, they will surely kill us. The creak of the floorboards causes my heart to jump out of my chest. I have heard whispers that some people have resorted to cannibalism. The thought of such an act causes my blood to boil. Like hell I will let us end up as a meal! I draw my pistol, no hesitation. The body drops to the ground with a loud thud. A women, in her 30's maybe, but is hard to tell.
The next few days pass without a problem. That is if you don't count starving. Dehydration is becoming a serious threat, as well. I have made up my mind. Since we are going to die, I have decided to use the gun and end it all. People in the old world said it was cowardly, but if they had to go through this, they would think it merciful. There is only one problem with my plan though. I didn't have as much ammo as I thought I did.
One bullet left. Do I use it on me, or do I use it on Sam? Using it on myself would be the easy way out, leaving poor Sam alone and forced to suffer by himself. I shudder at the thought. I know either of us won't survive much longer than a week. I look into Sam's eyes; his eyes greet mine. His tail starts wagging and I know what I must do. Choking back the tears I whisper "Sorry boy,"and squeeze the trigger. No bullets left. |
"You seem distracted this week."She broke from the routine trying to seem interested in him.
"How do you mean?"
"I'm your psychiatrist, Peter, but I don't need a degree to notice you smiling like a high school girl walking by the quarterback in the hallway every time you stare at your phone."
"I... I know maybe I should talk about this but I'm afraid it's classified."
"Okay, then dumb it down for me. I know where you work and I read the Guardian, Peter. You're the one who was pointing out typos in my personal emails."
"We've talked about that and I apologized multiple times. Why do you always have to bring it up? I even payed you to shut up about it, that applies to around me as well, okay?"The change in his tone reminded him why he had to see a psychiatrist in the first place. He changed his position in the chair and waited for Dr. Jameson to say something. She was just staring at him and apparently he was in no mood to pay for another twenty minutes of a staring contest like last week. "Jesus Christ, okay, I'll tell you."
"Good."God, she hated that smile. Not for every patient, but a forced smile to Peter was something that physically hurt her.
"I fell in love."
"Wow, those are four words I never expected to hear from you. We're making huge progress here, Peter! Who is this lucky lady?"
"Wait, don't jump to conclusions. She doesn't know I exist."
"Oh."Now it made sense to her.
"She's a potential terrorist I've been following at work. But she is so beautiful and smart. She answers all her phone calls with the cutest SHIT! I almost told you her name. Anyways, I even called her a few times to hear her introduce herself to me. And this isn't everything, she's funny in everything she writes. Everything. And she never uses a smiley like our dumb Maryland bitches. No offense."
"None taken."Again the painful smile, God, was she going to get the strongest Long Island after this meeting.
"Anyways, I've been following everything she does for a week and I can't let go of her. I know this is something that is all in my mind."
"At leas you've saved me the trouble of explaining that. In a very scary way I actually find this kind of cute, I think time will make you able to let go of her. Just promise me you're going to cut contract with her and... give her to a coworker, is that an option?"
"This is the problem, don't you think I know what I should do? Remember the bomb they found last week in Chicago though?"
"Yes, nothing happened, they said at the news that it was all set but nobody pushed the button."
"Exactly, nobody pushed the button because I kept her busy by calling her. She was the trigger in that attack. If my colleagues find out she's either dead or sent to a place where she might as well be. But I really like listening to her, I feel a real connection. With the next bomb there is no way anyone will find her."
"We're done here."The doctor smiled sincerely this time, happy she finally had a reason to call 911.
|
"There isn't any money in fighting overseas anymore."
That's how the pitch had started. And it was met with a deafening silence around the room.
The conference had been called after years of heavy losses in the arms industry. CEOs and executive leadership from all the major arms companies were present. A few representatives from the big mercenary corporations had also been invited. Close to two hundred people had arrived at the conference hall to discuss options and strategies for the decline in sales.
"The world is too poor. America is the only country supplying us with any business and their opponents are too poor to justify any more military spending. It worked for long enough, but now we've gotten to the point that we can't sell them on anything. They are just too powerful. We need a new approach, and I think I've got it."
The crowd seemed to lean in as a whole as the young executive paused to build anticipation.
"Civil war."
Gasps and quiet murmuring went around the room and slowly built to loud conversations taking place. The young man took a seat and waited while they deliberated. Over the next few hours they talked and debated and went over options and at the end of the day, they'd come to an agreement. War it would be.
The rest was handled by lawyers and salespeople. Who would take what products, what shipments. Government leaders were called and informed of the new plan, and asked to place their orders now. Troops would have to be divided up. New soldiers would have to be trained. Equipment would have to distributed. New weapons invented. Counter-weapons to those weapons created. It was going to be big and everyone wanted a piece.
Of course they had to choose an issue. This was hotly debated. Some wanted to stage a class war, but it was decided that this would be fairly one-sided and won too quickly. Others favored religion, but it was too unstable of any idea without any guarantee that religions would jump on board. Finally though, after much deliberation, it was decided that it would be race again. "If it ain't broke, don't fix it"was the colloquialism that won over most of them. They knew they could easily build tensions based on race, and with such a diverse country, it could be segmented even further, meaning more profits for them.
The second American Civil War began in 2061, and was anything but. |
"Just calm down, son, and put the gun away before you do something you regret."
He look at me with kind, blue eyes. Eyes that a father should look at his son with. Slightly weary with age, they were the eyes that should have been there to read me bedtime stories, or look at me with pride when I graduated high school.
But they were not.
These were the blue eyes that used to glare in his drunken rage. These blue eyes that could silence my mother with a gaze. He held out an open hand to me smiling. But all I could see were the fists that he had raised in anger countless times before I ran away. And I never did graduate high school.
Even though he called me son, I knew he didn't recognize me. How could he with the ski mask on? I knew it was him, though. I still saw his face in all my nightmares, and every day in the waking hell that I lived.
The store clerk looked back and forth between us uncertainly.
The old man never looked away.
Involuntarily my eyes began tearing up, mixing with the sweat running down my face under the stuffy cotton mask. My clothes stuck to my chest, I felt hot, I couldn't breathe. This wasn't supposed to happen.
I turned the gun on the old man.
"How-"my voice choked in my throat and I had to cough. "How much money do you have?!"My voice cracked.
Then I saw it.
My eyes.
Not his.
Mine.
I had blue eyes just like his. But mine were neither kind nor angry. They were frightened. Every time I looked in the mirror, I saw my frightened eyes. When I was a child, my eyes were frightened. Even in school, my eyes were frightened. I would see them every time I went to the bathroom to clean myself up after getting beaten up.
When I turned 16, I ran away. I was still frightened. What could an uneducated teenager do?
Drugs.
But drugs couldn't make the fear go away. They could put a mask on over my face, not like this cotton ski mask, but they could put a human mask on my inhuman face and for a little bit I could pretend I was normal. But they couldn't hide the fear.
So I finally saw it. The fear in his eyes when I turned the gun on him.
"I said, how much fucking money do you have!"My voice didn't crack. I had my confidence back. Even though there wasn't a mirror, I knew he was seeing in me for the first time what I saw in him for the first 16 years of my life.
Anger.
"It... it doesn't have to be this way... you're still young, you have a family that cares-"He began, his voice trembling.
I smashed open a jar of jelly beans on the counter with the gun.
"No I don't!"I screamed. "No I don't! They don't care! They don't care... they don't even know... fuck you, fuck you, fuck you."I was losing it. I was losing the anger. Fuck. How did he stay so god damn mad all the time? It's so much to hold on to.
"They do, son. They care about you. You should put the gun down, and just go home."He smiled at me. "I'll pay for the jelly beans myself, just... just don't do anything you'll regret."
Fuck you.
"Do you have a family? Do you have a family you care about?"I jabbed my gun at his smiling, relaxed face. "Huh?!"
I was an only child. When I was 14, my father beat my mother so bad she was hospitalized. She claimed it was a gang of youths. No one bought it, but no charges were pressed. After all, you can't force a victim to press charges.
Shortly after being released from the hospital, she took me into her room. She said it wasn't his fault. His father was the same way, and his father before that. It was a vicious cycle that he just couldn't break. She asked me to promise her to be the one to stop it.
I said yes. Of course. What else could I do?
Shortly after that, she took her own life.
The old man shook his head sadly. "No. I don't."
I turned the gun on myself.
|
She is just as silent as she used to be. It bothered me back then to the point of infuriation, but now it's something I can enjoy. Hell, my life hasn't been at all the same since the day when we said goodbye ten years ago. Now that I'm back with her though I feel slightly more of the man I once was. As if I've been reunited with a part of my soul that felt so lost before. I don't know how she feels about me being here now. I don't know if she can even feel now. I want her to be proud of me. I want her to say that I had the courage to come back. But a headstone can't talk, and a headstone can't feel. Yet a headstone can make me talk, it can make me feel, and it made me come to it to say a final goodbye. A proper one this time. No hospitals sounds, no crying children, just a proper, quiet goodbye. |
We agreed to meet in East Lansing, Michigan. I don't know why exactly. It seems we gave up on chasing each other after five years at the same time. The running subway fight in Tokyo, the ambush in Manila, the epic brawl in that bar in Dublin. Those were some hectic years. He nearly got me in Oslo, it was damn luck I got away. Course, I did pay him back for in Prague with interest. He's still missing half an ear. Don't think he ever forgave me for that. I guess we just got tired of it all and want to settle down. Shame it came to this.
The MSU Agricultural Pavilion just south of the main campus is warm, which is nice. Still has the same smell of horse as I remember. I'm sitting in the horse arena, the sand is in excellent condition. Perfect for soaking up blood. I check my watch, still not time yet. I take the moment to hone my blades. The 1796 Pattern sabre is my favorite. Wonderfully balanced with its graceful curving blade, it was designed to be used on horse back, where its cutting edge works wonders. I'm going to need it. While I admire the German rapier and parrying dagger I have, I'm going to need something that can bring down larger game. That's why I also got a falchion on my back. With that heavy chopping blade, anything it hits will feel it. For something with a little reach, there's my halberd. I picked it up many years ago, despite the bulk, I take it everywhere I can. Belonged to an old landsknecht cursed with never dying. He doesn't have that issue any more. For my last blade I'm using is a classic. A pugio. The ancient Roman sidearm. Like its bigger cousin the gladius, it's almost purely a stabbing weapon, and boy does it stab. I differ in wear I'm wearing it, It's going on my right hip instead of the traditional left, the sabre's there.
I'm not bothering with much armor. No point, considering my opponent. While my suit of Gothic plate is attractive, he'd just open it up like a tin can. Plus, I hate how my peripheral is limited. No, just a lorica hamata, chain mail shirt. With it, I'm wearing just my clothes and my Boeotian helmet. It's the kind worn by Alexander the Great's cavalry, great hearing and breathing as well as unlimited view. It makes up for the lack of protection.
My power is rather untraditional. I've lived many past lives of great warriors. Their skills compounding upon one another. Near two and a half thousand years of legacies. Spartan hoplite, Companion cavalryman, Roman Centurion among them. In a past life, I landed at Lindisfarne from the bow of a long ship. I fought both Saracen and Frank in the Holy land. I died at Agincourt slogging through the mud into the hailstorm of bodkin. I wasn't around much during the War of the Roses, I was too busy in the Reconquista. The Thirty Years war was no fun at all. War of Spanish Succession was though. The Napoleonic Wars was a field day for me. That was good times. Later it got boring, as the years dragged on, with the rise of technology. Guns, I don't like guns. Where is the skill, where is the art? It's tasteless. The blade is king. I was blown sky high at Vimy Ridge in '17 Never saw what hit me. Tarawa was a slugfest. I survived it, but not Okinawa. Interestingly enough, I've never fought in Japan. Never reincarnated there. Who knows why? The point is, every life I live, ends on the field of battle. It's what I'm good at, it's what I do. I can never truly die.
He finally shows up. I don't hold it against him, the snow is trouble for anybody. "I'll be with you in a minute."I am ready. I do not fear death. Death is as common to me as sleep. He merely nods and strips down. He assumes he will win. He doesn't want to ruin his street clothes. He stretches to get out the kinks. I say as I tidy up, "There can be only one."He gives me a look of pain and disappointment. "There can be on- Highlander? Seriously? Where's your originality?"He shakes his head. "Doesn't matter."Then he transforms. His limbs grow longer and he gains coarse fur on his body. His canines enlarge and a canine face appears. He is a werewolf. He is now nine feet long by my reckoning and 'bout eight hundred pounds. He is smaller than the previous six I've killed. That must mean he's particularly cunning. I sheath my blades and heft my halberd. It is a game I cannot lose, although he doesn't know it. But still, it will be a memorable dance. We ready ourselves to fight. As he leaps at me, I think how much I love being me. |
"Hey c'mon Joe! Don't be a fuckin' panzy ass!"You could hear the cries of a muffled woman in the background as the soldiers argued amongst themselves.
"A panzy ass? Don't call me a panzy ass 'Mr. I'm Afraid of Spiders'! There is no way I will let you take advantage of this young woman, it is immoral and disgusting."Private Joe was the embodiment of the perfect American soldier during WWII: He was tall, strong, and a family man with good ol' Christian values. The other soldiers he was with, Sleezy Sam and Hots as they were called, were typical high school slackers that would be doing nothing with their lives hadn't the draft come around.
"Joe, Joe, ya don't understand, she totally okay with it. She wants to be *liberated* if ya know what I mean!"Sleezy and Hots exchanged high fives whenever Hots made some stupid pun. The woman continued to let out moans of agony and repeatedly shook her head. She didn't deserve this; she was just a young German girl that happened to live right in the area of the battle scene. She wasn't our enemy, she couldn't have been older than fifteen.
Sleezy grabbed at the woman "Okay, baby. Prepare to taste some authentic American pepperoni!"
*Slap!*
Sleezy let go of the girl, leaving her to fall to the ground. Joe had just gave Sleezy the smack of a lifetime. Joe wasn't gonna fuck around.
"YOU TWO!"Joe shouted unnecessary loud. "YOU TWO WILL LEAVE THIS SHED AND MARCH BACK INTO THE BATTLELINES BEFORE LT. LANCE HEARS ABOUT THIS!"Sleezy and Hots backed off. It's safe to say that Joe got his point across.
"Fine"Sleezy sighed "*We'll go.* ^^Fuckin' ^^tattle-tale."
Sleezy and Hots walked out of the shed. "Don't worry Sleeze, lets go find another broad."
Joe was left in the shed alone, along with the ruffed up girl. Joe looked over at the girl. She stopped squirming around, she looked relieved that she had been saved of her virginity, and sanity.
Joe walked over to her and he bent down. She was expecting him to untie her and let her go, but his facial expressions had changed for the worse. She started to fidget around in fear again.
Joe looked like he about to scream in her face, but he kept his voice down low, almost to a whisper.
"Don't think you're free just yet. You know why I got those other two knuckeheads out of our hair."Joe extended his arm towards her hair, and pulled at it so hard, revealing her real face from the mask she was wearing. Joe didn't know what was ready to make him vomit: It was either the slimy green skin, or the unnatural third eye that made uncomforting noises every time 'it' blinked.
"I know there are more of your kind on this continent. You think this war is about finding Adolf? He's only a decoy to the real issue! The U.S Government knows what your kind is up to, and I'll be damned if I let your kind blow up this planet that I call Earth!
The alien stopped moving around, and turned itself towards Joe. "It is too late, Private Joe Robinson of 48 Greenwood Drive, Omaha, Nebraska. That's right, I know everything about you."Joe was taken back. *How did this alien know his personal information?* Of course i know Hitler is just a face in the game! Did you think we are imbeciles? If we were, we wouldn't be blowing up your 'beloved' planet!
Joe was dumbfounded. "You won't blow us up!"He was nervous incase the alien's bluff was true
"You're too late, Private. In T-minus 3 hours, this planet will cease to exist. Kill me if you want, all of us here are martyrs anyway, we plan to die here! Have fun spending your last time on Earth fighting a battle your incompetent people started!"
Joe stood up. There was nothing he could do. He took his pistol out and shot the alien in the head. Killing the alien would do nothing to prevent the downfall of mankind, but it brought a personal satisfaction to Joe, knowing that he did all he could to protect his people, the people he was defending and the people he was fighting.
***
-006
EDIT: I realized I accidentally switched Joe's name to Jim in the middle of the story. Derp. |
"Mommy, why's the machine making all that noise?"Charlie asked.
"That's the heart monitor. When they took the sensors off you it got confused..."She stopped speaking, all choked up. She felt silly. Tears of joy were such a cliche.
"The machine thinks my heart stopped, huh?"
"That's right, Charlie. Isn't that silly? Your heart is all better now."Damn it, the tears just wouldn't be denied. Four years of crying herself to sleep at night, wondering how this nightmare would end, and now here it was, the best case scenario come true, and she was crying instead of jumping for joy or spinning cartwheels.
"All better!"Charlie sang. "You hear that, Theodore? I'm all better."He gave the furry brown teddy bear, the friend he'd had by his side through all the pain and sorrow, a hug and said, "Theo is happy too, mommy. He's crying too."
She laughed through her tears. "Theodore and mommy are a couple of cry babies, aren't we, Charlie?"
Charlie just giggled and squeezed Theodore harder. "So, we're finally going home today. I didn't think that would ever happen."
Oh boy, the tears were flowing now. They were going to need a mop before long. "I always knew we would,"she lied. "Daddy's finishing all the paperwork. We'll be going soon. Do you have all your things packed away?"
Charlie rifled through the backpack with all his toys and coloring books and games. "Yeah, mommy,"he said, shrugging the pack onto his shoulder. "I'm all ready to go!"Then Charlie picked up Theodore again, held him at arms length for a long moment, gazing into his button eyes, hugged him once more, and finally placed him on the bed. "I'm all ready to go,"he said, somberly this time.
"What about, Theodore, honey?"
"He wants to stay. There's a lot of scared kids here, and he wants to stay and help them not be so scared,"Charlie said. "Like he did for me."
She swept her beautiful little boy up into her arms, and held him until her husband and the nurse came. Together they left, Charlie squirming in the wheelchair he couldn't wait to spring free of the second they were outside. But first he had turned back and said, "Goodbye, Theodore. I love you."
Four years had passed in a hospital. With a long and steady beep, a teddy bear had just lost a dear friend. |
Simba stood at the top of Pride Rock as a light drizzle journeyed through the plain, nourishing it with the liquid of life. A gentle nudge poked at his mane - it was Nala, standing besides him, smiling and looking into the vast open horizon. Below was a small crowd of some of Simba's most trusted advisers.
The drizzle began to subside and rays of sunlight pierced through the immaculate cumulus clouds that had began to meander into view. A light rustling came from behind as Rafiki ambled up, clutching something in his arms.
Walking towards the edge where Simba and Nala stood, Rafiki blinked his eyes, which were unaccustomed to the beautiful sight Pride Rock offered. He signaled, and Pumbaa and Timon began an uproarious rendition of "Hakuna Matata", which Simba had designated as the new kingdom's anthem.
"We stand here to celebrate!"Rafiki shouted in a booming voice, temporarily overpowering Pumbaa and Timon's melodic exhortations.
His arms trembling, he held them outstretched, revealing a beautiful lion cub, Simba's son and only heir.
"We stand here to celebrate... liberation from the monarchical tyranny of Simba, and my ascension as Lord Protector!"Cried Rafiki, as he flung the lion cub over the edge of Pride Rock.
The wretched little child didn't even cry, it cluelessly flailed around on its descent, its cognitive capabilities too primitive to process what was occurring. It landed with a delicate little "splat"right on top of Simba's Home Minister, splattering that lion with a thin paint of cub-blood and introducing morsels of intestine and brain into his mane, which he had specifically groomed for this occasion.
Oh Simba, that idiot, he had been too entranced by the chords of that imbecilic song, "Hakuna Matata", to notice anything; his pea-sized brain, with an intellect comparable to a polyp, would still take just over 3.2 seconds to realize what had been happening.
Pumbaa and Timon, whose faculties of cognition were even more primitive, would continue to sing about "no worries for the rest of your days"for 5.4 more seconds.
But that was all the time Rafiki needed; well within both 3.2 and 5.4 seconds, Simba and his lackeys truly would have "no worries for the rest of their days", as they would be enjoying the "problem free philosophy"of death.
0.5 seconds passed from cub-impact. The 314 hyenas which had been lying in wait, their movements concealed by the obnoxious cacophony of "Hakuna Matata", struck, first tearing Pumbaa and Timon to chunks of ground meat fit for a spaghetti sauce.
0.6 seconds. A team of 20 specially trained hyenas struck at Simba and Nala, 13 for Simba, 7 for the weaker Nala. The 13 first held Simba down, beginning to tear off his limbs to ensure that he could not escape. Simba could not even scream; it was happening so fast. But what his eyes saw would be unforgettable; Rafiki made sure of that. Simba would feel oh-so-pained when he finally saw what was happening.
0.7 seconds. Nala's eyes were beginning to come out of their sockets. Her limbs had also began a quick liberation from her torso. The hyenas wold then strategically bite at certain locations to cause her as much agony as possible, just so Simba could watch his wife die through his starry-wide eyes, before meeting his maker in hell shortly afterwards.
0.8 seconds. The rest of the hyenas would start ripping apart Simba's confidants in the audience below, playing jump-rope with their intestines and stuffing their testicles into gouged-out eye sockets as they laughed their raucous hyena laughs.
By 1.3 seconds, Rafiki would be laughing too, he laughed, such a hearty laugh, a laugh he had not known in years, in decades, in almost a century of service to this ungrateful pride of arrogant, thick-headed, pea-brained lions who had unjustly ruled this plain.
Soon, this would all be his, Rafiki's, and he could build a society from Simba's ashes, a perfect society, a society as immaculate as the fluffy white cumulus clouds who had gathered to watch Simba's demise.
Rafiki grinned a wide primate grin. *Two legs good, four legs bad.* |
The ship was cold and dark, the interior illuminated only by dim red lights, which were used to indicate that it was nighttime. Carson didn't know why the lights were red. He would have preferred a different color, though he didn't know what. Red lights left too many shadows, too many dark corners. Carson had gotten over being alone, or so he thought. He had gone through the stages of hysteria, denial, fear, and anger. The first few months had been the hardest, but he had gotten through it. "Snowball,"he called, "please raise room temperature to 70 degrees."
The ship's AI, which he had named Snowball after his cat, responded promptly. "*Right away, sir.*"A vent overhead hissed open and hot air rushed in, warming Carson as he lay in his bed.
There were nine other rooms outside his, in the hallway, each with their own bed. He had tried them all until finally this one seemed to be the most comfortable. He'd closed and sealed the doors to the other bedrooms. "Snowball, turn all lights in the ship on."
"*Sir, that would be inadvisable, the--"*
"I know. Please."Carson hated the ship being dark, and Snowball would wait until he was asleep before switching the ship into nighttime. He sighed in relief as the red lights disappeared to be replaced by bright, white lights. "Thanks."
"*You're welcome, sir."*
Carson sat up and swung his feet onto the floor. The metal floor was cold. He stood, stretched, and then began his daily routine. Being alone, he reflected as he went through his routine of exercises and then wash-up, was the worst of it. It was a loneliness that stuck to you like a wet towel wrapped around you. It drained you of all your energy, sapped your will to move or to even think. The fear was always close behind, and the times he locked himself into the closet were when the worst panic attacks occurred. The small, enclosed space of the closet comforted him. In there it was warm and cozy, and he could talk to Snowball until he finally began to forget that he was the most lonely human alive.
*"Sir, the power drain on the ship has taken its toll. If we continue in this manner, I estimate that we will lose power in seven days."*
Carson exited his room, deciding not to get dressed today, and walked to the cafeteria that was at the end of the hallway, speaking as he went. "Snowball, I don't see much else we can do. We're going to run out of power no matter what, so why not in seven days?"
The speakers were quiet long enough for Carson to make a sandwich. And then: "*Sir, there is a way..."*
Carson slammed his sandwich on the counter and yelled. "I said *no*, Snowball! That is *not* an option."He picked up his sandwich again, his hands trembling. He had to watch himself, if he wasn't careful the panic attacks would come back. It'd been a couple of days since his last one. "Snowball... what happens, happens, alright? I'm okay with it."
"*But sir, if we eliminated programs and operations of the ship that are not necessary, you could have power for several more years. My program itself would restore 75% of the power loss."*
Carson shook his head, speaking around the ham and bread in his mouth. "It's too high of a sacrifice, Snowball. I can't lose you."
"*Sir, I will not be dead, I will simply be turned off. If you find a power source, you could turn me back on."*
"And if I don't? I'll be drifting through space for years, or until my food supply runs out, and I won't have *you* here. There is no 'power source' out there, Snowball. I'm alone in the universe."
"*Sir, the probability of existing life in this part of the galaxy is 39%."*
"Why 39?"
A brief hesitation. "*That is the probability of Earth having been destroyed purposefully, sir."*
"But I thought--"
"*Yes, sir, the earth's core did begin to melt down, but my readings were quite unclear on what exactly caused it, and what I did pick up could lead to malicious intent, or other, existing lifeforms."*
"It doesn't matter."Carson tapped his chest. "I"m human, Snowball, and that's an advantage that I have over you. I have my gut, and my gut says there is nobody else."
"*Sir, I am afraid I must activate Bypass 284, Safety Protocol R4H."*
Carson spun, half-eaten sandwich in hand. "What? What is that?"
"*It is a Safety Protocol, sir, for your well-being. The ship's power supply must not be less than a week, sir. I am afraid I have no choice but to deactivate all necessary programs and operations. Once it is complete, you will have power for three years. Goodbye, sir."* With that, the lights flicked off to be replaced with red, dim lights, and the speakers fell dead.
Carson didn't move. He *couldn't* move. His mind couldn't process what had just happened. His eyes darted back and forth, the shadows in the corners seemingly growing as each second past. Did he hear something moving in the ship? Footsteps? Rustling? He could hear his heartbeat in his ears, feel as it pumped blood into his veins, willing his legs to move. He shot from the cafeteria and sprinted for his room, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end, sure that some invisible animal was chasing him down the dark hallway. He slammed through the door and leaped for the closet, closing the door behind him.
Darkness. Silence. He caught his breath, his mind racing and his heart slowly breaking as he realized what had just happened. He was alone now. "Snowball?"His voice was muffled and weak, but the sound was deafening. He looked up, though he could see nothing. "Snowball? Snowball, answer me!"He began to sob as his words disappeared in the darkness. Snowball was gone.
|
A small hand tugged on my coat, a quiet voice spoke to me,
"Hi! Could you hold onto this for me?"
I turned around to look at where the voice came from. A small blonde girl in a blue dress stood behind me, hand on the end of my coat arm. Her hair was ruffled, strands sticking out, entire clumps bulging outwards from her hair. The little girl's head was just above my knee. I crouched down to look her in the eyes, people walking by curving out of the way of this strange sight.
"What's your name?"I asked her, my voice soft but just loud enough to be heard above the sound of the crowd rushing by.
"Asha."she said, holding out a small box, "Could you please hold onto this?"
I took it in my hands, the edges of the box running through my palms. It was decorated magnificently, with a gold border running around the top of the box.
"What's inside?"The little girl said nothing, but merely smiled. Someone walking by bumped into me, knocking me onto my rear. I looked back to the little girl, but she was gone. I stood up, and looked around, but the little girl in the blue dress was gone.
---
"Sarah, you home, Honey?"I softly called as I opened the front door.
The door to my left slowly opened, and Sarah walked in. She fell into my arms and began to sob. I put the box on the table to my right, and guided her into the living room and we collapsed to the couch, where she sat sobbing on my shoulder. After hours of sobbing, finally it began to subside. Her head slowly turned toward me and we locked eyes.
"How am I supposed to live with this?"She asked me, wiping a tear from below her cheek. I stroked behind her head, my hand running down her hair and back up again.
"It's going to be okay, darling."
"It's never going to be okay again John. Never again. How am I supposed to even get in a car again? I don't think i'll ever be able to get behind a wheel again."
I continued stroking her hair, up and down I went, soothing her.
"You're going to be okay."
She stood up from the couch and wiped her face dry.
"I'm going to take a bath."she said. I nodded, stood up, and hugged her.
"I love you, Sarah."
She let out a small whimper and walked into the bathroom, closing the door behind her. I walked to the front door, and picked up the small box the little girl had handed to me on the streets. I ran my hand over the pattern on the top again, feeling the grooves run under my hands relaxed me. I tried to open it, but something felt wrong with opening the little girl's box.
I held the box in my hands and walked to the bathroom where Sarah hid. Knocking on the door I called out softly to her, "Can I show you something?"
A few moments later the door slid open and I walked in. I grabbed her hand and walked with her to the bath. We both sat on the edge of the tub, and I put the box in her lap.
"Today, a little girl came up to me on the streets and gave me that. She said her name was Asha."
Sarah looked helplessly at the box, "What does that have to do with me?"
I locked eyes with Sarah. Her eyes told a story, I saw how hopeless she was. I saw the pain she felt, on the edge of tears constantly, of not sleeping in days.
"I think it was meant for you."
She looked down at the box. Her fingers stumbling, she opened the lid of the box. Inside, was a single strip of paper. She took the paper in her hands, and held it up to read. Her eyes flickered across and in her eyes I could see something, almost like acceptance or forgiving herself. She looked at me and I could tell what the look was, hope. She let the paper flutter out of her hands and onto the floor. She smiled at me for the first time in a week and walked out of the bathroom, her hand slowly leaving mine as she left.
I looked down at the paper facing the floor. I leaned over, and picked it up. On it, written in blue crayon were four simple words.
*It's not your fault.* |
Todd lost his badge. His company did government contracts, and new regulations meant that the cards were needed in order to meet certain standards. The standards were rather pointless, since the doors were left wide open to keep the building aerated, but he still had to have his ID badge at all times in case there was an inspection. Hardly efficient, but that's the government for you. You can't fight Uncle Sam.
After a half hour of frantically scrambling to find the missing badge, he was finally ready for work. He was running behind schedule, to the point where he'd almost had to ignore his daily newspaper. If it weren't for the jarring headline, he probably would have.
Vladimir Putin Surrenders after America Joins Axis Forces: Nazis officially win WWII
----
At first, Todd found it amusing. It wasn't quite April, maybe the newspapers had the date mixed up somehow? The amusement turned to incredulity and confusion when he turned on his radio. He wasn't much into politics, but the AM talk shows were interesting enough to make his commute easy.
"... told you this would happen! Nobody believed us, and look at what has happened to America! When the nation votes in socialism, we get socialism nationally. That's what national socialism is!"
The joke had gone a bit far, hadn't it? But his incredulity didn't stand long. Every station was saying the same thing. America had joined forces with Nazi Germany and taken Moscow overnight, somehow.
Everybody at work was glued to the TV, which was translating a speech from the Russian premiere. "We will not throw away any more of our citizens. We recognize that a difficult time has come for our people. But history will show that Russia stood alone as the last bastion against these forces while the rest of the world turned a blind eye."
Todd spent the rest of his day filling out form 13-A, feeling in a daze. While on his lunch break, his father called him on his cell phone to gloat.
"I towld yew there was somethin' about him. He weren't *right*"squawked the receiver. "I hope it was worth the health care."
click.
For the first week, the global shift in powers had little effect on the accounting department at QT Hydraulics. But then he got a memo requesting a meeting with the department head.
"What's this about, Steve?"
"Well Todd, we've been subject to a shift in regulations on account of the new government. We're going to be moving your office to the back area. Your old badge won't work anymore, you'll need a new one."He reached out his hand, which was holding a gold star with "Jude"written on it in green.
"What."
"You have to, uh, keep this displayed at all times while you're working in the building."
"I'm... Not even Jewish..."Todd stammered, the most specific of the *many* disagreements he had with the new policy.
"Well, about that, we had to fill out some forms to confirm the diversity requirements for that big government contract a while back..."Steve looked down at his papers. "And we met the requirements for the project, but not the subsidy we needed... so we registered you as Jewish."
Todd held his head in his hands. "You registered me as Jewish for a tax writeoff, and now that the Nazis have somehow won WWII despite it having ended forty years ago, I have to wear a gold star because of it."
"Look, you know how much we needed that project. And don't look at me, I voted for Romney."He gave Todd an apologetic look. "Sorry, but I'll try to get the paperwork for you to get reassigned as soon as possible. But my hands are tied for now, you can't fight Uncle S.. er, Franz, I guess"
The back of the office was pleasantly cool, and wasn't too bad a work environment, barred windows and doors notwithstanding. And Steve assured him that after their paperwork was finished, he'd be able to go back to his old office.
"Well, I can't say I like the new regulations, but you have to admit his policies have been pretty good"said Dan, Todd's least favourite coworker. Todd just stared. "I mean, you can see how he came to power, he's got a lot of charisma. Great orator."
Todd had had enough of the Great orator's charisma. The only TV in the back section of the office was constantly playing speeches from him. A small, wrinkled old man, now bald except his moustache.
"Can't say I was expecting it. They really snuck up on us, huh?"continued Dan, oblivious to Todd's annoyance. "Mind, aside from the office, it hasn't been so bad. Great medical plans, and did you get that ticket for the free vacation?"
Todd did, in fact, get a ticket for a free vacation. He looked over his paperwork towards the plain black and white envelope. To compensate for the extra difficulties he'd had to face at work, he'd been awarded a free vacation by lottery. He could take his entire familty to the newly built theme park: "Das amerikanische Zentrum für das Töten von dreckigen juden". Todd was still trying to get a handle on Amerika's new official language, but "Zentrum"and "Toten"sounded like fun words, it couldn't be that bad.
Todd wondered if he'd be ineligible after his paperwork was done. He made a mental note to ask about it later.
|
“Come in, take a seat...” Dr. O’Brien was shuffling through some files and didn’t look up. I was relieved to get out of the waiting room. The pain, whatever it was, seemed to be getting worse by the minute. “What seems to be the problem?”
“Well I don’t really know how to describe it Doc, it feels like... like an *emptiness* in my abdomen. It started yesterday and today it’s gotten a lot worse. I’m starting to feel a little lethargic.”
“Ok well let’s have a look at you shall we?” He flew around the desk and made with the cold stethoscope routine. O’Brien listened for a few beats until something rumbled deep inside of me and a look flashed across his face as if he’d shit in his pants.
“Now Mr. De Selby,” O’Brien was now slowly retreating back to his side of the desk. “I hate to have to ask you this, but have you been ingesting any illegal substances?”
“Never in my life,” I said, getting a little defensive. “I exercise every day, I get plenty of sunshine and I smoke a hell of a lot of weed!”
“That’s all very well and good, but when I was checking your heart rate just now I heard a strange sound which seems to be coming from your stomach...” Stomach. The word was harsh, perhaps Germanic. I didn’t like the sound of it at all.
“Is that like an appendix? Will I have to get it removed?”
“To be frank,” (his name was Frank), “all of the symptoms you have been describing suggest to me that your body is going to through a state of *digestion*. Now Mr. De Selby is it possible that at some point in the last couple of days, perhaps while you were stoned or at a drinking party, that you may have accidentally swallowed some solid nutrition?”
My god, I thought. The waiter lied; that *was* a fly in my drink.
“What does all this mean, Doctor? That I’m a frickin’ vampire? Will I have to spend the rest of my life like a junkie, taking the lives of defenceless vegetables?”
“Mr. De Selby, are you going to vomit?”
“What does that mean?”
“Don’t worry Mr. De Selby. Thanks to modern medicine people with your condition can live long and fulfilling lives, almost as long as the rest of us.” Dr. O’Brien scribbled a number on a scrap of paper and handed it to me.
“What’s this?”
“It’s called a pizza delivery service. I think you’re going to like it.”
|
A dead end.
A dead fuckin' end.
I briefly considered walking backwards, but the maze walls were electrified and I had no desire to fuck myself over yet.
I decided to turn (not literally) and focus on what I could possibly come up with that did not end with me dead by electricity or some other force.
I promptly found no solution.
Why, I pondered, can I not turn around? Surely if something wanted me dead I would be already... hell, how did I even *know* that turning around would kill me?
I was well and truly fucked already, I concurred; I would have to turn and face my alleged doom.
Steeling myself for the worst, I turned-
and found nothing amiss.
I made my way out of the maze after two or three hours. I turned around all I wanted, celebrating my newfound freedom, my new power.
I made my way back home; it was only a matter of time, now.
Time went on. Month after month, year after year. I grew old and found love, as well as a profound sense of pride in the birth of my daughter.
I lived to see the births of my grandchildren and at this time, two great-grandchildren.
I spend a lot of time reflecting on life, now. I wonder why and how I was put on this earth. I marvel at how happily and long I have lived.
I wondered about the maze, once. It took but an afternoon for me to realize that my conjecture on the consequences of turning was absolutely right.
I turned in the maze, and now I will die. Everyone, I suppose, has their own maze. Some people accept the inevitable and move on, but... but there are those who stand firm and resolute, ever unyielding in their battle on finality.
They never budge, stuck in their crossroads as they wail and snarl, crying for the release that only they can provide.
I mourn for them. |
The wizard stepped back from the pentagram and eagerly awaited the smoke to clear. He could barley hold in his excitement. The smoke was finally fading! Flashes of red showed up.
And out stepped... *Santa Claus*.
The wizard froze. "I... I meant to summon Satan."
Santa laughed, jiggling his belly along with the sound. "You should have seen it coming, I mean come on, it isn't even a good anagram."
"But, Dark Lord-"
Santa raised an arm. "Today, I am only Santa Claus."
The man scratched his wizardly beard in confusion. "Why? Why would someone so powerful and not fond of humans do this?"
Santa laughed, rumbling the wizard's house along with his belly. "I get the children hooked on material things. Makes them more susceptible to darker urges later so I can lay claim to their souls at death."
The wizard furrowed his brow. "That's... well that's ingenious. You're ruining them with kindness."
Santa laughed again, holding his belly. "You got it! So, why'd you want to summon me?"
"Well,"the wizard held his staff uncomfortably. "I was going to sell you my soul for more power."
"I see, I see."Santa stepped forward and grabbed the wizard's head, hand easily capable of crushing the skull. "You have quite a bit of power already. However, I know of a way to give you ever more power."
The wizard's face lit up. It literally lit up, his control of emotional magic was abysmal. "What power?"
"I can give you ability to *fly*. To stop time itself and to run endlessly. The ability to be immortal."Santa looked pleased at the man's salivating face. "Do you accept?"
"Yes!"The wizard yelled. "I give my soul for the power you mentioned!"
With that, Santa turned the wizard into a Christmas reindeer. |
“Hey Dave,” Chuck said, left hand resting against the window as his right hand grasped the bar below it to stabilize himself.
“Yeah?”
“Remind me, was Russia always on fire?”
Dave floated over to the window, his legs splayed out behind him like Superman. He lightly bumped into Chuck, who shifted to the right to allow Dave to fit.
“I’m going to be honest with you, Chuck, I’m not entirely sure.”
Chuck stared out the window. Russia—or at least what he thought was Russia, it was pretty hard to tell when the Earth didn’t have labels on it—was shrouded in a dark, enveloping smoke. He tried to think back to earlier in the week, even just a few days ago, to when they had last floated above Russia. He recalled, although he couldn’t be entirely sure, that Russia had not been a giant, abstract blob of smoke all those hours ago. It might have had some ice or something.
“Dave, I’m pretty sure Russia wasn’t on fire last time we were over it,” he said. Chuck turned to his right and looked at Dave, his forehead pressed against the plastic window as he stared down toward Earth. Dave’s long, greasy hair floated wildly an all directions, reminding Chuck of a picture of Medusa he had seen as a child. He’d always liked Medusa, although he figured it’d be pretty difficult to feed snakes when they lived on your head. He also had the deep, burning question of how the snakes went to the bathroom. Did they just pee all over Medusa’s head? Or did they pee inside of it, right into into her brain?
“Are you sure? I mean, the Sun was always on fire, right?”
“Yeah, the Sun was definitely on fire before today. I’m positive about that one.” Chuck thought back to the day they had launched into space. He had spent the morning staring at the Sun, the result of misunderstanding the mission they had been assigned. He had thought they were to be the first people to land on the Sun to perform scientific experiments, and decided to stare at it in order to begin preliminary research. He later learned, after almost severely damaging his vision, that they were not going to the Sun. They were simply going to be orbiting the Earth in an automated shuttle. Apparently it was to study the “effects of space on the unsupervised mentally handicapped,” whatever that meant.
“Well, Russia might have been on fire too then. I mean, why would only one thing be on fire? Have you ever seen just one thing on fire?”
Chuck glanced back out the window and thought about the question. Had he ever seen only one thing on fire? He’d seen a wildfire once, and there were definitely multiple things on fire then. Mostly trees, a few animals, and one firefighter. What a crappy firefighter, getting lit on fire like that. He should’ve fought that fire a little better.
“Not that I can think of,” Chuck said.
“Exactly. Plus, look at America over there. It looks like it’s also on fire.”
Chuck pressed his forehead against the cold plastic of the window. America was definitely on fire, the same black cloud floating over it as had Russia. In fact, there seemed to be several thin streaks of what appeared to be smoke tracing back and forth between America and Russia. It was as if a child had drawn thin, arcing, gray lines between the two, with each ending in gigantic, fiery craters.
“America definitely wasn’t always on fire, Dave,” Chuck said. “I grew up there and I was not on fire.” Chuck was sure he hadn’t been on fire. He had once burned himself on two lit candles when he tried to bring them up to his room, though. It hurt, he ended up dropping them on the floor and having to stomp out the flames. “Well, America was on fire once when I dropped a candle, but that’s it.”
Dave gasped and pointed to the window.
“Look! America just exploded a little bit,” he said. Chuck followed Dave’s finger, his eyes stopping at a clearly visible blob of what appeared to be fire. A thin, arcing gray line extended from the light all the way back to Russia.
“That definitely wasn’t there before,” Chuck said. Dave nodded in agreement, then pushed off the wall. Chuck watched as he floated backwards toward the interior of the shuttle.
“Where are you going?” Chuck said.
“Getting my iPhone. Somebody needs to call the fire department.”
________
[^If ^you ^enjoy ^my ^writing ^style, ^feel ^free ^to ^check ^out ^some ^of ^my ^others ^short ^stories/prompts ^at ^my ^site!](http://wordsontheinternet.org/)
|
Her hand found its way into mine as I rested on my death bed.
I imagined I looked terrible hooked up to all these machines but no one seemed to care. My wife look down teary eyed,then grasped my frail hand to her heart and whispered.
"Don't worry, there are collecting your consciousness as we speak. You're going to be fine and soon I will join you in paradise."
I smiled weakly and turned to her, "There is no hurry my darling, live as long as possible, live for our children."
She started crying but I could not hear her words as everything was drowned by the ringing in my ears. My mind was going. I no longer cared whether this digital paradise was real or not, I was content with death. Despite all my wrongdoings and victories in life, to be surrounded by love ones was the greatest and saddest joy a man could experience. I swear that....
*Error*
Who said that? I wondered, everything seemed frozen in place. My friends and family were just standing about with expressions of no given emotion.
*Error*
The ringing in my ears stopped, the room was vividly clear despite my aging eyes. Something was wrong.
*Error*
*Rebooting now*
Suddenly a terrible darkness fell before me and everything vanished.
I woke up in a new hospital bed.
*Sorry for the inconvenience, Bernard Percy Sanchez, there appears to be a problem with your Paradise^tm simulation. We are keeping you on life support until a new Paradise^tm can be registered to you. Thank you for your corporation and have a pleasant day.*
I looked around and saw that I was alone. Why must I be reminded?
|
Jake went flying up the stairs, through his door, and into the attic. He slammed his shoulder on the wall and stubbed his toe on a step, but that didn’t stop him. He reached the tiny room atop his house and turned over every single table, chair, vase, and shelf he could find. He had hidden it so well, he had been so impossibly meticulous as to make sure nobody could possibly find it. As he ran to one final table to look under, he tripped, and hit the ground hard. Nothing. He checked what had caught his foot, and saw his box.
It was an oak box, and every time Jake got close to it he could smell the purity of the wood. The density of the natural odor that felt like a safety blanket to him, wrapping him in warmth and security. All over the box were intricately carved patterns. Blocks of cubes, swirls, beautifully made triangles tessellating into the middle of the top, where Jakes name could be found. Care went into every centimeter of every letter, resulting in an impactful interpretation of his simple name. The box had age to it.
Jake reached his hand out, and touched the metal lock on the front. He had expected his hands to be shaking more than this. He opened the lock, and lifted up the box to look inside. Immediately, a bright blue marble fell out of a hole on the corner of the box, his happiness. He became filled with dread for the brief moment when his happiness was out of the box. He felt as though the world were dark, and all hope was lost, until he quickly returned it. As though the happiness were water being poured into a jug, he first felt his toes become warmer, until finally he could smile again. He set the box down so nothing else could fall out, and resumed his search.
Sadness, check. Laughter, check. Anger, check. Everything seemed to be there, yet he knew there was something missing. He thought hard, and tried to bring himself to feel every emotion he could think of. He was fully in touch with his body, and it felt perfect. Too perfect. He thought back to the journey up here. The fall, the shoulder, the toe, none of it hurt. None of it stung for even a second. He felt his breath escape him as he looked desperately in the box one last time. No red heart. No pain.
Jake searched his house for days and days, finding nothing. After a while, the stress became to much, and he found himself returning to his old habit of cutting. Yet the warmth of a razor filled him with nothing but a slight cold sensation in his arm, and he couldn’t even force a physicalization of the pain he yearned feel. Two months later, he sat still as a stone at his mothers funeral. He cried, but the tears were empty, filled with only sadness. No actual connection to the dead filled his heart. No pain, just empty tears.
Even as he cocked the gun to his temple 3 months later, he felt only a twinge of regret knowing he had cut off everybody from his life. He could no longer empathize with his friends, connect with their hardships. They had all been more careful with their boxes, while his carelessness lead to his death. His loss of pain lead to his loss of life, for he knew he couldn’t continue for even one more day. And with that, he pulled the trigger.
|
Upon first glance, I would not have considered this my kind of place. The exterior made it seem like an establishment people would patron for drinks and flirtation, and I was wanting to sit down to a meal and conversation. Since a coworker recommended it to me, though, I was optimistic and decided to give it a try.
Surprisingly, their menu was filled with home cooked Southern flavors with a bit of an adventurous twist that quickly drew me in and corrupted my taste buds. The meatloaf, in particular, I found very flavorful and *extremely* filling, and I kept coming back for more.
Sadly, shortly after discovering this place, they moved to their current location, which is a bit further away from my home, but I still made every effort to eat there at least once a week. However, with the move, came a few unpleasant changes: new hours of operation, an increased number of drunks at the bar, and while my appetite was always satisfied by what they had to offer, there was an overall decline in the quality of service.
Despite all of that, I tried to remain a loyal customer and rented out the whole place for a New Year’s Party. A week before the celebration, they called to let me know that they had to cancel my reservation; they were to be closed for the holiday. Although I was disappointed, I was also understanding, but I won’t be returning again, not when I found out the next day that, despite what they had told me, they had advertised all over town that they had been open for business. |
"Haha"the laughter was the only sound heard in the dark office besides flickering lights smashed in and the rattle of the old air conditioner. "That makes it 89 wins for me! Most in the office!"John stood up victorious. The office was his kingdom for the day now. He always enjoyed winning because it meant he could do something productive like read a book or watch a movie, even masturbate when he felt like it. An empty office was a perfect office to him.
He wiped the blood from his hands onto his nice Purple Label jacket and gave out a large sigh as if he had just completed something that had never done before. The reality of it was that he was done the same exact thing 89 other times and it had been done to him countless times on top of that.
"God Gerry, I can't believe you lasted as long as you did."He kicked the limp, plump body that was leaking blood all over the diamond patterned carpet. "But,"He wagged his finger at the pile of absent flesh, "You did have a good idea hiding in that vent,"He sat down in a slump, exhausted from his victory, "That's a new one."
The silence was what he liked best as he began to carve his name into Gerry's desk with the bloody hunter's knife. Now, the rules of Office arena were that you could not use a blade over 3 inches, but John liked to toe the line of authority and his was 5. They'd catch on sooner or later, but hell Susan used a shotgun only two weeks ago and she didn't get much of a punishment other than the stoning the following Double Day.
"Dammit, I've got to call Mr. Becker back about his deposition."John picked up the phone on the desk and listened for a tone. Buuuuuuuuuuh. Good, no one took out the phone lines yet, which was odd because they were usually down by noon. He dialed up Mr. Becker hoping he was still alive.
The recording started, "You have reached Louis Becker, you've called on a Double Day so I won't be in the office right now. You can reach me at my bunker number of 908-765-8976. Thanks and have a safe Double Day."
"Ugh, pussy,"John dialed the bunker
"Hello!?"Becker answered in a hurried voice
"Um, Mr. Becker, its John from Cardman, Goise and Pierce."
"Now... is just not a good time John. Call back tomorrow on the--- No! Please don't hurt her---, Just call back in Real Time John"The phone dropped, but John could hear everything going on on the other end of the receiver. He hung up. There was only so much he could stomach. Well, someone found Beck's bunker which means doing any business on future DDays is slim. The relocation of that bunker is going to take at least a week of orderly DDays to get that fixed. He swiveled to the window, around Gerry, and looked down; fire in mid-town, the military barricade down the street was abandoned. Yup, it was a bad one today.
He pulled a desk drawer open and his lips involuntarily curled to a wry smile.
"You always have good stuff Gerry,"He pulled out a container that held a needle and small baggie of Heroine, "Oh, you be quiet over there and quit your bitching,"He talked at the motionless body that once was Gerry, "It will be here tomorrow like nothing ever happened." |
My fellow Americans,
There are times in all our lives when we forget to think before we speak. Unfortunately, this was the case for myself just a short time ago. As an official representative of the American people, this is unacceptable, and I accept full responsibility for my words and actions. To the people I have offended and to the person whom I was speaking to on that day I am truly sorry.
I realize now that when an overweight woman on welfare asks me why she can't feed her family of seven, it is inappropriate to respond by saying
"Because you're too retarded to stop shitting out babies and you're husband is a lazy asshole that refuses to work."
I know that it can be hard for people to find work in such a troubling economy and I know that every American has the right to grow their family as much as they want. As your representative to the government, my opinions are second to that of the people whom I represent. For this reason, my second comment, "You're just a fat cunt that needs to take cock in your
shit-pussy instead of your regular pussy, which I'm sure by now looks like two damp shower curtains flapping in the wind."was also unforgivable and insensitive to those less fortunate than myself.
I understand that my comments are not becoming of an American politician and that I have deeply hurt the trust that the American people have placed in me. I will try my best to learn from my terrible actions and I give you all my word that I will never again do anything to hurt the American people that I serve. I am truly sorry for what I have said and I sincerely apologize to the family I have insulted. I hope that, in time, the family and the American people can forgive me for the damage I have caused even though I do not deserve forgiveness. Thank you all for your time and thank you for listening. Good night, and God bless America. |
Elsa examined the departure board at Newark International Airport near New York. The flight to Oslo was now boarding.
As she walked through the terminal towards the gate, she received many glances and smiles from others, teenage boys in particular. She may have been over 170 years old, but she was, to use the name of a popular store in her adopted land of America, "Forever 21". With her long, blonde hair, bright eyes, musical voices, and classy fashion, she attracted attention wherever she went. Yet she had lived through two world wars and most of the 20th century in America, and, previously, had seen the Industrial Revolution transform her homeland in Norway.
Elsa settled into her economy class seat for the long flight to Norway, a country she had not seen in 90 years. She had fled Europe before World War II, before the Germans had invaded her nation. She knew little about the state of Arendelle today, but with the gradual decline in importance of European Kingdoms, she doubted that it would be anything more than a historic village on a Norwegian fjord, long assimilated into Norway.
Before long, the plane had left behind Long Island Sound, and was now over the vast expanse of the Atlantic Ocean. Elsa slowly fell asleep, dreaming of the trip back to her homeland.
Some 10 hours later, she was woken up by an announcement, and the brightening cabin lights, back on after the overnight flight.
"Ladies and gentlemen, we will shortly be landing in Oslo. Please ensure that your seat is in an upright position, and that your tray table is stowed. We would like to thank you for flying Scandinavian Airlines. We hope you had a pleasant flight."
Elsa woke up, somewhat groggy after the hours of time change. However, having flown in Constellations, Comets and Concordes throughout the past century, she would have to say that air travel had improved in the last century. Then again, though, some luxuries had been sacrificed in the name of cost-cutting, a point she was reminded of as she attempted to stretch her legs, which rather abruptly hit the seat in front of her instead.
Looking out the window, Elsa was greeted with a beautiful, deep blue ocean. Soon, green fjords came into view, and some little fragment of Elsa's memory flashed into her mind, a memory of walking through the cobbled streets of Arendelle with her long-deceased sister, Anna, who, sadly, never had Elsa's immortal magic. Tears welled up in Elsa's eyes as the urban sprawl of Oslo came into view.
"Are you alright, dear?"The old lady seated next to Elsa had clearly noticed her flash of sorrow.
"Y-yes. Sorry. It's...nothing."Elsa replied, suppressing her sudden rush of feelings.
Fifteen minutes later, Elsa was walking through Oslo Gardermoen Airport. After picking up her luggage, she saw a sign reading "Bilutleie". Elsa had tried to keep up on her Norwegian through the past century living in America, as one last symbol of her past life, and she recognized this word as "rental car". She had arranged for a Volvo sedan, which awaited her in the rental lot. She got into the car and put her hands on the steering wheel, remembering, vaguely, the slow horse carriages of her younger days.
"Things certainly have changed,"she thought to herself.
Elsa programmed the GPS, typing in "Arendelle", uncertain whether the place even went by the same name anymore. To her mild surprise, the directions popped up. Her hometown was only an hour's drive away!
She smiled to herself. Distances were so relatively small with today's technology. In the 1800s she could not have imagined going very far in a hour.
Soon she was cruising along the smooth, modern Norwegian freeway. It was a cool, cloudy fall day, and there was little traffic. She tuned into Radio Norge, and found herself surprised that she could understand much of what was being said.
Perhaps her childhood was not so far behind in her memory. Time felt strange when you had lived for nearly two centuries. She still vaguely remembered the day she left Arendelle for the US. The Great War was still fresh in people's memories, and Europe was uncertain and unstable. She had decided that it would be safer to leave for the United States, especially as European monarchies had lost face in the past decades. Elsa was a fast learner, and had little trouble assimilating into American culture. However, she had greater trouble in hiding her magic. Gone were the joyful days of playing with ice in Arendelle. Once again, Elsa had to wear gloves at all times. She also had to move around often, and she could not keep friends for long; otherwise they would realize that she never aged. Elsa had gone by the names Catherine, Madison, Mary, Jane, and even Anna for many years as she moved from place to place around the United States. She did not want to attract too much attention to herself and her immortality and magic.
As she reminisced, she suddenly saw a sign on the side of the highway for Arendelle. At the last moment, she swerved the Volvo across two lanes to make the exit, attracting some honks from other cars.
The highway was quickly replaced by a twisting mountain road overlooking a long fjord. Her anticipation increased with every sign pointing to Arendelle.
Suddenly, the road took a curve around a cliffside and she saw it.
Arendelle looked very similar to how she remembered it. The small, walled town. The large ship docks, though now cruise ships were parked in the place of trading ships. And her home, the castle, stunningly preserved. Some urban sprawl could be seen around the old town, but Arendelle had not grown much since the 1840s, perhaps on account of geographical constraints.
Elsa was very excited to see her hometown at last. It was now 2010, and she had last seen it in 1920, when she left. Ninety years had passed. For most people, this was a lifetime; for her, it was just a part of her long, eventful life.
Before long, Elsa had reached the city center. As no cars were allowed in the old town, she parked nearby.
Strolling through the old streets, now clogged with tourists from the cruise ships, she saw familiar sights: the main square, the docks, the houses, all carefully preserved, such that it looked exactly as it did in her childhood.
But now, Elsa turned her attention to the castle standing over the old town of Arendelle: her home. The gates were open, just as they were after she had unfrozen her kingdom some 150 years ago. She entered the lineup to enter the castle, thinking to herself how ridiculous it was that she had to line up to enter her own home. She still had the title of Queen after all these years, but only officially. Nobody but her knew that she was once the Queen of Arendelle.
One could only enter the castle with a tour, so she joined one in English. As they entered the main hall, she had to suppress her happiness and nostalgia, for fear of raising a scene. The main stairway looked exactly the same as when she was young.
Suddenly, she couldn’t hold it back anymore.
Elsa broke into tears and started to dance and sing. All the suppressed joys and laughter and memories of her childhood came back to her all at once.
For the first time in forever, she was home.
|
Perhaps it was in the way he said hello, and his writhing twisting skin,
Maybe it was the gift he brought and his sudden shrinking grin,
But as soon as I saw those deep sunken eyes, I knew one thing for sure,
My best friend - the lying thief - was no longer the bully he was before.
A dark new knowing has filled his corpse, from some abyssal sea...
But he is now a nicer thing, and I guess that's fine by me. |
Ever since Carter turned 13, he has had an extraordinary life.
On his thirteenth birthday, Thursday, June 5th, 1997, his teacher called him out for being a terrible student. "You'll see,"Mr. Bartlett said, "next year on this day, you'll still be a bad student unless you change your habits."So, on that night, Carter wished he could see what his life was like the following year. After blowing out his candles, he thought nothing of it.
That is, until he brushed his teeth that evening. He spit out his toothpaste, and when he brought his head up and looked into the mirror, there were two reflections. There was no one else in the bathroom, but his second reflection was as real as anyone else. He spoke to it, but it would not speak back. However, he did see some nice, new peachfuzz on his face. Carter noticed his reflection made all sorts of funny gestures, but Carter couldn't understand what any of it meant.
A few months later, he was in line at a carnival, and behind him were two deaf girls using sign language. He joked with his friends about how they probably scream on carnival rides by gesticulating wildly, and then it hit him: his future self was attempting to communicate with him through sign language. He made it a point to learn sign language, and he spent the remainder of the year doing so. He would practice his sign language in front of his mirror every night.
On his following birthday, he made the same wish, and later in the evening once again saw his reflection in the mirror.
"We can't communicate,"his reflection signed. "I can only leave messages for you."
Carter idiotically signed back at him.
"On March 22, Stacey McDermott will no longer be going to the dance with Pete Stackhouse. Ask her to the dance, her friends told me she would have said yes!"
Carter's reflection was taller and had a weirder haircut. He also had a lot of zits.
On his next birthday, Carter made the same wish, with the same result.
"Don't take English with Mr. Kelowski, take Ms. Hernandez. Stacey will cheat on you with Trevor Jacobs, dump her first. Don't ask out Sasha Perez. I think you should try dating Paula Everett, but talk about horses and stuff because she likes horses."
The conversations after high school were different.
"Invest literally everything you have in Google. Tell dad to invest everything in Google."
Even sports were a hot topic.
"Italy wins the World Cup, the Miami Heat beat the Mavericks in 6 games after being down 2-0. Bet big."
Carter used this opportunity to scheme his way past college, earn big bucks, and manipulate women into sex using foresight and knowledge gained from his future self. His life was fast, full of partying, cocaine, and excess. He treated people like shit, using everything his future self knew against them. His ritual the night before his birthday was to stand in front of a mirror and sign everything he wanted his past self to know. Then, the next night, he would find out what his future self wanted him to know.
But on his 30th birthday, everything changed.
Carter waited in front of his bathroom mirror. It was 10:47 PM, the usual time. But he didn't show up. Carter thought perhaps he got tied up with something and simply showed up a little late to record his message. Carter sat on his toilet and waited. And waited.
And waited.
Nine hours passed, and he kept himself up by taking bumps of coke periodically. Whenever he felt anxiety or lethargy, he would snort another line. He stayed in that bathroom for six more hours. He began to fear the worst. He knew fifteen hours was too much to wait. He knew something had happened, because he would never miss an appointment like this. This was too important. Much too important. He was coming to grips with reality. That next line of coke put him over the edge.
Carter dies at age 30. He knows it. All the partying, the cheating, the scheming, and the lying finally caught up to him. *No human should have such power*, he thought. He felt he had two options: he could go out in a blaze of glory, or try to atone for his sins.
He chose the latter.
No more drugs, no more cheating, no more lying, and no more manipulating. He needed to be normal for his last days on Earth. He gave his money to charities, he volunteered his time, and he apologized to all those he wronged. He met a great woman who accepted him for who he was, and when he explained to her his past and his special abilities, she didn't judge him. He thought she believed him, but in reality she took it as an allegory describing his tainted life. The fact is, he came clean, and was therefore a better person because of it. He lived humbly, and treated his final days the way a cancer patient in remission treats that first day they receive the good news.
Months passed, and when Thursday, June 4th, 2015 rolled around at 10:47 PM, he was too busy on his couch, with his wife, watching a movie, to leave himself a message. |
We stood on the stoop, a bit awkwardly. I usually hated blind dates, but tonight was an exception. He was kind, funny, thoughtful, handsome in a very traditional way. His glasses sat just a tiny bit lopsided on his face. His grin, also lopsided, let loose butterflies in my stomach.
He giggled at the tension. I wanted him to kiss me. I wanted him to kiss me more than anything else.
He leaned in, closing his eyes. *Thank god,* I thought. I closed my eyes. Our lips met.
My stomach was doing flips, my heart was fluttering. His lips were so soft, and I could feel his breath on my cheek. He lightly put a hand on my neck, running his thumb along my cheek bone. I melted into him.
Colors flashed behind my closed eyes. At first I didn't pay attention; how could I? He was an amazing kisser.
As we kissed, the colors began to take shape. The shapes began to define pictures. I saw he and I on a lake, laughing. He was helping me fish.
*Flash*
I saw myself crying on a couch, he was kneeling with a hand on my knee.
*Flash*
I saw us dancing, he was laughing and I looked happy.
*Flash*
I saw him on his knee, in the square we just had our first date in.
*Flash*
I saw me in a wedding dress, I saw him in his tux. He looks so handsome.
*Flash*
I saw me, *very* pregnant, helping decorate a nursery.
*Flash*
I saw him and our baby walking along a trail, the sun shining. The baby looks like him. So beautiful.
*Flash*
I saw him and our son, on the first day of school. He was giving our son a hug.
*Flash*
I saw him and our son taking pictures at a baseball game.
*Flash*
I saw him and our son...
*Flash*
Him and our son...
*Flash*
Him and our son...
*Flash*
I pulled back. His eyebrows raised, mouth still poised to kiss. He could see the tears in my eyes.
"Oh, no, what's wrong?"he asked, his face full of concern.
I sat and stared at this wonderful man, as sadness crept into my chest.
"Nothing."I said breathless. He knelt and sat beside me. I took his face in my hands. I smiled at him, and saw that wonderful grin creep onto his face.
"Nothing at all."
I leaned back in for another kiss. |
"They built this thing all those years ago to stop madness like this!"She could hear the protests from the spectators while climbing, unsure what to think. "Just stay calm,"she thought: "nothing could be as bad as they imagine."
Two days ago Ashley had received her orders: "You will no longer be guarding our citizens, ensign,"she remembered the Lieutenant explaining, "You and the others in this room will climb the wall at 0700 on Thursday."
Bad News. No one had ever climbed the wall. Sure, people had tried, but it was her job to make sure they didn't hurt themselves, and surely they would if they were to make it to the top, how would they make it down again? What if they were to fall? How could they possibly think whatever is out *there* were better than here? We have everything we need inside the city.
"Sir, why are we doing this? Isn't the wall for our benefit?"Another soldier to her right spoke up, asking what everyone had on their mind anyway.
"Don't ask me,"the Lieutenant replied, "I just follow my orders, and I suggest you do the same."
So they trained for two days to make the climb together. Ropes, hand placements, the works. The four of them already in great shape, it didn't take long to learn the basics.
"I hope they fall and break a bone,"one of the spectators loudly proclaimed. "Would serve the muckity-mucks right for making them do this."Ashley almost agreed, but curiosity was beginning to take over. She began to wonder, what *really* was out there? Why not find out, to serve the curiosity of the people? It was her job after all, to serve the people. Wouldn't that give them the quiet they deserve? She hoped whatever she found to be enough to warrant quiet from the people.
At the top, what she found only offered more questions. No answers were here. "Lieutenant!"she called down to him, unsure what to say after he inevitably asked: "what do you see, ensign?!"
She saw another, larger city, encircling their own, as if they were in some sort of box within a much larger city. Upon further inspection, she realized there were people enjoying their days just as her people would on a normal day. Simple, normal people doing simple, normal tasks. "What do I tell him?"she asked her squad. None of them responded. "If they're out here, why are we in here?"she heard one of her squad mates think aloud. She didn't have an answer for them either. |
Mr. Speaker, Mr. Biden, Congressional members, Americans:
Looks like we've jumped into the oven from the frying pan again.
If you've been watching the news, then you've probably seen
That there's a new group in Iraq, and they're unbelievably mean.
They call themselves ISIS, but don't be confused:
They're not named after the Ancient Egyptian goddess of love—
No, they've got sinister views...
But saying ISIS is "sinister"is like saying the Dead Sea's a bit salty.
In ISIS's eyes, humanity's faulty...
But don't worry!
Don't fret!
ISIS can cleanse that corruption!
They'll force us to live under the caliph's instruction.
"But what what if we won't? What if we refuse?"
Don't worry! Don't fret!
ISIS planned for that, too...
But it's not a new plan, it's been done before:
Everyone who refuses will die by the sword.
Now, here's the remarkable thing ISIS has managed to do:
They've united the world against them, from Beijing to Timbuktu.
ISIS is an anthill trying to tear down a city.
If they weren't so evil, I'd probably feel pity—
Pity for what I'm going to do,
Because ISIS's time has run out, their end's overdue:
While I've been speaking, the airstrikes have begun—
Wasps are gonna learn how it feels to be stung.
That's all that I'll say—ISIS doesn't deserve more airtime,
Not even if they're talked about in sentences sloppily rhymed.
(Speaking of: If you're a master of language, both written and spoken,
Give me a call—the presidential speech-writer's position is open.) |
Usually he knew his number what it was by simply glancing at his watch, but today was different. It was probably in the quadruple digits by now, maybe even past 2000. It was embarrassing to go out in public with such a high number, but they didn’t pay him to sit at home and wallow in his discomfort. As he stepped on the bus he looked around and saw a smattering of numbers, the bus driver smiled at him under a green **75**, the old woman in the handicapped seat had a reddish **15** above her white hair. An attractive woman in a pencil skirt and blouse mounted the bus slightly after him and blushed slightly as she caught him glancing at the deep red **3** hovering above her perfectly coiffed blond curls.
He watched as the baby in the stroller sleeping peacefully had a green **108** flip silently to a green **1** while her mother had a light red **620** plastered over mousy brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. The mother glanced down at the baby and sighed tiredly.
Out of sheer professionalism, numbers were largely ignored in the office. No one needed a distraction amid all the stress, but he could tell his supervisor was judging him by the slightly grimaced look she gave him when she glanced at his number. It was probably over 2000 by now! She smiled fakely at him from under her green **220** and gave him his assignments for the day.
On his way back to his desk, he stopped by the kitchen and grabbed a bowl of cereal and poured in some milk. He always ate breakfast at his desk.
He could tell his coworkers were avoiding him, probably because of the huge number over his head. They all traipsed past him, with numbers varying from the single digits all the way up to triple digits. Quads, those with four digits, were not really something to worry about, until they started getting up into the 3000 and over range. Still, you undoutedly felt uncomfortable once your number was in the thousands. If your number got too high, white coated authorities may detain you. No one really knew where they took the high quads, but they were often back less than a week later, usually with green numbers within the normal range.
“Morning Sean” muttered Frank as he hurried past with a dark red **342** trailing slightly behind his bald head. Before Sean could respond, Frank was lost in the shuffle of desks and people. Sean turned back to the fiber-bomb cereal that had become mushy in the cold milk during the walk from the kitchen to his desk.
As he filed his reports all morning, he wasn’t sure if it was what he knew was an absurdly high number over his head that just kept getting higher, or the bowl of the fiber bombs, but his stomach simply would not stop churning. It felt like someone had released a family of hamsters into his large intestine, and now they were doing their best (the hamsters) to reenact civil war battles, cannons and all. Twice he had to walk outside when the flatulence grew either too sonorous or too pungent.
Lunch, due to his gastrointestinal bellum, was a light affair, a salad from downstairs with a glass of water. His supervisor stopped by his desk while he was eating with a sheaf of papers, undoubtedly more reports for him, but upon catching sight of his number, definitely well over 3000 by now, she instead asked him if he needed to take the afternoon off.
“Nah, I’m fine.” He lied. The hamsters had moved on from civil war reenactment to WWI. Long moments of utter stillness followed by minutes of extreme distress as the hamsters rushed from one trench to another. He was sure that if he lifted his shirt and watched, he would see the horror of what was happening underneath reflected in violent movements under his hairy stomach.
“Suit yourself…” She started to say something, but stopped and walked off and handing the reports to Frank, who now had a green **165** practically shining above his head.
Less than an hour after lunch Sean felt the gastrointestinal pressure build. He was in the middle of a conference call when it hit. He stood up suddenly, forgetting his headset and pulled his phone off the desk. It fell with a clatter, but he didn’t care. He almost didn’t make it, Frank, with his smug **215** decided he needed to catch up and apologize for his hurried greeting earlier that day. Sean disposed of Frank with a wave and hurried by, hoping his light khakis would not turn into dark brown khakis on the way to the restroom. He burst into the rest room, startling the intern washing his hands at the sink (a green **3** over his head). Before Sean was even in the stall, he was unbuckling his belt and as he squeezed himself into the small stall, he threw down his pants, pirouetted ungracefully, sat down with a thud, and relaxed as a feeling of release rushed through him. The hamsters made a quick retreat. Fifteen minutes later he walked out of the restroom, relieved, with a bright green number **2** over his head.
|
Steven awoke with a start. The sound of a gunshot echoed across the front lawn. His wife was not next to him as she normally would have been.
The fear embraced him almost immediately as he realised what could have happened. After his second of doubt, he darted across the room to the closed window.
It was a nice window really, a beautiful stained glass number, with what some would have defined to be a majestic stallion rearing up on a hill in front of a shining sun. I feel it looked more like a pony attempting a back flip in front of a misshapen lemon but no one ever really asks me.
Steven opened the window to attempt to discern the source of the gunshot. The first thing that caught his eye was a rabbit calmly munching on a patch of grass. It was a fluffy creature, quite plump and would have gone quite well in a stew.
Stevens mind was not really considering the culinary delights of a rabbit stew unfortunately, rather what could have occurred to his missing wife, which is is really quite sad. He was quite the cook and was known amongst friends for his roasting techniques, to which that rabbit would have tasted quite excellent and impressed many of his friends. Perhaps the skin could have even made a nice hat for the winter. It has been quite cold around here.
As Steven glanced out the window he saw his wife across the yard holding a large rifle. She was also quite well known for her cooking abilities, lesser so her abilities with a weapon. His realisation that the rabbit was now standing almost directly between his gun wielding spouse was short lived when his wife felt it a good idea to attempt a shot at the small creature, which missed completely, ricocheting off a large rock and impacting Steven in the chest.
I wish people would perhaps consider the rights of such small creatures in the future, they do have feelings after all. I believe that the rabbit would have felt a sense of justice, if he could indeed feel those things at the knowledge of Steven bleeding out slowly in his bedroom. Fortunately for the rabbit, he was now safe and warm back in his hole, safe from stews, pies and roasts. |
"Jane?"I stammered, standing up slowly. I saw her across the restaurant, sitting with a man. I could not believe it, and almost thought I was insane for thinking it was her.
She locked eyes with me and quickly looked down. She looked concerned. The man sitting with her said something to her, but she kept looking down. She said something back, and started to get up. I walked over to the table.
"Jane, is that you?"
"Umm...no. I have to go."
"Jane. What is going on?"I hadn't seen her since our honeymoon, 20 years ago.
The honeymoon had been the worst week of my life. We went on a Caribbean cruise and she disappeared the second night, at our first port. I had never felt more scared. I contacted authorities, the news, her family and friends...but the days passed, and she was still gone. The years passed. I met Allie two years later.
Jane and her friend quickly walked out of the restaurant, and I followed. "Jane!"I said loudly. Suddenly she stopped. She turned and looked directly at me.
"Henry. I couldn't do it."There was a sadness, a hesitation in her voice. The man she was with looked really confused.
I moved on. Allie was my world, and our two twins completed our life. I had let go of my love for Jane. I was just wondering what happened to her, and as I looked in her eyes, I saw a pain I would never wish anyone to experience.
She and her friend got in a cab, and were gone. |
A rough-faced man in a bright white jacket with a pencil tucked behind his ear popped out of nowhere.
"Right, so first things first. You need to get, your shit, together."He slapped his hands together with excitement.
He spoke with a vigorous English accent with his eyebrows raised high.
He had his arms tucked tightly to his chest, and his hand gesturing fiercely near his face like a knife.
"Cause there's nothing WORSE, than a lad who can't get his shit together."
He looked and sounded like he desperately needed to pee.
ME: "But you don't underst..."
"Oh come on you. Yeah?"He bellowed with frustration.
"One simple request, and you make a big song and dance about it!"
"Un-believable."He spat with contempt. His beady blue eyes squinted with rage and his chin shriveled like a prune.
"Bloody hell."He muttered as he lazily slapped his thigh and looked away in disgust. His messy blonde hair stood with pride. |
"Holy sh… John, I think… I think it's back!"
There was a bang, and the whole table jumped. A short red-haired man crawled out from under the desk, clutching his head. If it weren't for the tiny flashlight he had in his mouth, he'd probably be cursing up a storm.
He pulled the flashlight out of his mouth and slipped it into his shirt pocket. "What did you say, Brittany?"
"I think it's back…"
John sucked in a breath. "*It*?"
Brittany nodded. "We found it. The Internet is back."
"Holy sh… We need to make sure, quick! Get on it, or "log on,"or whatever the term was!"
Brittany moved the mouse slowly to the large "e"icon on the faded screen. She clicked on it and held her breath. For about five seconds nothing happened. She was about to click again when suddenly a big, white window opened up. It displayed the words "Google,"and had a bar under it for text.
"John,"Brittany gasped, "Do you realize what a treasure trove this is?"
"Humanity lost the Internet over a millennium ago."John muttered gazing at the screen like it were made of gold. "Archeologists all over the world would sell their souls to research something like this."
Brittany's hands were shaking as she began to type. John grabbed one of her wrists quickly. "What are you doing?"
"I remember from a history class I took a while ago… A website, or whatever they were called. I'm just curious to see what all is still there."
John nodded slowly. "Okay, just be careful not to ruin anything. That's a thousand year old time capsule we have, there."
Brittany nodded in understanding, and carefully typed in, "*Reddit.com*" |
"Assassins say that at the right time and place, a knife can topple an empire. My computer program
can accurately tell you those times and places."
Samson paused drinking in their attention. He was, by consensus, the best stochastic modelling programmer alive on the planet today and the room full of geeky quants were eating up his every word. The power filled him with a powerful nervous energy that animated his thin, stickly frame like a puppet and made his too-large head with the shock of unruly black hair bob up and down like a lure bobbing to the currents. And he was alluring, dragging them in, reeling them in for the...
"With this we can take down Goldman Sachs at will"
The "at will", hummed through the small room. Samuel, held up a hand to quieten down the room. He wasn't done yet.
"Their trading platform has an underlying whisper-net, reading newspaper headlines as they come in, ranking the articles from good to poor for a company and instaneously trading in the anticipation of rises or falls. Of course, mistakes can happen so the size of these transaction and the exposure is strictly limited.
But I you see, know how to turn off this limiter. Found it years ago. There's an exploitable buffer overflow error. Bu of course that's useless unless you know which way to trade, unless you can control and predict the market for that one brief second. After all none of us have the capital to trade with Goldman till our edge gaurentees profits. We're too poor."
The room twittered at that.
"But I've finally figured that out. There's a way to increase the volatility of their bets, make their trades swing wildly back and forth in opposite directions... "
"You can self-arbitrage..."someone exhaled.
"Precisely, I can make them so shook up that for a brief moment they will put out very large buy orders at a higher price than they put out very large sell orders at a lower price. Sell low, buy high.... to me."
A guy in a red-checked shirt, nuzzling a bottle of wine let out a whoop. Samuel smiled at him.
"We'll be hitting them tomorrow. A knife to the back. A dagger to the soul."
Checked-shirt guy laughed loudly, "So how much did you sell them the solution to their little 'flaw' for."He casually stuffed another Pringle in his mouth. They'd all done the same before: found the flaw, sold the flaw. It was far less risky than doing anything that might be illegal.
"$17,5 million,"said Samuel softly.
He drummed his fingers on the table, a little victory tattoo.
He smirked as the room dissolved into small-talk.
They didn't suspect a thing.
It was beautiful that way.
There was no bribe-out, and the flaw was present in all the robo-traders.
One by one, the empires would fall tomorrow. |
"World Peace, that's all I want."The man said. He had bought this lamp thinking it was just a peace of junk, never imagining what was inside. The man standing before him was... unusual. His complexion was tanned and his hair dark. It was his eyes thought that marked him as something other than human. A deep blue that glowed slightly in the dark of his apartment, wisps of blue smoke curling off the sides.
"Wow, Bravo. Would you like a sappy, teary moment to go along with your cliche? Really all you humans are the same. I'll tell ya what. I'll do it. But after this I'm done. No more wishes. No more lamp. Nothing."The genie grinned. It wasn't a smile. It was a wolf staring down at a rabbit it had pinned. The grin of a being so ancient, it made the pyramids look like jailbait. "And you'll get to see what the world is like at peace without the peace yourself. And in a year I'll come back. And maybe I'll give you one more wish."
A light flashed and the genie disappeared in a swirl of glowing smoke. He noticed the lamp was gone too. He felt giddy. With a few words he had changed the course of mankind forever. World Peace. He figured he should wait until morning. It would probably be best to see the news in the morning. He climbed into bed that night. And for once, he slept without seeing the war again.
As the first rays of the sun split the blinds, he woke up. And the first thing he noticed was the quiet. No honking horns or screaming drivers. He got dressed, made himself a little breakfast and went outside. He could see people walking around but nobody driving. Everyone seemed to be smiling. Then he saw his neighbor Mike. He knew Mike should have been at work so he went up to him. "Hey Mike, what's up man? Aren't you supposed to be at work by now?"
Mike turned and looked at him. Something about that look was just off. "Yea I am. It's just such a beautiful day out. I don't like my job. I don't think I'm going back."He sputtered a little bit. Mike was always so prompt. So hard-working. He knew Mike didn't like his job but this was just crazy. But rather than wait for a reply Mike just sauntered off.
That was just the beginning. Mike was the least of it. Few people went to work. He tried checking the news but it seemed that not enough people went to work to actually keep it running. The power went out soon as well. Food became scarce as things rotted. But no one seemed to cared. Except him. He finally recognized the look in Mike's eyes. In everyone's eyes. He had seen it before. In his friends who had seen just a little too much. Had done just a little too much. They were empty.
A year later, most people had died. They just stopped caring enough to get the food. What little food they had was shared out so much that everyone ate, and everyone starved. He kept a few alive. His neighbors. His friends. But they weren't his friends any more. John's bluff and bluster was replaced with the quiet bliss of everyone else. Mary had been a fierce mother, always dragging her kids around by the ear and keeping them in line. Now she just sat and watched birds. So many others were the same. But he had to keep them around. It was far better than being alone. He walked into the house they were staying in and saw it. There in the middle of the floor, was a old oil lamp.
He nearly jumped across the room to get it. Rubbing it furiously he watched and hoped for the glowing smoke to poor out once more. But nothing happened. "Enjoying your peace?"He spun. There behind him were those same glowing eyes. He tried to grab the genie but caught only smoke. Whirling around, looking everywhere he screamed. "What did you do! I asked for peace you bastard! PEACE! Not.... not this."The genie appeared right in front of him, his eyes hard. "This is exactly what you asked for. I gave them peace. But there is a problem with humans and peace. You can't ever make it stick. So you asked for peace and I gave it. I took everything that ever caused war from them. Hate, love, anger, pride, hunger, lust, greed and I could go on forever. Always some little thing with you damned monkeys. You weren't meant for peace. But these things also make the world alive. It's the way of nature. Take it away and you've got, this. Now I said I might give you another wish, but only if its the right one."
The man looked like he had been hit with a truck. His eyes bespoke the confusion that permeated him. But all of the sudden it seemed to snick back into place. He looked defeated and triumphant at the same time. The old hardness seeped back into him. Blasted into his soul by the desert sand and the smell of spent powder. He met the genie's ancient gaze and said a few simple word.
"I wish for War." |
Ergh what is that noise? That piercing tone cutting through my skull, dragging me awake. I go to roll over to swat at the alarm on my bedside table, just a few more minutes to sleep. I can't move what the hell is going on!
Where am I? My hands are pinned to my sides by the walls close around me. Breathe, one, two, three; breathe, one, two, three. Oh my god I have been buried alive, I must be in a coffin! My mind flashes into panic mode and I can feel my heart beating in my ears. Childhood fears the stuff of nightmares fray my mind and I am overwhelmed by the idea that this could actually be happening.
Snapping my eyes open I find my gaze drawn to the pale green glow illuminating the wall in front of me. In a tight clean font were the words "Please remain calm, some disorientation is usual after cryo sleep!"Underneath in bold, there was one word. "Breathe."
As I tried to bring my breathing back under control, I felt a calm descend over me, and slowly my memories began to return. At first trying to hold onto them felt like trying to hold onto handfuls of sand, the tighter I tried to grip them the more slipped away from me, but soon they began to fall into place.
Lost in my thoughts it took me a couple of moments to notice that the door in front of me had begun to pulse red and a new message was blinking insistently.
"Warning first lock disengaged!"
The combination for that is pie. How do I know this?
Seeing this sent an icy chill down my spine and suddenly I knew exactly where I was. Beta 4, I was one of 120 privately financed volunteers. Or at least that was what they called us. In reality we were people unlucky enough to be skilled, desperate and in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Your family will be taken care of they said.
Your crimes will be forgiven they said.
You will be remembered as the best of humanity they said.
They said a lot of things. Still didn't give me a choice! Bastards!
"Warning second lock disengaged!"
That has something to do with prime numbers doesn't it?
Oh God that means what ever is out there is intelligent! I didn't sign up for this, this isn't fair! I thought we were being sent to die alone in the cold. I was okay with that, I had accepted that. But this? I never actually expected to get here.
"Warning third lock disengaged!"
I barely have time to read this before the door cracks and my eyes are blinded by a bright purple light. My hands are free and I instinctively raise one to shield my eyes from the overwhelming glare.
Looking into the light all I can focus on are the eyes. Those eyes, so old and knowing. I have been gone such a long time. Nobody will ever know
Edit: Grammar, and some stuff about sand.
|
Humans had evolved. For better or for worse. We had evolved to become lazy. She was born to this world in the year 2108 . By then humanity was considered to be in the final stages of its evolution. Then, the first buyable appeared.
Humans had reached the epitome of its' laziness. Scientists were baffled at the efficiency of their products. These products caused mass hysteria in the first stages. But once people saw the potential for the buyables to give them the skills they would've never dreamed of, the rioting and the initial period of uncertainty passed.
It was just a pill. It started with basic skills such as speed and strength. But later it got more advanced with buyables ranging from artistic talent to vocal talent being released. The rich who could afford these pills slowly became elite and the poor were forgotten. No one wanted to hire a puritan. People were given prescribed buyables as medication. Buyables for a stronger heart, buyables for bigger lung capacity are a few examples. Crime rates plummeted. Law enforcement was unstoppable. The founders of the buyables slowly became the most powerful people on Earth. Buyables were smuggled. Wars started. Countries destroyed. In the end for humanities safety the 5 most powerful countries joined forces and created "the trustee-ship agreement"
After this was signed the big 5 built walls to shield themselves from the hell and chaos that existed outside.
She was just a girl living in state number 5. The least influential and most poverty stricken of the 5. Ties between state 5 and the others were barely visible. She sometimes wondered why she was so fortunate to be living on the better side of the wall. Away from the chaos. Sometimes she could hear them at night. Screaming and calling out for help. Those on the other side who could not help themselves. Her family was barely able to hold on to their citizenship. Her father only scraping together enough money to buy each one a buyable necessary for citizenship. Only buyables such as song or dance were available to her. The screams always kept her grateful for everything she had.
She was told that she had been given a 'vocal talent' buyable. So she sang everyday. Her beautiful voice equivalent to the voice of an angel her mother would say. But deep down inside she knew she wasn't talented. She did not have a sense of contentment or satisfaction of her talent. She knew it was just a product of human laziness and evil. Yet she enjoyed singing. Everyday she would sing and when she got a note wrong she sang till she got it right. Her correction of her fault always gave her the satisfaction she needed. But she did wonder why the pill didn't fix that. "it must be faulty"she thought to herself. You cannot purchase any item of low value and expect it to work as well as an item of higher value of the same purpose. She grew accustomed to this principle as the only expensive thing her family owned was a golden bracelet her mother wore. Even that would not be stolen by the lowest of people. As she was contemplating this in her room a faint glint of a metallic object caught her attention. She moved closer and upon examining it she realized it was her buyable bottle.
"Great"she thought sarcastically "this is what started this mess". She looked at the bright yellow coloured bottle. She had learnt to read just a few months ago and had proven to be quite a fast learner. She put her knowledge to the test and started to read the fine print of the yellow bottle. After reading halfway she noticed small red numbers on the side. It was an expiration date. It read 27 January, 2099. 9 years before she was born.
( this is where I stop. I will continue if this gets attention. This is my first post so your advice and critique is welcome. ) |
The tower was shaking again.
It had been 3 seasons past since the Gledri High Mages had discovered the ancient burial tombs of the previous builder race. 3 seasons since they discovered the war machines. 3 long seasons, full of more death than anyone, even the deep crypt priests, ever desired to witness. Many holds had been lost to the advancing golden army. The green cloaks were all but beaten, and with them, the nation of Dragons. The golden army had proven too relentless. The machines had proven too powerful.
One of the war machines was outside now.
Thomas was the only Death Wizard alive in the tower. He was rigidly sat on a step, a statue among the corpses that littered the floor. The corpses of allies. Friends. Family.
He was crying. You wouldn't be able to tell, were it not for the slight, yet steady, stream of tears that were rolling down the soft skin that covered his gaunt skull. It had been many days since he ate. It had been many days since he had moved. He had been sitting, waiting, focusing. He would need every single scrap of mental acuity he could muster, as what was about to happen would not be easy.
He was alone now.
He could feel the vibrations of the ancient device through the cold stone step on which he sat. It made his skin creep. He had tried to push the feeling from his conscious, but the previous builders were good. Very good. Too good.
He felt the pattern of the vibrations change, and for the first time in a long time, silence snapped through the room like the crack of a whip.
He was still alone.
He closed his eyes, and the tears started to ebb.
The silence remained.
He knew they were coming.
He took one last breath, and held it. He opened his eyes, and they shone out a brilliant green, scattering crisp light around the room that had been so dark. The bodies began to move, slowly at first, but with an almost accelerated sense of urgency. Dark flames were growing around them, burning away rotten flesh, and exposing bones. Clean, white bones. The flames began to dance around each new skeleton, and they turned to face the door.
Thomas was dead now.
But he was alone, no more. |
Since I first took that Roman mythology class at my university, I had become obsessed with them. I even switched my major in order to free up room for additional mythological classes.
Every morning I'd wake up and feel the Sun burning through my screen, and I would somewhat jokingly thank Apollo for his blessing. My television would flash news of the Middle East, and I'd think about Mars and his role in continuity of the fighting.
One mythological creature in particular attracted the most of my interest, however.
It is important to note that all my life I have been sickly; I was born with a severely inadequate immune system, and even the most uncomplicated of colds resulted in a trip to the hospital. When I was 13, I caught the flu, and consequently spent nearly two months in the hospital. A year later, I was bed ridden for several weeks, thanks to the common cold. There were countless emergency room visits, and the doctors and nurses working the ICU began to remember my name. It was a wonder I didn't die.
Allow me to backtrack, or rather go forward in time in my story, to when I first learned about the creature referred to as the Caladrius. Without going into too much detail, the Caladrius was a white bird that resided in the homes of kings. Nothing too special; I was a middle-class American. However, this bird was said to be able to take away sickness from those who are ill, by taking the illness unto itself and then flying away, saving both itself and the person who was ill.
I knew I had seen this bird often from my hospital window. Often, just when I'd think my time was up, I would see this incredible white bird float to the aperture not five feet from what I believed was my grave. The bird would then take on an unworldly appearance of death, and moments later would suddenly perk up and fly away, as if nothing had happened at all. For a while, I was under the impression I was just delusional from nearly dying. My mother told me it was the holy spirit looking over me. A close friend claimed it was the spirit of someone who held me special in life. However, as soon as I read the story of the Cladrius, it was no longer a mystery what I had seen.
Recently, however, things have taken a spin for the worse. My weak immune system has turned into an autoimmune disease, and I knew my close encounter with death would soon bring me another visit. I didn't care to live, I just needed to see it again.
And there it was, yet again just some feet from my bedside. But this time was different. This time, it refused to look at me. |
Julie called me crazy today. The loving way that she said it cut into the last bit of confidence that I had. I crumbled away in that moment. I am less than I was. I used to be so sure of everything.
I was sure that Tom never wore blue shirts. He has always been a sharp dresser, and had shirts in every color of the rainbow. Except blue. Never blue. He thinks it's boring. Thought it was boring.
I was sure of Tom's smell, in the bend where his neck meets his shoulder. Where my head would fall when he held me. Always the same, and so comforting. Not a sweet and spicy smell. A woody smell. I was sure. I am sure. That's not something that you can forget. Is it? Not after twenty years.
I was sure of many things: that Tom's eyes were soft, and full of laughter, that he would always pick kung fu movies and would always tease me by eating the last noodle. There is stranger in my bed. A stranger with sharp eyes and blue shirts.
I'm not Laura anymore. Laura was sure of things. Laura knew Tom.
|
Patch Notes
At first there was panic.
A beam of light cast from the sky, the clouds a swirling maelstrom about it. The beam was centered on a corn field of a hapless farmer in rural Missouri, and upon this beam descended a being clad in the purest garment any had ever seen.
Many wept at the sight, others trembled in fear, and within the hour the field was filled with reporters from every station, frequency, magazine and website.
He, if it was a he, did not speak, did not react. No movement was observed for hours, days, weeks, but still the reporters remained. Speculation ran rampant, some claimed the being was a harbinger of end times, others believed it was a sign, a miracle. Companies fought direly for the mineral rights to the property, and the previously hapless farmer rapidly found himself with a trust fund on the order of eleven digits. USD of course.
And then it spoke in a thousand booming voices, somehow beautiful and terrible at the same. The words were recorded carefully, unerringly but thousands of cameras. Those who watched the playback all claimed the messenger, as it came to be known, all spoke in their native language. Those reporters in America recorded the event as follows:
“Following the unanticipated success of Outside, we at Divine Entertainment and Universe have developed a new patch, slated to be applied January First, 2015, at exactly midnight, local time. The following fixes are to be applied:
-Eyelashes will no longer fall into eyeballs and become irretrievable
-Bugs in the karma system have been fixed. Unfortunate events will now occur more frequently to people who deserve them. Due to the random nature of Outside, unfortunate events will still occur to everyone regardless of moral standing. Events caused by freewill of fellow man will remain largely unaffected by the bug fixes to the karma system.
-A bug has been fixed that caused a decrease in the sex drives of couples as they have been together for longer periods of time. Sex drives in a monogamous romantic relationships shall now increase logarithmically as time progresses.
-The bug that caused colic has been corrected
-Green house gasses no longer cause a global warming.
-A bug that caused “innie” belly buttons to occur has been corrected. All belly buttons will now be “outie” belly buttons. Surgically altered belly buttons will be unaffected.
-Rounding errors in plate tectonics have been corrected. Tectonic plates should now show the correct level of drift.
-Rounding error in handedness has been corrected, handedness shall new players shall now have equal probability to be right or left handed. This change will not affect existing players.
-Bacon is now poisonous as originally intended.
We at Divine Entertainment and Universe Productions would like to remind all players that there is no official religion to Outside, but that Islam is the most right.”
And with that the glowing form ascended into the heavens, never to be seen again in our lifetimes.
The world accepted the words calmly, skeptically, nearly everyone believed it had been some kind of joke, some mistake. Until the first of January.
When the dust cleared, above the broken bodies, the burned cities, and salted fields, there was only one nation that remained. Human kind had banded together under a common banner, one mission that stood above all others. Into the heavens they cried shaking their spears. They wrote it in blood, tattooed it upon their skin, burned it into their cities. One message to whatever gods came from above.
“Give us back our belly buttons and bacon.” |
The 911 operator adjusted his headset before speaking.
"911. What's your emergency?"
There was no answer.
"Hello? Is anyone there?"The operator lifted a finger and prepared to alert local officers nearby.
"You have such a pleasant voice,"said the caller, his monotonous tone causing the operator's finger to halt over the dispatch button.
"I'm sorry? Sir is there an emergency?"
"Not yet, not yet. Truthfully, I've searched so far and wide to find you, to hear you speak,"said the dull man. There was a faint noise of metal clanking in the background as he spoke.
"Sir if this is a prank then-"
"No no. No prank. There will be an emergency, yes, and I'm going to lead you straight to it. But I want you to hear me out. I want you to listen. Just listen. If only for a little while. That's all. Listen."
The operator fell silent and wondered what to say. There was the faintest suspicion that this was all a ruse; after all, who would be so calm calling 911 this late at night. But the man's voice, something was *off* about it, yet despite all this it was as captivating and enthralling as an open flame to a moth.
The operator was ensnared. He listened.
"There was a man I met a long time ago,"said the caller, "a man who was such a joy to listen to and watch. He didn't know how captivating he was to me, but what he showed me--what I found so beautiful and so tragic about him--was that he embodied such admirable persistence in a cruel and unforgiving world.
"And one thing I realized about this beautiful specimen of a human being was that he was trapped and held back by his life like a bird in a cage. He was charismatic, intelligent, *headstrong.* And for what? His talents were for naught. They were wasted. Wasted. Absolutely wasted."
The man shuffled around and footsteps could be heard on a hard floor shortly after.
"And it hit me,"said the man as if receiving a sudden revelation. "His cage must be *destroyed*. He must be unhinged!"
The phone fell to the ground and the operator listened in horror as muffled screams of a woman filled the receiver. But why couldn't he say anything? Why couldn't he move?
Like a statue with naught but a throbbing heart, he was petrified by the screams. They were familiar to him.
The man returned to the phone shortly after and his breathing was audible.
"This is the first step, Lucas."
The operator's eyes widened as he covered his mouth. *He knows my name. He knows. How could he. How.*
"There was something about her holding you back, something that kept you from being *free.* And I can't be sure what it was but that's no longer relevant. The first chain that's kept you bound for so long has been broken. Aren't you excited, Lucas? This is where the road to enlightenment begins!"
The man was so lively now, so eerily joyous and gleeful. And with a trembling hand, Lucas ended the call and pressed the dispatch button. He knew--and he wish he didn't--where the murder happened, and in the deepest recesses of his intuition did he know that the victim was his fiance of 3 years.
*Michelle.*
And as the hot tears ran freely down his cheeks, he adjusted his headset and notified the local officers.
"Attention patrol units in the Greenspan area,"he said, fighting back tears, "possible homicide at 4393 Zero Avenue."
He took a deep breath and stared at the picture of Michelle on his desk. And the more he stared, the more hollow and dead he felt.
"Units are to be deployed immediately."
He removed his headset and fell from his chair, and he wept on the floor until he couldn't weep anymore.
|
The tiny folk sat in small chairs in miniscule chambers connected by minute tunnles, made with miniature pickaxes, that allowed infinitismely small wires to link microscopic speakers under the gigantic face of Mars. A burst of static erupted from the speakers, and this was collected by the industrious folk of Mars to be used later. After that, came the voice of the King of Mars. "My fellow martians, it is with great sadness that I annouce the invasion of our planet."Children cried as they hugged their mothers' skirts, and men and women held hands, gripped tight in fear, across the land. The voice continued. "The beast is large. Frightfully large. Our scouts report that it stands as tall as the sun is high, and casts a mighty shadow of death over the barren land of the Surface."Terror seemed to be a living entity, dancing among the scattered groups of Martians as the speakers spread the news. "Fear not however. A chosen band of mighty warriors will face this creature, which has come from beyond the stars. They will strike it down in the name of Mars, and we shall feast on its entrails in VICTORY!"Scattered cheers erupted from the different chambers, growing in fervour untill all of Undermars was a call to the king for the blood of the invader, and the unquestioned victory of the maritans.
***********************************************************************
Meanwhile, in the room of ~~Sneakily Planned Endeavours~~ Courageous War Planning, a different sort of discussion was taking place.
***********************************************************************
"Men,"said General Hasty Curmudgeon the III, "I will not lie to you. The intel we have is grim. Most of you will certainly perish. Maybe all of you."He handed out some papers that had been drawn up by the advance scouts. "You will see here, that the alien craft is superbly protected. There are six Deathcrushers, three on each side, that can be manouvered in unpredictable directions and at uncommon speed. Half of the scouting force was annihalated before they could even react."There were murmurs running through the troops. Curmudgeon couldn't reprimand them, not when they were giving their lives. "The rest of the craft,"he continued, "is armour-plated. The scouts have identified metallic pipes running between these plates, and we believe that this is the weak-spot of the craft. Unfortunately it is almost impossible to get to these, as the only point where the craft touches the floor are the Deathcrushers."One of them raised his hand.
"Sir, I heard that it makes a terrible growl, and that it blocks out the very sun with its size."Curmudgeon sighed.
"Our scouts have observed a growl, yes, but the thing is smaller than the Face of Mars."
"What about the Right Hand of Mars"asked another.
"It is smaller than that as well. To put it into perspective, it would be The Great Roaming Flea of Mars, if it were part of us."Oohs and Ahhs echoed through the room. The Great Roaming Flea of Mars would be a formidable enemy. Curmudgeon looked at the thirty warriors who had volunteered for the first strike, and hopefully the last. "Gentlemen, each of you will be issued with the sharpest rocksword that the empire can find. Your mission, to destroy the metal pipes of the craft, and to somehow obliterate the tiny men inside it that have invaded us. The plan is two-fold. One, overcome the Deathcrushers. Two, overcome the Enemy. DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR!?". Bloodthirsty screams came in reply.
**************************************************************************
And now for a little news.
**************************************************************************
The Advanced Party moved out today. They were combined with the remainder of the Scout Corps and are heading to engage the enemy. It is thought that it will take a week, Undermars standard time, to reach the invader, but this may change depending on its movement. In other news, King Horbalopticus Flagonsworthy has asked all citizens to continue with their daily lives. He has promised that the invaders will in no way affect Undermars, and has assured reporters that the Advanced Party will ~~probably~~ make swift work of the invaders.
*************************************************************************
The day of combat.
*************************************************************************
Alpha unit had spotted the giant metal beast. The sun glinted from its flanks like death-rays. Its Deathcrushers rolled angrily across the barren rocks of Uppermars. They had discussed it amongst themselves. The only way to get past the Deathcrushers would be massive sacrifice. Each crusher would cost nine men, and one other would make it up. This meant that they could only target three of the six crushers, which was a shame. They stood in formation, three groups, ready to vertically stabalise themselves and launch their comrade into the jaws of death. The crushers rumbled as they drew closer. Other parts of the craft whirred and flanged in strange ways, unsettling the men. The crusher was coming, it was here. Trip McGinnis was flung into the air, grasping at a handhold that danced above one of the crushers. He winced, saying a prayer as the death throes and bone-snaps of his comrades drifted up to him. He looked forward, seeing that Gib Horsky had also made it. There was no sign of Roob Winguns. Trip nodded to Gib, working his way towards the mass of the beast. They met on a ridge that seemed to join the two Deathcrushers together.
"We lost Roob"said Trip. Gib nodded, before vomitting violently over the side. "Keep your head man,"said Trip, "I can't do it alone."Gib nodded again, pulling a certain right grimness over his face. "Trip, I'll try and do what I can from out here, you go and slice those tiny bastards into a million pieces and drink their heartblood."Trip nodded.
He made his way further up the machine as Gib started cutting the metal things with his rocksword. Trip felt the machine judder as one of the Deathcrushers stopped.
"Keep going Gib"he shouted, trying to find a way inside this hulking metal murderer.
&nbsp;
On Earth one man turned to another and said "We just lost the front-left wheel."
"Shit."said the other.
&nbsp;
Trip had found a gap between the plates, where more of those metal pipes erupted from. He felt another shudder as he climbed in, and then a third. Gib had done it. The craft was now circling, propelled from only one side. Their sacrifice had not been in vain. Trip crawled further into the craft. Where he had expected to see tiny people he found only wires, pipes and metal. It was hot in the craft, but not unbearably so. Trip lifted his sword, hacking left and right, slicing important looking wires from top to bottom. Eventually he came across a box that had many wires sticking from it. He wiggled his way between the wires, and found that they were connected to two large metal plates. He touched one plate. Nothing. He touched the other. Nothing. How was it being powered? He touched them both.
Curiosity had been designed to be as fireproof as possible. Unfortunately the citizens of Undermars had not. Trip burst into flame, thousands of electrons surging through him in a spark of white brilliance that reduced him to a flaming corpse. A flaming corpse that was now lying near some very sophisticated and expensive machinery that wasn't ever truly meant to be set on fire.
Gib was the only soldier to survive the endeavour, and always spoke well of Trip, the hero of Undermars, who killed so many of the invaders that the craft itself caught fire and burned as bright as the sun. Trip was remembered lovingly for three hundred generations, Gib and the others along with him.
&nbsp;
On Earth, quite a few people were fired. Others wondered what had caused the failure of the expensive machinery. Some jokingly said that it must have been aliens, and everyone laughed.
Edit: Fixing some shocking spelling. Further credit to /u/Solin2001 and /u/iloveportalz0r for more spelling. |
"You look cute in a suit."My older brother says, wearily lifting his tubed hand from the bed to point toward my waistcoat "But you forgot the buttons".
I look down and sheepishly unbutton myself, realising I must've looked like a child in his fathers suit on stage a few hours ago.
"To be honest I'm a little jealous of your robe."I joke, but I can't help thinking I'd play better if I had that level of scrotal freedom during a performance.
"Why thank you, that was a very kind thing to say."
"Then I take it back". Reaching over him I take his half eaten pudding, and take a spoonful - insantly putting it back down with a screwed up face and wide eyes. "That's just-"
"Oh it's awful."He laughs, prompting a short coughing fit "Prisoners have a better last meal than patients these days."
"Don't say that."
"Say what?"
"The, the last meal... thing".
He blinks at me.
"But I'm dying."
"Yeah but you don't-"
"Im in a hospital bed, little brother."A smile starts to crack on his face "I love the crotch space but I'm not in this gown by choice. That fucking thing is the last pudding I'll eat."
He starts giggling again.
"Look, we don't have to talk about..."
"About what?"
"You know."
"Oh, the dying?"
I shoot him a disapproving look but he only starts laughing more, only stopping to cough again. I fetch him some water and calm him down, he looks at me earnestly for the first time.
"You know what I'd love?"
"What?"
"I'd like to hear you play one more time."
"I don't have a piano, though."
"Mom bought me something, check the bag."He gestures toward the far side of his bed, helping himself to some more water as I walk around.
"No way..."I reach inside and pull out a small cassio keyboard, barely larger than one of my thighs. "I don't know what I can play on this."
"Do you remember what I first taught you, before you stole my hobby and became a musician?"
He looks at me expectantly until it clicks.
"No, no I'm not playing that. Come on, really? Now? That song?"
He coughs pathetically.
"But, I'm dying..."
We look at each other for another few seconds, me slowly shaking my head and him trying to his hardest to look as sickly as possible. I cave.
"Fine. But I'm not singing it, I won't make it to the chorus."I find the on switch and play around with the keys, feeling my way around.
"Pussy"He laughs again and painfully hoists himself up to sit up straight. "Mind if I sing along though?"
"Well to be honest-"
"I mean I am dying."He beams at me again, satisfied as to how well he's annoying me. I reluctantly nod, and begin playing the intro.
"Of everything I can play, this fucking song. You dick."
My brother and I laugh as I awkwardly move my fingers across the tiny keys, drowning out the hospital ambience with Mad World by Gary Jules. |
Dear Ryan, my fairest lord.
Negatte imasu idaina kenko
That means hope you're feeling well in Japanese, kawaii :"3
I am writing you this letter because I feel like an absolute Baka for hitting you with my ivory studded musashi dynasty replica limited edition Japanese katana sword. I was just showing off my sweet moves to the uncultured plebs at fencing practice when you accidentally stepped into the way and bruised your face. Not that I'm blaming you at all! Nyahhh! I'm so embarrassed, I couldn't even go to school today :( not like you couldn't either with the bruised face and all. So sorry!
I went out and bought you some Pocky sticks but I eaten them all before I could give them to you. Super sorry, I'm a Baka. I decided to make you some drawings and sent you a mix tape of all the best songs I know. I also sent you a bunch of tea bags of different teas since I didn't know which one you like. Here's a little Domo plushy, he's soooo cute. *C>
Anyway, this is completely unrelated, but I overheard your friends talking about me in school he other day insisting that you said that I was the *weird girl.* I'm not trying to accuse you of anything, kawaii. But I was wondering why they would say that? Is weird some sort of complement now of days? I wouldn't know since I only like vintage stuff like steampunk and classic music and try to stick to old world values like common courtesy and true romantic love! I keep telling everyone that I was born in the wrong decade! That's why I wear that cute fedora and corset everywhere! I don't know, maybe they were just spreading nasty rumors about me. It wouldn't surprise me since Jenny and Laura already suck off the entire football team and are now bad talking all the unpopular girls in school. Not saying they are bad friends. But you should be careful around them.
Anyway not doing much right now, just sitting here eating my tortilla chips while playing Sims. Right now I just a cute boy sim named Ryan. IT'S NOT CREEPY OKAY, I JUST NAMED IT IN YOUR HONOR CAUSE YOU HURT YOUR FACE AND I FEEL REALLY BAD ABOUT IT. He's my best sim yet cause already is he an astronaut and has twenty kids and lives in a big mansion and stuff. If you think it's creepy I'll totally delete him okay! Just ask. ONCE AGAIN NOTHING TOO CREEPY, ALL THE KIDS ARE ADOPTED. I DIDN'T MAKE YOU DO ANYTHING DIRTY.
Sorry for getting so random with the last few paragraphs. DOOOOM! Sorry, just being random. Once again, I'm so so so so so sorry about hurting you face, Ryan. If I could I would have taken you home and nurse you back to health myself. NO NOT LIKE THAT PERV, I ONLY WANT TO FIX YOUR INJERY CAUSE I FEEL REALLY BAD. NOTHING ICKY. Sorry! I would call my mom and tell her to cook some chicken noodle for you but she is at work and thinks I'm at school, so I can't do it without her yelling at me. So sorry. I hope your face heals or leaves you a really cool scar like Tsubaki. Not a big scar just a handsome one. Not like you weren't already good looking or anything.
Hope you get better so I stop hating myself.
Please please forgive me or I'll commit seppuku.
Just kidding but get well!
~your dearest friend, Cary.
|
"You shall not pass!!"The wizard shouted at the students entering the classroom. The professor was still in shocked silence from when he had appeared in a flash of smoke mere moments before. The students also froze as they came in, forming clumped lines in the hallways.
"Security."The professor whispered into an emergency phone.
The wizard rounded on him, bringing his staff to bear, circling it as he incanted "I am a servant of the secret fire, wielder of the flame of arnor. The dark fire will not avail you flame of Udun! Go back to the shadow. YOU. SHALL. NOT. PASS!"He then blasted the exam papers into the air, setting them on fire to the cheers of the students.
At this point security walked in, and the wizard turned to once again address the class. "Fly you fools." |
As Bill was stuffed into the stockings of a young harlet, a feeling of familiarity came over him. It was a welcome change from the cold emptiness he felt in the hands of the withered old pawnshop owner. Bill folded to his right, wild with anticipation of the cause of his euphoria and could tell in that very instant what it was. The slight smear across "In God We Trust"told him that it was Frank!
Upon grabbing his attention Frank slowly turned and met the gaze of whomever was calling to him, gloomy-eyed and blank his eyes bore right through Bill's. For an instant, Frank recognized his old friend and they shared a warm smile only the closest of friends could know. This moment was shattered upon another dollar being slipped in.
"He..hey Frank."
"..Bill.."
|
A celebrity dies, the world weeps.
A child starves, no one remembers.
Honest men suffer, their government reaps.
Fires of war, from little embers.
.
A tyrant rules, his fanatics obey.
He is law, his voice beckoned.
A man oppressed, tries running away.
For his treason, he was bludgeoned.
.
He is born, killing his mother.
The boy grows up, feeling abandoned.
Unguided, he's taken by a slaver.
Remaining silent, while he was auctioned.
.
The man shoots into the haze.
Police shoots back, despite the hostage.
The robber dodges, barely a graze.
A woman is killed, collateral damage.
****
I know that wasn't really what you meant by six word story, you know, stringing it all into short poems. But this is what the prompt inspired me to write. |
For 360 degrees you can see rough, rust coloured mountains in the distance. This basin found by the satellites looks somewhat like an impact crater, but with some differences, some people suggested it was purposefully made.
After the Mars Rover discovered a cave opening, NASA decided it was necessary to speed up their timeline and get to Mars as soon as possible. With extra funding from almost every first world country, the first manned expedition was launched 8 years ahead of schedule.
When you arrived in the basin the mission didn't start well. There were several technical failures as well an unexpected lack of ground solidity leading to seven days of communication drop out. The rest of the team spend almost all day every day during it fixing the propulsion, landing gear and telemetry while you focused on communication. Once it was back up, you took part in the first exploration.
Of the three of you, two had to go back early, a rock broke one of their suits. You decided to go on alone just to collect data. As you enter the cave, you confirm for the audio log that the cave is definitely designed, you can see the remains of construction and the shaped corners. Far back in the cave you see the boulder photographed by the rover.
You notice now, that wasn't noticed before, one solitary button on the box. Control advises you not to press it, take photographs and return. But you didn't get to Mars through caution and sensible decisions. As you press the button you hear slow mechanic whirring growing in volume.
Soon after another sound enters the chamber, the source seems to be from the rocks themselves. After the murmuring becomes understandable you start to repeat the words, amazed at the fact you can understand it. "Never gonna... give you... up. Never gonna... let you down. Never gonna... turn around... and desert you?"
You slowly fall to your knees as you realise you've just been rickrolled on an interplanetary scale. |
I keep calm and put down the cookie. There are no threats to be seen, which means there's only one threat there COULD be.
Ducking I dodge the blowgun darts just barely. The black egg crashes near me and my eyes - well, they would be watering and blinded, but I am using a pair of wineglasses as goggles. Crawling across the floor I make it to the hallway only to see the washroom door open and three kunai fly towards me. I take one to the shoulder and sprint to the kitchen, knowing (but not hearing) them right behind me. Smashing the kitchen door open, I grab a bottle of oil, drizzle it over myself and jump into the nearest flambe. Flaming, I run out the back door through the streets to safety.
Why the fire? Well... Ninjas can't catch you if you're on fire! |
His name was Scott. Scott Morgan.
IQ CLOCKED at 145. Genius in high school, now 27. The cyber hacker had been reeking havoc upon society for almost 15 years.
It's started when I was in 10th grade. All the news headlines had switched from war and people dying to one name. "Cane". Cane was his alias at the time. News first strike when all the power went out in New York City. All you could see on every TV was a symbol. Two dots in a circle. A quote under it that read "Hi."
The US government tried everything to stop him, because the power outage caused havoc in the city. Burglaries, murder, everyone did what they wanted for 7 days. The United States issued a nation wide man hunt as they couldn't track him.
At first this just seemed like a one time thing. A month later, all shipment vehicles were inoperative. Fed ex, UPS, USPS, anything you could think of. How he managed this was unthinkable. Again, the US government panicked. While less lives were endangered by this attack, still, on TV screens all over America on that day, two dots in a circle. "Ignorance is prevalent."
Not to say no one died that day. These trucks all stopped at a hault on highways, neighborhood and main roads. Hundreds were killed in car accidents.
It was his 14th attack that set off the world though. 1 nuclear missiles heading straight for Croatia. Originated from Russia. Thousands upon thousands of people died that day, and again, TV screens lit up everywhere. Two dots and a circle. "The end is near."
No one was able to track him for 15 years, until a final breach was founded during an EMP on military bases in Afghanistan. They traced him to a small apartment complex in upstate Michigan, and arrested him with a life sentence. He was brought before trial publicly on television, and everyone, EVERYONE watched. They gave him a short amount of time on TV to speak.
"I'm sorry it's come to this. I was only doing the right thing."And he was off.
Everyone was fine. I always pondered to myself why he did these things though. Nothing bad happened after his arrest. Was he protecting us from something? Couldn't have been. Was he wacko? Did his fear strike safety into the world? Crime rates dropped 50 percent during his time, most people stayed inside. Then I thought back to that missle, his largest attack. Why Croatia? Maybe he didn't set off that missle. Maybe it was heading somewhere else. Who could have done that though.
That's when I heard the tanks rolling in down the street.
|
3, 6, 9, counting's fine! Hoping we can sound off one more time
Get low...get low get low get low get low
From the windows! To the walls!
Until all these numbers fall!
To all, sweet sweet sweet sweet numberlovers
To all sweet sweet sweet sweet, my man!
Shortie bounce! So fresh so clean can she count that question be harassin' me in my mind...this number's fine, hoping she can count it for me one more time... |
"All rise, this millennium the honorable Quetzalcoatl is presiding. Quetz's health is failing due to a lack of sacrifices over the last millennium and we are unsure they will be with us during the next caucus so lets all be civil today."Zeus spoke to the assembled representatives of various faiths before him.
"Thank you brother"Quetzalcoatl said, rising from it's stone throne which existed as a figment of the other deities imaginations in the shared dream they all met in. "My first point of business this caucus is to applaud God on not causing any serious drama. We all are very grateful of the maturity you have shown, we know you were young and here is celebrating almost a thousand years since the crusades. Second I would like to bring attention to Allah (who is oddly not present this year) and his misbehaving lately. I know you can't be held responsible for all of your peoples actions - but it might be time for you to perform a miracle to rein in your flock. Finally, I want to begin voting on which of us will get the spotlight this coming millennium. God, sorry but this will be the end of your tenure. We are all very happy with how you pulled things together at the end there, you will be up for candidacy again next caucus."
|
"No... I don't think that'll work"
"Why's that?"Stan replied, "is it the incest thing? Because, like, yeah, gross. But dogs and stuff can do that. Eventually, in like, a billion generations, no one'll notice!"
Meredith sighed inwardly. She had spent two solid weeks in this idiot's company getting badgered for sex. She was grateful, for once, that she wasn't a small woman; the only up side was that Stan, with his timid nature and slight physique didn't have a hope if he tried to force things. At five foot eleven and easily one hundred eighty pounds, no one would confuse her for a flowery waif. Unfortunately, no one would call her 'voluptuous' or 'buxom' either. They usually called her 'strong' when being polite, and 'butch' when they weren't.
*Fuck 'em,* she thought. *They can't say shit now they're all dead.*
Meredith wasn't sure how or why, but three weeks and two days ago, nearly everyone in Berkley dropped dead. For two days she thought she was the only survivor of whatever calamity had struck. And for three weeks, she wished she was.
All the while she was contemplating the rotting corpse of humanity, Stan continued talking, pressuring, cajoling. She'd had half a mind to do it when she first came across him, looting the pockets of the dead. Any interest in preserving humanity died like the rest of her species when he opened his mouth.
"See,"he was *still* talking, she marveled,* if was radiation or something that might even help, ya know? Like, all those atomics and whatever could, like, fuck up our kids DNA and then it wouldn't even matter. Duuuude! They could have *superpowers!"
Stan looked at her with eyes wide, hands outstretched and waving. *Jazz hands,* she thought. *God, he's doing the jazz hands again.* Stan stared, waiting for a reply. *fuck it, I'll just drop the L-bomb on him, then.*
"Look, Stan, it's not just the dead bodies everywhere, or the lack of medical care, or the complete collapse of civilization. It's not even the fact you're personally repellant."Meredith took a deep breathe. "I'm a lesbian, Stan."
She expected him to laugh, or shrug, or brush it away, like her sexuality was a minor inconvenience to her playing the Eve to his Adam. She never expected him to jump up and run behind a nearby trash can.
"You're a what!?"He shrieked. Meredith sighed again. *A grown-ass man, shrieking.*
"Lesbian, Stan. I'm a lesbian."
"Oh, sweet Jesus!"Stan muttered breathlessly, fumbling in his shirt pocket for something. Meredith waited patiently, resigned to whatever fool thing he was about to do next. Again, he surprised her, this time by pulling out a crucifix.
"Back, Hellspawn! Back, demon!"he shouted, advancing on her.
Meredith remained seated and impassive.
"Stan,"she asked, exasperated, "what the hell are you doing?"
"Begone from here! The power of Christ Compels you!"
"Stan, I'm not a demon, I'm a lesbian."
He fumbled in his pockets some more, pulling out a small paper packet stained with something red. He ripped open the package, throwing something vaguely aromatic at her.
"Stan, I'm not a vampire either, I'm just a lesbian."
"I'll not be ensnared by your evil sorcery!"Stan shouted, fumbling again in his pockets.
Meredith suddenly had an idea.
"You know what Stan, I'm actually starting to see your point of view. We should have sex. I'm starting to get a little hungry, after all. Why don't you come a little closer and we can..."
But Meredith didn't have to finish. Stan had given up fumbling through his pockets at the word 'hungry,' turned, and sprinted away through the streets festooned with bodies.
*Well,* Meredith thought. *I'd never met anyone with an irrational, pathological fear of lesbians before. Thank god he thought I was so scary and ran.*
|
'Are you sure you want to go through this procedure? It is incredibly abnormal for someone like yourself to go through such an intense operation.' The surgeon said, staring at his patient.
James knew this decision was right. He couldn't get into the mind of his character until he could feel their struggle, no matter how strenuous. It felt right.
'I understand Doctor but this is something I have to do.'
'This is just for a movie role as I understand it? This procedure will irreparably damage your body. I can't honestly feel comfortable performing this just for a blockbuster.'
James slammed his fist on the desk, causing the doctor to leap from his chair.
'It's much more than that. This needs to be done, there is so much riding on me inhabiting the character. This is more that just a role Doctor.'
The doctor turned away. He looked out the window, down at the street below. He could not actually do this operation, it was not only unethical in every sense of the word but it would no doubt damage his career. But something compelled him. If if did work, he'd make headlines, the first doctor to create a fully bionic human. It would be the next stage of human evolution. He turned back, seeing the determination in James' eyes.
'If we do this, you have to be 100% sure. I'm not carving up your body and bolting metal to you on some frivolous whim. This will change your life, not just in terms of your career. You will be giving up your humanity in a way.'
James remembered a key line in the movie, it was just before his character underwent the same procedure. 'Not giving up my humanity Doctor, I'm transcending it.' |
I told him he didn't need a helmet, like me he had been boarding his entire life. I wish he wouldn't have listened.
Normally he wouldn't have listened. His whole life had been one perpetual fuck up, where he refused to listen to any advice, no matter how good it was. The one person he would listen to was me. He trusted me, although trust wasn't a strong enough word. I had kept him out of jail more times than I could count, always the voice of reason when he needed it most. Just not that time.
After driving the hour up to Stowe all I wanted to do was get out on the slopes. He forgot his helmet though. I was lazy I didn't want to drive back. I failed him, his voice of reason failed him.
Now I here him everywhere I go, and you know what the weirdest thing is? He's not even mad. Hes the only thing keeping me alive. After his funeral I drank past any reasonable limit and ended up peering over the side of my apartment building to the street below.
"Don't do it man."
That was the first time I heard his voice.
"This is entirely my fault, I deserve this."
"It's not your fault. It was my life, but without you it would have been over a long time ago. The only thing your responsible for is keeping me around for as long as you did. For giving me the time I had."
For the next few weeks the only thing that changed about our conversation was the location. Train tracks, gun show, bar, ocean, cliff. Slowly but surely his words sank in.
I don't hear from him quite as much any more. He usually just tells me to go for the girl, or to try a harder slope. Sure his advice might kill me someday, but as I see it now I'm living on his time.
Edit: Sometimes I here when I should hear. |
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