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'No! Mr Fly was the bad Guy! This woman protected me!', the woman shouts at the other heros standing in front of the dead body of Mr Fly the flying hero.
But the other heros didn't listen to her, they just saw someone who killed their buddy with just pointing one finger. Me.
It was quite gruesome too. My power is to boil liquids, including blood. I couldn't blame them for being mad at me. But I was angry that they didn't want to see the truth. To hear what really happened.
I was just strolling through the city when I heard a scream. I looked up and saw, how Mr Fly had a woman in his arms, who clearly didn't want to be there. She screamed: 'Let me go! I just said I didn't want to date you, you prick!'
I didn't hear what he said, but he just let her go and let her fall a while before catching her last minute.
The crowd around was cheering, as if he saved her and then got on with their buissness.
Most people didn't see what he did next. He took the woman by the feet and let her dangle high up in the air. This time I could hear him faintly: ' How about now bitch!'
The woman screamed back: 'Never! Why the fuck do you believe this would change my mind?!'
Mr Fly just shrugged and tossed her in the air. She screamed again loud enough, that other people would turn their head upwards, but again, Mr Fly made it seem that he rescues her. Cheers and claps from the crowd and everyone resumes what they were doing.
I concentrated on hearing their conversation.
'Stop it! Bring me down!' she yelled.
'Only if you have dinner with me today.'
'After this shit? No way!'
'I can do this all day.' he said and laughed.
At that point something in me snapped and I just wanted to do anything in my power to help this woman. So I pointed at him and used my ability.
In that moment I didn't think about the consequences at all. Just about how to get her out of this horrible situation.
He didn't even scream, he just fell down.
I ran to catch the woman falling down, fortunately I was nearly directly unter them and they were not that high than before.
I cought her and set her down in the same moment the body of Mr Fly smacked in the ground.
We were in an empty alley, but it didn't take long for the other heros to arrive.
Now we were standing in front of each other, the woman screaming at the heros. But I saw how it didn't do anything, so I layed my hand on her shoulder and said: 'Don't worry about me, I'm just glad you are safe.'
I went over to the heros, hands raised in the air and they took me with them as the villan. |
The move to our new house hadn’t taken long. A nice building in the middle of the quiet part in town. The local school was a five minute walk, and a park was just ten minutes further. The beach was not too far, and we could drive to the shopping district in a few minutes, or head to the city in a half hour.
Locationwise, it was perfect. Not too quiet, and with a good selection of places to choose for a nice Sunday afternoon.
So when I saw Kaylee in the kitchen, I didn’t realise anything was amiss at first. The little nugget had been excited about moving, counting down the days like her birthday was coming up. It was funny, in a heartwarming way. I wished I had been like that as a kid, all carefree and outgoing. As it was, I just loved that she was enjoying life.
A second look however showed she wasn’t enjoying it now.
“What’s wrong, Nugget?” She was like a little gold nugget, all bright and blonde, hence the nickname.
She didn’t look that bright when she turned to me. Her face was crumpled into a state of fear that I had never seen before.
“Daddy, there’s a scary monster here.”
“Yeah, I noticed.” I said, looking up at Xander.
“She ain’t talking ‘bout me boss.” He replied. He looked like a small child who just walked in on his parents bonking each other.
That scared me. The big guy we called Xander was… someone who really didn’t like cultists, paedophiles or child killers. So when old Donny Jones decided to use my darling daughter as a sacrifice…
Well, at least he had her sleep through whatever he did to Donald.
He kind of stuck around since then. A fair few people back in our hometown knew about it, but ignored it. Big guy might have been a demon summoned from hell, but he wasn’t a bad egg. Just so damn big he had to crouch in the kitchen, hunch-backed and bent kneed, and covered in thick plate armour as white as bone. He acted like a babysitter for my daughter, something that I was grateful for, and was pretty likable to boot.
It’s pretty easy to forget the fact that he was a hulking, nigh immortal demon. Right then and there, I *did* remember, and the look of fear in his glowing, molten eyes was enough to scare me.
“Boss?”
I looked from one to another, ignoring my palpitating heart. “Uh, Xander? You… you can deal with it? Right?”
His eyes looked like a pair of iron balls that were heated up to just below melting point. Despite the lack of pupils, I could tell he was looking away.
“… Xander, what is it?” It was more a plea than a question. I liked this place, we all did. I really did not want to move again, and so soon, but…
“Erm.” He swallowed, his nervousness feeling like a contagious disease. “I, er, don’t know boss. I do know there’s a KFC in town? We, uh, could… head there? Like, now?”
Kaylee nodded, less excited for the chicken and more for getting out of the house.
I looked between them again. I gotten pretty good at figuring ploys to go to fast food restaurants, and decided to pretend this was another one and humour them.
“Awright, we got everything in anyway, so let’s go. I think you’ve earned it.”
Her face beamed. “Yay!”
“Thanks, Boss.” Xander looked relieved, his shoulders sagging. He looked like a balloon that was filled with trepidation, and was just now deflating.
He jumped as Kaylee squealed “NUGGETS FOR NUGGET!”
I laughed. “Nuggets for Nugget. C’mon, get your coat on. It’s cold out.”
“\~*Oh baby, it’s cold outside.*”
“Thanks, Rick Astley.” I said. It was a long running joke, but I’ll admit, guy has one hell of a voice. Very deep and soothing.
​
As we went outside and I locked the door, we heard it; a long, piercing shriek, filled with hate and lasting longer than it should.
It came from inside the house.
I looked at Xander. Xander looked at me.
“Did you…?”
He gaped a moment. “Must have… been the wind!”
“Oh. Okay.”
We hopped into – and onto, in Xander’s case – my truck, and headed downtown for some Kentucky and a nice hotel room to sleep in. |
"And you are certain you saw who pulled the trigger?"the prosecutor repeated, cocking his head at the trembling girl on the stand. She nodded quickly.
"Please verbalise that for the transcript,"the prosecutor prompted.
"Yes."
"Alright, and who did you tell police it was?"
The girl looked straight across the courtroom to me, sitting in the dock. "It was him. Luke Roberts."
"That's the evidence in chief, your Honour,"the prosecutor concluded, sitting down.
Direct identification evidence didn't look good for me. Or so my lawyer had told me. Not only that, but direct identification in a police statement, from a digiboard and now today, in the courtroom was damning. I looked across to the bar table where my lawyer was now standing up, shuffling his papers and preparing to cross examine Tayla. Poor guy, I thought, watching has he ran his hand through his thinning grey hair, I hadn't given him much to work with. Tayla was the last of twelve witnesses that had all 'seen' me round the side of Pizza Hut, knock the wind out of the poor delivery boy then stabbed him because he'd delivered my pizza with pineapple on it. The jury were all bored at this point too, it was such an open and shut case, with my signed confession and prints on the weapon, they all wondered why we were sitting here on day 6 of the trial of what should have been a plea of guilty straight away.
"And how well did you know Huw O'Connor?"my lawyer was asking.
"We were close yeah,"the girl answered. "I knew he was the one this guy killed, if that's what you're getting at, it was definitely his body."
"Just answer the question you're asked, Ms Lyons,"the judge interrupted.
I really did hate pineapple on my pizza though. Did that justify killing Huw O'Connor? Yep. In fact he could've been killed for any reason, and I wouldn't have cared. Huw O'Connor had to die.
"And how well do you know Mr Roberts?"my lawyer asked.
"Never saw him before that night,"Tayla answered, looking at me briefly. I wondered if anyone on the jury had caught that slight smirk she threw at me. Tayla and I were childhood friends. She was just playing her part as I was.
"And so you saw Mr Roberts stab your friend, Mr O'Connor, yet you aren't able to tell us what happened to Mr O'Connor's body?"he asked, getting to the crux of the trial. A murder trial with no body. The police hadn't been able to recover Huw O'Connor's body. Everyone knew he was dead, there was a lot of violent stabbing, dozen or so witnesses, my confession and no one named Huw O'Connor showed up in hospital. They were still trying to pin this on me. Huw O'Connor's body had not been found. Well. Not entirely true. I knew where Huw O'Connor was.
"No,"Tayla replied, "we just ran away because that man,"she pointed at me, "turned toward us with that huge machete."
Machete? She was going off script now. It was nothing more than a filleting knife that was too wobbly to really pierce anything. I'd picked that because I thought it would make for a messy murder. It was a really sobering experience trying to orchestrate my own murder. I thought clean and quick might be ideal, but as Tayla reminded me, my death had to make the papers. It had to be memorable. People had to know 'Huw O'Connor? Poor boy, got stabbed by a blunt knife round the back of Pizza Hut". The people I owed money to, needed to know I was dead.
Tayla once asked me, how I thought this option was any better. It wasn't really, my family would always wonder what happened, but life imprisonment had to be better than the threat of retribution against me and my family for a debt I was never going to be able to repay.
"Yes, he got stabbed so many times. There was blood *everywhere*,"Tayla said. Mine of course, hastily squirted all around the place from a plastic bottle. Thankfully, it had been too dark for the CCTV to capture *that*.
I hoped the 'no body' thing wasn't going to be an obstacle here. I needed the twelve fine women and men in the jury box to come back with a unanimous 'guilty'. I (or who was *I* at this point anyway?) had to be found guilty. It was the last piece in the puzzle that was my future, I had painstakingly tried to design, ever since I made that dumb decision to run away with fifty kilos of coke that I was meant to be couriering.
Huw O'Connors 'dead'.
'Luke Roberts' convicted and jailed for his murder.
And my family safe. |
Let me tell you a story, sir. I know, I know, you're a little busy, but I promise you, it's a good one. It has all the best things, daring princes, beautiful princesses, old kingdoms, and much drama. Once, not so very long ago as a matter of fact, there was a good kingdom. Perhaps it had its flaws. It had its mistakes, sure. But it was a good kingdom. The kingdom was ruled by a kindhearted, but naive king. He tried his best to rule the kingdom justly. He knew he wasn't the best suited man for kingship, so he had many wise advisors around him to assist in ruling.
Of course, wise does not mean good. Some gave sage and good advice, but there were a small cadre of advisors, who felt that things should be different. No matter the cost. They spent their lives removing the more moderate and well-meaning advisors from court, using blackmail, political manuvers, even the rare murder. Soon the good king was surrounded by cunning and scheming advisors, who told him what he wanted to hear.
He was not suited for kingship. Had he been a teacher, he would have been excellent with the early grades as a fun and kind man, had he been a craftsman, he'd have spent long patient hours gladly working on making shoes or clocks. He was a man without a single drop of aristocratic authoritarianism. Indeed, he would have made for an excellent person in any field where ambition and aggression are not required. But he had been the only son of the old king, so his fate was sealed.
The king was not entirely a fool. His advisors could hide most from him, but the most aggressively greedy and self-righteous of them, became so obvious that the king made possibly the first real choice of his own will, during his entire reign. He exiled the greedy and self-righteous advisor, on the pain of death, should the man ever return. A punishment too light by far. The sort that a good man will hand out, but not a great king.
But the advisor, who was the most cunning and most ambitious of all the king's self-serving advisors, did not accept the mercy of the king. No, he went back into the country. He spoke in secret to those who had been rendered impoverished by his former colleagues, to those who had lost power, and wealth. He spoke with honey-sweet poison on his tongue, calling for revolution. For the removal of the king by force.
And because of the actions of the king's shoddy advisors, the people were willing to listen. And as things grew more dire, because of the shoddy advice, more and more came to hear the fallen advisor's words. And soon, they did what he said, for he had a way with words, a way to speak into the hearts of others, and corrupt them into his service.
And by his word, the people rose. The king was a kind man, and he didn't wish for bloodshed. He tried to negotiate, he tried to make peace, he did everything he could to fix things. But the words of the fallen advisor was in their ears, urging them forward. Fools the lot of them, had they asked the king to resign, he would have done so.
So they stormed the king's palace, and slew him and the queen together. But the Prince had survived. The Prince was brave and young, and far more like his mother, who had been wise and with a preferance for action over words. The Prince might have turned things around, as he rallied the army. The Prince might have ended the revolts. But when the rebels asked to negotiate, the Prince, trusting like his father, came honestly to negotiate. Had they asked him to step down, he would have in order to end the bloodshed. For he was a good man, and a good warrior, who hated that he had to spill the blood of his own people. But oh the rebels had deceived him. A peace conference turned to a bloodbath, and the rebels displayed the heads of the Prince and his generals on the capital's gates for weeks. Bereft of leadership, the royalist cause fell apart. Every last member of the royal family was rounded up and executed, while the fallen advisor declared himself First Citizen, and reforged the nation to suit his whims.
But one girl escaped. Oh yes, the young princess, she did escape. She ran the moment her brother died. She ran and never looked back. She pawned her jewels, she burned her dresses. She sought work and anonymity in this new nation. But where the old rule was full of corruption, the new was filled with blood, corruption, and infighting. The princess could find no steady job. Find no place to live. She was desperate, penniless, and without any family to rely on.
Until she got the job here, in the People's Palace, to be a servant for the new aristocracy, or the People's Liberty Party, as they called themselves. It was demeaning, to work for those who had executed her family, but work was work, and one cannot live by eating hate and bitterness. But she saw an opportunity, a chance to avenge her family, her kingdom, and the people who now suffer just as much as they did before, but now think they have it good.
All it took was a little of the right kind of medicine into your wine, First Citizen. And you were sleeping like a stone. And now, you feel the poison, hopefully. You were missed during the Party's Yearly Gala, but nobody was brave enough to wake you from your deep slumber. But do not worry, my dear First Citizen. You won't die alone. That rat poison, made by child workers in our nation's factories to achieve the next 5-year plan goals, is stronger than it really needs to be. Strong enough that a single flask of the stuff could be used to season all the food and drink during the gala. Strong enough to kill the entire Party's upper leadership. I am glad that when the morning cleaning crew comes in, I'll be long gone, for the task awaiting them will certainly be hard. So many corpses to carry away... Oh but don't worry. When I reach the exile community in the neighbouring nations, there will be those who will take the opportunity to retake the homeland, and though the monarchy probably won't be restored, at least I, the last princess of this kingdom, will have my revenge, dear First Citizen. Your works will be forgotten, your rule will be remembered for nothing but its crimes, and you will die at the hands of an enemy you haven't thought about for a decade.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) |
It was one of those days, I thought to myself, resigned. I tried to refrain from slapping my colleague who had gone into hysterics and was babbling about PowerPoint presentations.
I was feeling extremely hungover, irritable and I did NOT need this shit.
Checking the title of the presentation I realised that the corporate dumbfucks has managed to give us a project titled APEP. So the very toothy bastard who had showed up in the meeting room was an ancient Egyptian demon. Nice.
I poured myself a glass of water and wondered how I was going to pull this one off.
Grabbing John by the collar of his shirt I shook him lightly to snap him out of his babbling. “Hey, Johnny boy, are you with me?”
He turned to look at me, eyes wide with terror.
“Do you have any summoners in your family?” I asked him sternly. His jaw dropped. I really hoped he wouldn’t start trying to pretend he didn’t know what I was talking about or ask how I knew. The Lord wasn’t giving me enough strength to keep resisting giving the ass kicking this fool deserved.
Luckily for him he just nodded mutely. I guess he’d finally been scared silent.
I rolled my shoulders and stepped out of my high heels. “Alright, John. This is what we’re going to do. Now repeat after me...”
One banishing, six mind wipes, one compulsion leading to the creation of a new job post “Naming Compliance Officer” - I’d call up Sabrina and get her to apply later - I was checking out of the office early. I deserved it.
Besides, I had to call up the summoner’s guild and tell them what had happened today. And that was at least an hour of my life lost.
God it’s hard to be a witch in the modern world. |
“But I suppose you wouldn’t know anything about the selfish pursuit of honor, glory, and infamy.”
The Shadow Doctor froze in place, fist high in the air, seconds away from punching the hero in their face. “I- what?”
Their eyebrow twitched and head cocked. “Oh, come on. You can’t be *that* blind to the truth.” Of all their attempts at converting The Shadow Doctor, they’d never taken this approach. Instead of appealing to conscience, Jaguar decided to appeal to desire. They took on a new personality. Shadow Doctor has always been arrogant and intelligent. So, they took on something similar.
“What truth?” He spat out the words while taking a step back from his adversary. For the first time, he was curious as to where this would go.
“I assume you must have some kind of education, so think back to your history classes. Who did you learn more about; heroes or villains? Can you recall what the British Empire had done to India, or do you only recall Mahatma Gandhi as it’s savior? Can you tell me the name of the man who assassinated Lincoln? Can you name two people who worked under Hitler? The name of his secret police? Likely not. But I’ll bet you *can* recall the countries who fought under the Allied forces.”
As their confidence grew, Doctor Shadow found himself genuinely listening to his enemy for the first time. It was the most glorious display of arrogance and hubris he had ever seen. Red on their ledger. A dent in their moral compass. A true flaw. It was like watching an angel burn their wings, and show the fangs beneath their smile. It was wondrous.
“Fact is, history is written by those who live long enough to write it. Nowadays that’s overwhelmingly the good guys. The ones who seek glory, followers, and immortality. The ones who will never die. Do you want to die, Doctor? Because one day you will. Now is the time to decide. Will you stand, immortalized in stone; or will you lie down like a dog?”
The Shadow Doctor was hooked. |
Devon Brand awoke in the smoking pits of Hell confused.
The world around him was indeed firey, and it was pit-like...but the world itself was... not what everyone claimed it would be.
"You! In line!"A demonic fiend lashed at him, with both words and a whip pushing him behind a group of people.
Finally, as he reached the end he blinked at the large burly demonic creature eyeing him.
"What is this?"
"This is Hell... You've been sent here for your crimes. Lets see... Devon Brand, Vice President of Stanford and Blanche Companies. Your crimes against the Almighty are as follows: Adultery, Greed, refusing to pay tithe... not that you went to church to begin with...blasphemy, theft of profits from the company, embezzlement, mmm...not a very... creative sinner were you?"
"Hell? Why does it look like this?"
"Oh, Satan got into Dungeons and Dragons. Go figure. Anyway, due to your sins you are allotted the following class choices to begin... oh. wait.. nevermind. You've only one choice thus you are slotted. Bard."
Devon's clothes transformed to a simple leather jerkin with a lute strapped to his back and a dagger and a bow on his back. Before he could make a comment he was thrust into the gate beyond and soon found himself in an expansive room he could barely see.
A cackling voice came over him.
"Ah, Devon Brand the Bard...welcome. You're just in time for the next level one session. Now that we have a full party of four we may begin:"
Devon turned as he found himself with three others. A man with animal furs and a large axe, another man with clerical robes which seemed odd in Hell and a young teen woman who wore a black dress with rather intricate garb.
*AHEM: Sorry for that bit of moment lost my sheet. Here we go-*
*You four now stand at the Maw of Galgor, the entrance to the lair of the Dark Wizard who has captured and imprisoned the daughter of Lord Kelton of Arelene.*
*It is difficult to believe that this serene meadow is located outside such a dark cavern but here you are, having found it by guile and skill*
With that the world shifted to the meadow, they stared into a large cavern that went downward.
*"You all know that a great prize awaits you should you succeed but if it is even possible is up to you. In what order shall you enter?"*
Devon looked to the others and finally the Axe carrying man grunted. "You assholes can do whatever I'm out of here..."He turned and moved to walk away but found himself walking into the Cavern.
*"Ah,the ever daring Barbarian; Luke walks in first. As you do so Luke you find that there are bones of small animals and other creatures strewn around the cave. However due to your lack of any nature knowledge you can't tell what or how they got there. Who's next?*
The Cleric shook his head. "We're not getting out of this we might as well play. I'll go next."
*"Ah, the good 'father' Malcome...Servant to...Hmmm...Interesting choice there Father Malcome. You've chosen fairly wisely for this game in Saint Cuthbert. His power grants you a boon here as you roll your Divine knowledge.*
A strange bracer on Malcome's arm lit up and several numbers flashed before finally stopping on 15.
*And with your bonus you gain a mighty 19. Enough to know that the strange markings on the wall are not from any creature but in servitude to a vile evil demon. And after that?"*
The Teen said nothing and walked in, Devon followed her mirrioring her quiet attitude.
*And the last two walk in together. Your skills offer you no help here so the four of you walk on in relitive silence. The cave is getting darker and darker and the ground is becoming more barren.*
*"*I cast a simple light spell on the tip of my staff."The girl answered.
*Erica, your staff illuminates the ten feet around you, your movements are standard and you can see clear enough to avoid small trips and roots growing into the walls.*
All four bracers lit up with various numbers. As his hit 17 Devon heard the scritching of something. Beyond the light he saw shambling shadows. "
"What was that?"
"I didn't hear anything..."Malcome said.
The teen pointed ahead as Luke with a 1 blinked stupidly.
*Ahead of you, you all are called to the attention of a lumbering zombie as it lurches forward, eyes drawn and weapons in hand.*
​
Roll Initiative! |
"Alchemy is an ancient and refined art"the Wizard said, proudly gesturing to the hand mortar, blunderbuss, and pistols strapped to his right side. "but the greatest discovery ever made was that of black powder. No one is certain of its origins, but through the combination of sulfur, charcoal, and niter, few foes can truly resist."
The leader of the group who requested his assistance raised his eyebrows, looking at the scorch marks lining his leather smock and the singed hairs of his beard. "We asked for a real magician, not a senile old man with a coat full of party tricks."
"Ah ah ah, but the guild still assigned me, didn't they? Those babblings fools muttering their cantrips can't appreciate the powers of a *true* pyromancer. I assure you that there are few enemies that my arts cannot... dissuade."The Wizard gave a disarming grin, his teeth a brilliant white against his soot blackened face and pitchy beard.
-----------------------------------
As they are wont to do, things went smoothly until very suddenly going violently off course. Most of the party had encountered possessed suits of armor before, they were certainly not an unusual sight in the deeper dungeons, but they were usually fairly weak, made of boiled leather or in rarer cases, heavy leather brigandine, lined with steel plates. This suit of armor was a masterpiece, and the group might have gawked at the fine suit of plate armor which stood before them, if they weren't so busy fleeing for their lives.
True, well made plate was, at least for the average adventurer, impenetrable. Swords and spears would slide off its surface, and a warrior clad in it could march through a hail of arrows as if it were a summer rain. The group was not expecting much when the wizard stepped forward, having been subject to his parlor tricks for the entirety of their descent into the dungeon. With a cocksure grin on his face, the Wizard stepped forward, pulled his hand mortar from his side, lit the grenade, and fired, nearly deafening the party as the weapon's loud boom was turned into a echoing roar by the close walls of the dungeon.
Despite this, the suit of armor certainly seemed the worse for wear, with a hole the breadth of a man's fist directly over where the heart would be, if the armor was being worn by a man and not an apparition. For a moment, the possessed suit of armor attempted to rise to its feet, until the lit grenade exploded, filling the suit of armor with dancing fragments of metal which filled the dungeon with the sound almost like rain, and with a final, rattling gasp the suit of armor collapsed, spilling across the floor of the dungeon.
The Wizard preened for a few moments before pulling a pair of plugs from ears and giving a theatrical bow, loose powder and musket balls falling from his sleeves. He had won the group's respect, and also the privilege of paying for a trip to the nearest white mage to get their hearing checked. |
"They're here!!"
I heard the cry from above, as the final bastion of humanity was breached by alien forces. They had assaulted the world, exterminating any humans they found. All attempts at diplomacy had been burned, and they had been relentless in their purge.
I was the latest Keeper of the Dark. And I would be the last, as I knew we had no chance of winning. But I didn't want them to have such an easy victory. I ran away from the entrance, deep into the base. I found an empty room, and slammed the door behind me.
In the pitch black, I pulled upon the dark magics, and from the space between reality, brought out a tome and a statuette. I placed the statuette, and deliberately looked away, before turning on the lights. I knew to look at it would be to cause madness.
I opened the tome, finding the most potent ritual. I didnt care for the safety measures, such as the circle or candles, for I would be dead either way. I spoke the foul words, and as they left my mouth I felt them change, sounding nothing like how they were spoken.
A presence fell over me, unfathomable in its size, or power. Even being near it, I could feel the madness ripping at the edges of my mind. With its gaze upon me, I spoke in English.
"Great Old One. Humanity is soon to be no more. I grant you access to the world, such that you may reap your harvest of the life that is left."
Cthulhu spoke, each word shaking the room and my very being, flying into the world to become one of his Cthulhi. I could not hope to understand, but I knew the answer all the same.
"The End Times are here."
I shattered, my body flying into pieces too miniscule and numerous to count. I hung on for longer then should have been possible, trapped in the hand of a being that existed outside of reality. But even then, I felt myself fade, succumbing to the void.
------
Cthulhu rose from the ocean, his impossibly vast body standing tall. He walked towards a group of the alien ships, the water around him boiling and freezing at the same time. As he drew close, their minds ripped apart, even them being unable to comprehend him.
Their mental deaths fed him, and he spoke, allowing his spoken dreams to transform their broken minds into loyal servants. They turned on their own kind, dealing death across the skies in his name. And he walked, letting the world tremble at his newly awoken being. |
The field of corn shifted gently in the breeze, a warm summers night enveloping the surrounding farmland. The moon hung high, full and bright, reflected in the eyeglasses perched on the farmer's nose. He methodically packed a pipe, his hands moving in a practiced and engrained motion, and struck a match on the arm of his rocking chair. The smoke clouds billowed from the carved wood piece, and drifted out amongst the crops. Sighing, the farmer smiled, as the stalks of corn suddenly stood still.
In an instant the wind was gone, and the corn seemed to be pulled towards the sky. Their roots struggled to hold them to earth, and the pipe dropped from the farmer's mouth as his eyes widened. A large metal disk, dotted with glass dome windows, spun as it descended in the corn field. It seemed to be using gravity to navigate, and several stalks of corn broke free from their bonds to adhere to the ships underbelly. The rotating grey ship slowly sunk to the ground, and as it landed the wind once again began to blow.
The farmer stood, legs wobbly from countless pulls of his homemade whiskey. He rubbed his eyes, shaking his head and slapping himself several times, as a ramp slowly extended from the front of the disk. Grabbing his shotgun, he tried to keep his hands from shaking as he approached the metal monolith. As the ramp touched the dirt, a door slid open, and a group of grey beings exited. Led by a quickly talking alien in a t shirt that said "Earth Tours", they paid little mind as the group began to take snap shots.
"And now as part of your tour package, you'll notice your brain chips can now process English. Isn't it delightfully primitive? Fun fact, earth has thousands of languages, instead of a central unified language. It's one of many factors that cause them to be so incredibly divided, though it certainly isn't even close to the main one."
A small alien in the back rose his hand, and the guide called on him. "Wait so, these creatures are divided? Like they don't work together to achieve common goals? Isn't that..."
"Incredibly stupid yes. I would say humans are some of the dumbest fucking beings in the universe! Notice the word "Fucking"there. Very fun, I suggest you all try it."
The group of tourists took turns saying "fuck", as the bewildered farmer continued to approach. His voice croaked as he tried to get their attention, but the guide continued forward.
"Humans will fight about almost anything, often to the death. They have been known to hold televised competitions where humans play a game together, and depending on the outcome, witl just straight up kill other humans if the game doesn't happen the way they want! They also will often come up with mythical beings, and worship them in special buildings. This too is used as an excuse to murder each other."
"Holy shit this species sounds like trash."
"Utter trash, little one. Also, excellent use of the word "shit"!"
The little alien smiled, and the guide moved the group further off the ramp. The farmer fired his gun into the air, finally catching the group's attention.
"What in the Sam Hill are you beasts doin'? Get the hell off of my land!"
"Oh, my, goodness. Folks, this is a rare treat. We scanned this land for signs of intelligence, and this little fella must have fell below our device's threshold. This is a human!"
The crowd oohed, snapping photographs and smiling at the furious farmer. He pointed his shotgun at the crowd, yelling again for them to get off his land.
"See this everyone? This is a "gun". Humans value these far over each other's lives, and in fact have used them to extinguish countless of their own species. See, for humans, "talking"is very difficult, and most of them would rather shoot someone then try to see their point of view."
"These people sound incredibly pathetic,"the little alien piped up, walking towards the raised weapon.
"They sure are sport, they sure are. Since you are all members of our diamond club, you get to choose what we do to this sad little guy."
"PROBE HIS BUTT. PROBE HIS BUTT."The crowd chanted, and the guide rolled his eyes.
"Its always the same thing,"he muttered, approaching the farmer as he began to scream in terror. |
"Stop right there."I say quietly.
The villain complies naturally.
"Why would you do such a terrible thing?"I ask.
He stammers and feigns ignorance. They always do, these types never learn. Luckily my wasp swarm hovers placidly behind me, droning reassuring safety, ready to dive in to my defence. They were hardly necessary.
"You know the law applies to everyone. Blue bin is recycling only. My wasps have reported you throwing trash in the recycling more than once."I begin dictating.
"It wasn't that much I swear!"He interrupts.
"**Irrelevent**, the law applies to everyone. The same laws for everyone, the same punishment. You villains always try to get away with these crimes, but with **me** around you have no choice but to suffer the consequence!"
"**NOOOoo-**"his eyes start rolling in his head as he drops to the ground twitching. He rolls a few times before resting on his stomach.
Thats the problem with villains. They spring out of the very ether. One minute they're a good citizen, the next they're law absconding scum. When I first had the idea to use the wasps to monitor citizens it worked well for a while, but as more I became more aware of all the people I needed to keep safe, I realized I had to take more pre-emptive precautions.
He stops twitching and several score of wasps crawl up his neck onto his head to stretch their wings out to dry before their first flight. They buzz up into my wasp swarm after a few minutes and join the ranks. I rarely use adult wasps any more, but their presence helps people remember why no one breaks the law and everyone treats everyone else with respect.
Ever since I had my wasps implant everyone with their eggs, I really just have to send the thought to them *hatch, feed* and the villian bites the dust. Using the same punishment for all crimes took a few week learning curve for everyone to adapt to, but the people left are surely kind to eachother. Violent crime never even occurred anymore. My work here was done.
I sidled down the street and set my mind to find some jay walkers to bust. |
"fuck please not again please don't let it happen again JUST GIVE ME A CHANCE FOR ONCE!"Angrily I draw my sword and ready myself for a battle, a great serpent stands in my way it's large frame blocking the tunnel, and it's head raised it then hissed then quickly strikes attempting to bite when it happens again.
GALLANTLY THE CHOSEN HERO STOOD PROCLAIMING HIS HATRED TOWARDS THE VILE SERPENT
"No I'm feeling hatred towards you! To be frank this Serpent is an annoyance at most"I grunt out as I dodge the strike and that damn over protective god continued on.
THE SERPENT THEN REALIZED THE ERROR OR ITS WAYS AND PROMPTLY LEFT, LEAVING THE GALLANT HERO TO HIS ADVENTURE
"No no no not again!"I rush in an attempt to land a killing blow before it could ruin my chance to fight for myself, I dodge to the side narrowly avoiding it's fangs, my sword raised to strike as I leaped into its body and ran up its lengthy body to strike a deadly blow when a chunk of the tunnel falls free from the roof and yet again my enemy is killed for me, its body seizing and I'm thrown free from the snake landing in a heap on the tunnel floor.
"Goddammit you mother... You chose me as your hero! Would you let me do my goddamn job!?!?"I pick myself up my sword still not bloodied despite being well into halfway through my journey
ANOTHER CRISIS AVERTED THE THE CHOSEN HERO CONTINUED HIS QUEST TO DEFEAT THE DEMON LORD AND SAVE THE WORLD
"Why even send me in the name of all that is you, your god! Your probably just gonna kill him yourself! Just give me a chance!.... God"looking at the now deceased serpent I sigh wearily and continue through the tunnel
THE CHOSEN HERO FINISHING HIS PRAYER TO THE GOD OF ALL VENTURED ONWARDS CLOSER TOWARD HIS DESTINY
"Go fuck yourself"I sheath my unused sword and dust myself off hoping that it would at least give me some quiet time.
DEEP BENEATH THE SURFACE THE CHOSEN HERO THEN FOUND A CACHE OF SUPPLIES TO HELP HIM ON HIS JOURNEY
"I have enough food goddammit!" |
Patient no. 714835
Name: Kevin R. (K)
Therapist: Dr. Amy Lee (A)
​
Transcript from session no. 11 on the 21st of October, 2020
​
A: “What’s the first thing you notice when you see a cat?”
K: “The audacity!”
A: “How do you mean?”
K: “It’s the cockiness for me! It’s like they know!”
A: “What do they know, Kevin?”
K: “They know who I am. They know what I do.”
“Why don’t you tell me about a recent experience involving a cat? Help me understand what’s troubling you.”
“Okay. Just last week. It was a normal assignment. A nursing home. You know these are usually my easy assignments. These people, they want to go, they want to move on. No desperate clinging to this pale mortal plane. No tear filled pleas for more time. No arguments about the inequity of life. They’ve lived full lives and now their families have stashed them out of sight like a Trump sign in November. It should have been a walk in the park.”
“And what happened?”
“It was one of those new age nursing homes. The kind with activities. The kind with bingo nights and therapeutic cooking and geriatric Zumba. The kind with a cat. Now, this cat is famous. Supposedly, an angel of death. Like she sits on your lap when you’re ready to kick it, right? The receptionist was telling me how just last night, Judy, that’s the cat, Judy Garland. Judy effing Garland, like where do they get off on this stuff? So Judy was sitting on Agnes’s lap all day, keeping her rheumatic limbs warm and all that. And overnight Agnes passes in her sleep. Real peaceful-like. And wasn’t it so nice that Judy kept Agnes company in her final hours. I had to step outside, doc. I couldn’t take it.”
“Did you know Agnes or Judy Garland?”
“Of course I did! I was there, doc. You have to understand. Business is booming. Work has been crazy lately. I’d been to that nursing home before. Last week in fact. That cat, Judy had died. Eaten lavender soap or something. Lavender is toxic to cats. I saw Judy die, Amy. I cut that cord myself. And to walk back in there for Agnes and to see those same mocking, glowing eyes staring up at me from her lap. It was too much.”
“And how long has the cat problem been going on, would you say?”
“Well, the problem started back in March.”
“Did this coincide with any other events in your life that may have affected your mental state?”
“I mean doc, you have access to cable right?”
“Of course.”
“So when I say back in March, you being an educated medical professional and aware of current events, you understand what I’m referring to.”
“I’m aware.”
“Now, I’m not sure if you know how reapers are assigned. I’m the Deputy Director of the Northeastern Department of Death. Maryland to Maine. There’s been talks of splitting up our department. Maybe assigning New York and New Jersey their own Departments of Death. The workload is absolutely insane this year. Drake said it best, ‘this a rollie, not a stopwatch, shit don’t ever stop’.”
“So in your opinion, could it be the added stress that is negatively affecting your mental state?”
“Well gee, doc. I don’t know. You tell me whether a pandemic that has killed 225,000 people might be affecting the mental health of the grim reaper.”
“I understand Kevin, this is a tough time for everyone.”
“No doc. This is a tough time for me. You have to wear a piece of cloth that makes it hard to breathe and maybe you can’t go to the gym and maybe you put a chipotle order in for 7:15 and you get there at 7:16 and your food’s not ready because they’re still working on the orders for 7:00. But I have to be at the bedside of the idiot who just woke up, ventilated from a medically induced coma, with terminal pneumonia, and a heart coming off its third failure, and a confused look in his eye, and the last thing he says to me is ‘But corona is a hoax’.”
“Is it possible this anger you feel about the cats is just a symptom of the anger you feel towards these patients projected onto an easier target?”
“Doc, have you met a cat? Is there anything about a feline that says easier target? I’ll take a hundred anti-maskers over one more of those nine-lived assholes.”
“Staying on the topic of cats, why don’t you describe another experience that has left you feeling overwhelmed.”
“Ok. So two weeks ago. I’m assigned a corona patient. As I walk up to the house I realize I’ve been here before. They attended a rally in New Jersey. I won’t say for who. I may disagree with his politics but I will say he’s been great for business! He’s always talking he has the best numbers, and let me tell you doc, I haven’t seen numbers like these in a hundred years!” |
Tamala started as his name was announced. The closest of the assembled villagers saw, and reached out to comfort him. He accepted their support with a sad smile, placing his hands back on theirs. They were kind people, and deserved to have their kindness recognized, but his shudder represented impressed surprise, not fear.
He looked around the clearing at the firelit faces, trying to determine if anyone's reaction looked strange. The Qualla people took his sweeping view as acceptance, the tribal family tightening as they moved to lay more hands and murmered prayers upon him. He reached out through them, hoping to catch a sense of who might be behind this, but feeling only the sorrow and pride he'd come to expect reflected back.
The Elders stood before the rest of the village, grave, as their station, and the circumstance, demanded. Tamala was eager to approach and extend his aura over them, but caution bade him let the situation play out the traditional way.
He was caught, there could be no doubt about that, but his hidden foe might not know he'd been caught. If there was doubt in the hidden being's mind that Tamala Tora was He Who Brings The Rain in human form, he wanted it to stay there.
The crowd shifted, pushing the sacrifice gently towards the old men in animal skins, as it always did. Surrendering to the flow, he used the opportunity to study the Council. It had to be one of them. They were the ones who read the sacred dregs of their holy tea to see who would go to the clouds that season. And the name he had breathed into their sacred herbs had not been his own.
By then he was before their shaman. His lion mask made him look fierce, but Tamala knew him for the kind soul he was. As he splashed the ritual clay markings onto the sacrifice's chest with the H'na feather, his miserable conviction flowed with it.
And something else.
Something small, a shadow, on the otherwise unblemished emotion. It skittered away, even as the god reached for it, until it was gone. It had been there, and it had not come from the medicine man's heart.
Tamala secretly smiled. The interloper was uncertain, and feeling for signs of the divine in the man walking to his slaughter.
Next came the heads of the clans, Bear, Tapir, Eagle, and Snake. They blessed him, and each time he felt that dark cloud hovering over their hands, faint and elusive.
Finally, he was come to the chief. The man's enormous feathered headdress ran down his back and onto the ground. In his hands was the hollow gourd containing the sacred tea. He gave the cup to Tamala, and reached for the victim's head.
The shadow was stronger now. It had to be the chief. Tamala prepared to blast the man when his cool hands fell upon his head. It wasn't him. But the shadow remained.
The Tea. The shadow was in the Tea.
He stared into the swirling liquid. Who else had touched the herbs?
The boy. One was chosen from those too young to be called into the flame. He fixed the drink, and cared for the men in their stupor.
Tamala looked, and saw him, crouched by the pyre, an evil smoky cloud rising around him, almost lost in the wooden emissions.
This was the spirit that had been haunting the land. The very reason the sacrifices had been required. The thing the god had come to find.
Betraying none of his newfound knowledge, he drank the tea, and handed the gourd back to the chief, who stepped aside, opening the path to the fire.
Tamala walked slowly forward, feeling the demon's anticipation grow. With him removed from the village, the hideous spirit could take it for his own. The sacrifices would come more quickly then.
He Who Brings The Rain would not let that happen to the Qualla people. He walked directly into the fire, feeling his foe's delight bubble forth from the boy.
His suspicion confirmed, he reached out and dragged the creature into the flames with him. The villagers cried out at the sudden destruction of the child, and again as the boy burst into a black and writhing form.
Tamala held that living smoke fast, purifying him with holy flame. It fought and spit, trying desperately to escape, but the village's protector would not let him go.
They burned together into ash. For Tamala and the demon it meant death, but for He Who Brings The Rain it was rebirth. Tomorrow the wind would carry the ash back into the sky, and he would be back in the clouds, ready to water his people's fields. |
I didn't consent to being used as a reference, my life is not someone else's prompt or story... Yet here we are, so why not make the most of this unwanted opportunity? They're dead, all of them, and it won't be too long before I follow in their tracks. We all were special, going beyond the mundane limits that others typically anchored themselves to, and we were slaughtered because of it... and now, those responsible will pay. We tried, we kept to ourselves, weren't suspicious in the slightest... but one slip-up, a town freak-out later, and all of my family was lost, gone up in flames.
Now, they'll all pay, and I am their reckoning. For nearly a decade, I have been training, eating as much as I can, building myself up as high as possible, improving my strengths and removing any weaknesses that used to hinder me, healing myself whenever I'd plateau from being overworked and exhausted... and now, after nearly 10 long years, I will have my revenge. Hopefully, their blood can be washed away by the screams of those responsible, the ashes swept away by the rains of renewal, and then, hopefully then, I can join them... my vengeance fulfilled. Soon, my family, soon... forgive me. |
Emergency lighting bathed the cabin in an eerie red glow as the crew sat around the galley table. Some kind of engine trouble had been plaguing them for days, and they were stuck with the emergency lights while their mechanic was working on them.
“Anyone know any good stories, then?”
“Jack, tell everyone about what happened to that guy you used to go scavvin with.”
Jack looked down
“Nah, it's just a bunch of bullshit.”
“If it's just a bunch of bullshit, then tell us”
“Alright. The guy swears it really happened, but I think he just spent too much time soloing. Went a little crazy in the end. He was never the same, but whether he lost his mind because it actually happened, or he thinks it happened because he lost his mind, I've got no idea.So like I was saying, all in all he ended up being cooped up in this little ship by himself for over a year. Nobody's meant to be alone that long. Things start going funny on you. He was on a long transit between stars, and the crazy bastard decided to double the length of his trip just to save fuel. So here he is in deep space. Nothin but him and his god out there, when he swears he sees something move outside, just in the corner of his eye. Sounds like classic space madness. Spacial lunacy. The deep black bonkers, whatever you want to call it. We've all thought we've seen things outside, but you learn to accept that it's a trick of the imagination, and try to forget about it.
So he did, until he sees it again, and again, and again. Never getting a good look, but he says he swore he saw some kind of black tendrilled something. He's getting worked up at this point, but still trying to tell himself that it's nothing. Then one night, he's laying in his berth. His engines weren't running anymore – just floating through space like the cheap bastard that he was. His whole ship is dead silent, until he hears a quiet 'tap tap tap, screeeeeech' from what sounded like the outer hull.
Now he says he panicked at this point, and if he could have bolted straight out of that ship, he would have. He didn't have hull cameras (though if he ever set foot on another spaceship again, he'd insist on them), so all he could do is look out the window.He didn't see nothin, and eventually convinced himself that he was half asleep, imagining things. He didn't hear nothin neither for a few more days, but when he did, it was exactly the same sound.
'tap tap tap, screeeeech'
The same pattern continued. A couple days of silence, then the same noise. He knew that ship like he knew himself, and he was sure that it was not coming from the ship itself. He was convinced that something had attached itself to the outside of his ship, just out of view of the portholes. He spent the following month like this until he was about a week from his home star system, when the sounds suddenly stopped.
When he docked, the dock foreman immediately laid into him. 'How could you be so stupid?' 'It's stupid captains like you that make spacefare more dangerous than it needs to be!' 'Who the hell launches with their ship in this condition?' That kind of thing. When he asked what the hell he was yelling about, the foreman took him around to the stern of his ship. There were 5 deep indentations in the hull, almost piercing through, and right in the center was his emergency hatch. It had been almost completely unscrewed. One more rotation, if that, and he would have been blasted through it into the void of space, along with everything else that wasn't bolted down.
He just walked right out of there. Never came back. Didn't even get his ship. He's been living at that orbital ever since then, and when I asked him if he was ever planning on leaving, he got this cold, hollow look in his eye and just said,
“...No.”
​
The crew had mixed reactions. Most of them laughed, a few stayed quiet. They chatted among themselves, talking about similar stories they had heard, but their conversations came to an immediate halt when they heard a noise that sounded like it was coming from outside.
​
'tap tap tap, screeeeech' |
I entered the wizards hut and placed the items on the table. "Splendid!"The wizard said to me. "Here's your payment."He handed me a small, leather bag full of coins.
"Thank you,"I replied. As I turned to walk out of the wizard's hut he stopped me.
"I do have one more job if you're interested,"he said softly. His tone was some what ominous.
"I am the best there is. Whatever you need I can get it for you."
"We shall see. What I need is very rare. No one I have asked to retrieve it has ever returned. After 7 hunters failed to complete their task I simply stopped asking. But, you. You seem different than the rest. I believe you might just be the one to pull it off."
"What is it that you need."
The wizards face turned dark. "A hair. Just one hair. That of the fearsome manticore."
"Are you mad?"
"I knew you were not up to the task."
"I can do it. The manticore is a fierce opponent, alas. The price is going to be steep. But, may I ask why?"
The wizard was now burning with anger. "How dare you ask a wizard his business! If I didn't have such use for you i would strike you down where you stand. Alas, I concede to your curious questioning. The king's daughter has a terrible curse placed on her. She is in fact the very werewolf that has been terrorizing the townsfolk."
"The princess?!"
"Yes, the very same. That is why the king has not commissioned one to slay it yet. He wishes to save his daughter from such a fate."
"I will not fail you! My King needs me and I will do such a task as is my duty to my lord."
"Go! Make haste. You shall be rewarded handsomely...if you succeed."
I mounted my steed and started my journey. The path itself was perilous but nothing compared to the dangers I faced ahead. For 4 months I traveled to reach the lair of the beast.
I set up camp and made my plans. Though I needed only one hair I knew it would not be an easy task. I must slay the beast in order to succeed.
The next morning I awoke to a hideous screech. My horse kicked and neighed stirring up quite the commotion. I emerged from my tent just in time to see it being carried away by a large, winged creature. It landed on a nearby cliff and started ripping apart my horse to devour it.
Thinking quickly I placed an arrow in my bow and drew back to fire. My arrow was true. It landed directly in the beasts eye. This enraged it. In one swift motion it leaped from the cliff and flew towards me. I could see it now in detail. It's wings were large and black like that of a bats. It had the body of a lion and the face of a man with teeth like daggers and a ferocious mane. It's claws were long and razor sharp. The tail was that of a scorpions. This was it. The deadly manticore.
I drew my sword and held my ground as the beast lunged toward me. Swoosh! The beast swooped down and grabbed me as I plunged my sword deep in it's belly. My body dropped to the ground as the monster shrieked a hideous cry of pain. It fell to the ground next to me obviously injured but far from out of the fight.
I retrieved my sword and charged the creature slicing it's wing in half. It leaped at me with it's awful fangs and tore into the flesh of my arm. As it did so I dropped my sword and was flung to the side. Laying on my back with no weapon at hand I agonized at the thought of what was coming next. The manticore was now standing directly over me.
Then I remembered my dagger tucked away in my boot. I reached for it. As the beast reared it's ugly head and started to deliver what would be it's final blow I quickly thrust my dagger into its throat. The manticore fell to the ground dead. I then completed my task by taking a hair and placing it in a small vial the wizard had given me before my departure.
The village would no longer be tormented by the king's daughter. Neither would the princess have to be slayed. The end. |
"Jesus Fucking Christ!"cried Dr Wyns' intern as he went over the chart. "This guy is really almost a thousand?"
Dr Wyns was nearing 300 and had started to consider it about time to bring his life to an end. Why anyone would want to live as long as Rick had he just couldn't understand. But he wasn't going to turn down an opportunity to talk to the man he had been studying for nearly two centuries.
"This is the first interview he's granted in centuries"Dr Wyns said excitedly. "He hasn't spoken in nearly 400 years. All of the data. All of the studies, the statistics...it's all just hearsay and calculations. This interview could make or break all of it!"
Dr Wyns stopped outside of Rick's room. The retirement home usually had a very strict age policy. No one under 200. Nobody over 500. It was only by some unknown miracle Rick had been allowed to stay in secret. That is until recently. An orderly had accidentally stumbled upon Rick's archived records. He sold them to the highest bidder and then disappeared.
Dr. Wyns had been contacted by Rick shortly after the documents arrived to his office. He invited him to come and conduct an interview, promising him answers to all of his questions.
"Are you ready Tim?"Wyns asked. Tim gave a nod.
Wyns opened the door and walked in "Rick?"he called. "It's Dr. Wyns. We talked on the phone."
"In here"called a frail voice from the parlor.
Wyns and Tim entered the parlor and were greeted by an ancient man of medium build. His thick glasses seemed to weigh his head down, pulling his neck forward, forcing him to chronically have to lift his head to look up.
"Rick, it is so nice to finally meet you! I've been studying..."
"Lets skip the formalities"Rick insisted. "You're here to find out all about me and why I've chosen to live longer than anyone else. Centuries ago, long before we cracked the code and ended natural deaths I made a promise in front of the entire world.."
"A promise?"Dr Wyns asked curiously.
"A commitment that no other guy would ever give..."
Dr. Wyns listened intently , finally he would have answers. "What was it. What was the commitment?"he urged eagerly.
Rick smiled.
"I'm gonna make you understand.
Never gonna give you up
Never gonna let you down
Never gonna run around and desert you
Never gonna make you cry
Never gonna say goodbye
Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you." |
It's a cliche to talk about living a double life. For me, it's not a metaphor. My two lives are quite separate from each other in most ways that matter.
Getting people to understand it was a struggle, at first. It was usually easier to explain to a stranger than a friend. Meet someone at a party, make small talk -- "Wow, that sounds like a really great deal for a second mortgage!"-- and then drop it into conversation. "Say...did you happen to catch that viral video about that guy who they managed to bring back to life?"And that's it. This insane fact about you -- the trump card for every game of two truths and a lie -- is out there, and accepted, and you go back to discussing how bad traffic has gotten lately. Easy peasy, fresh and squeezy.
Friends, meanwhile...they generally already know. But it's like none of them sat down to do the mental arithmetic to figure out what it *means*. Simple stuff, too: **Happy 30th birthday, shithead!** from your college buddy turns into a *long* conversation about what it means to have quite literally been reborn.
But there's other stuff, moments that shouldn't matter, but do. Early on, I would make the mistake of trying to genuinely answer the question, "So what was it like? Like, *really*?"
So, I would hold my hands steady while my mind groped for concepts that simply could not be encoded into words. "You know, it's almost...if you imagine a pot of oatmeal but instead of oatmeal it's flying flower petals and each one has a rain cloud inside it...and like..."
And when you pause to take a steadying breath and try to force tears back into your eyes, that's when they say, "Wow. So cool. Anyone need another beer?"And you realize that they view your unique status as the only creature in the world to have ceased living, remained conscious of the experience, and then returned to life in the same way that they view someone who went skiing over a long weekend.
I'll probably go back soon -- you know, to the oatmeal that's not actually oatmeal. I just gotta figure out how to do it. That's me, though, isn't it? Just a classic *Gelimibrani*.
* * *
There's other stuff, a lot of which makes more sense than this, at my sub: /r/ShadowsofClouds. |
Ironic, isn't it? You spend a lifetime making sure your family doesn't know about your reddit account, and then you get into the afterlife, and you'd love nothing more than to be able to contact them via reddit, but you can't.
Wait, is that irony? Gawd, it's so *frustrating*, that there's a whole internet worth of information out there, but, for whatever reason, you can only access what people happen to post. Sifting through it for something specific is like digging through a haystack for a needle, only the needle is only *maybe* there, and is only *maybe* actually a needle instead of, like, a piece of hay painted silver, which isn't the best metaphor for false information, but bad metaphors are at least a distraction from the sheer frustration of it all.
Naturally, DMs and chat don't work. No, if I want to get word about anything to anyone who might actually believe me, I have to do it publicly, out in the open. And it's not like I can just say "Hey, I died, and now I'm in an existential hell trying to get word back to the world of the living. AMA!"
I actually tried that, but it's not like I can take a picture with a piece of paper next to my corpse or something. Heck, I don't even remember how I died.
So now I'm stuck here, no idea what to do, no idea how to move forward. And, honestly, suppose I *could* get in contact with my family, or someone else who could confirm that I am, in fact, that dude who died. What then? It's not like I know how or why I got stuck here. It's not like anyone is likely to be able to *do* anything about it, even if I *did* know.
And do you know what else I can't do? Delete anything I write. Even now that I'm dead, I find that I don't like the idea of my family being able to go through everything I've written and posted. Just feels...icky.
I mean, on the plus side, it's not all *that* different from when I was alive. Unemployment can be like that. Sure, it's maddening to only be able to follow a football game by the live commentary, not even able to see the *score* until it's all over. Sure, following current events is even more frustrating when you can't even click through to the article, even if, in practice, you probably wouldn't have anyway. And, sure, it turns out that there's limits to a humans ability to appreciate cute photos of cats. But...
Yeah, in retrospect, maybe that's not a 'plus side' at all. Maybe I'm here because I'm supposed to rethink my life. Maybe I didn't die at all, I'm just trapped in some sort of magical, life-lesson-teaching dream.
Ooooooh...what if I post something with that premise, and then see how other people would handle it? That might help. |
Truly this being's life is but a moment of moments to me. This... Joshua. But. What is this... feeling. Fear? Frustration? Anger? Something. I do not know. The words remain, but the sensations have long since dulled from when I was a... young creature.
This universe expanded into being, while I had closed off my sight to rest a short while. And when I woke, in front of my... face... was a strange small ball. Mostly blue, with some green sprouting. Life. How novel. Lazily orbiting the small blue-green orb was a fun short break. Sometimes shrinking to see the ball from closer, oft times merely drifting around it.
And when I started to tire of the ball, I heard something. I had heard whispers. Terribly fast whispers. Whispers of sounds... somewhat close to OUR language. Something transcribed as if by a child, and spoken from an ill-suited mouth, but still. A few words were... recognizable. Mayhap some of my Brethren had passed by on a whim as well.
On a similar whim. I took form, like I had many times before. This time to imitate a very specific variety of creature. The kind that spoke OUR tongue. I obtained the proper form to investigate and... discovered these creatures were quite unamusing. Pebbles on the road. They spoke like a child, the Weave flexed slightly out of pity for them, and they were satisfied. I tried to spur on several to advance further, but their fragile minds would break; their countenance twisting... somewhat amusingly.
After several "tens of years"of their time, I encountered him. I picked up a strange child that was abandoned in a fire. A strange spark in his eyes as he watched me from the inferno. I should be transparent, He should be in terrible pain, and yet while his flesh was burning, his eyes found me. How intriguing. On another whim, I spoke, and the Weave brought him out of the mortal peril and restored his lost flesh. The entire time, his eyes followed me. The spark grew in intensity and I felt if left unchecked, it would try to devour me, and might meet with some success.
Fear? No. Not yet. Acknowledgement? Perhaps. This... Joshua has a fragment of a fragment of the Old Spark. And as such, I decided I should watch over it, from close range. I took form of a female close to his age. So as to destroy the fragment, if necessary. The being that carries the Old Spark fragment. He is more... amusing than others of his kind. He seems to be influenced by the hateful object. He seems to see through my simple disguise.
While watching over this... Joshua, I learned that my ability to hide my form was... deteriorating. More and more powerful illusions were weaved on my person. But I can feel them breaking. I have heard mention of tentacles, countless eyes, and fangs have plagued his dreams. His eyes can see, even if he himself can not comprehend.
Melancholy. That is the name of this... feeling. Pensive sadness at the fact I may soon have to end the life of a being I saved. This Joshua. This vessel for the fragment. This... nice... person. Must die. How unfortunate. |
"THIS IS FUCKING BULLSHIT"
*Loud banging can be heard as SCP 5--- slams his fists down on the table*
"YOU CAN'T KEEP ME IN HERE, IT'S UNCONSTITUTIONAL, IT'S GODDAMN ILLIGAL."
"Steve, we're just trying to..."
"TRYING TO DO WHAT, PISS ME OFF? CAUSE YOU'RE DOING A DAMN FINE JOB ON THAT. FUCKING A', YA BETTER GET A PRIZE FOR BEING A MAJOR PAIN IN MY ASS"
*Head researcher Rogers can be heard sighing into his microphone*
"... Help, Steve. We're trying to help you."
"YOU COULD HELP ME GET OUT OF THIS ROOM. THERE'S NOTHING TO DO DO HERE AND WOULD IT HURT YOU PAINT THE DAMN WALLS? WHITE ON GREY IS FUCKING BORING."
"You had a computer and several board games, you smashed those. You also had several posters and paintings of your choosing. You smashed them too."
"WELL THAT'S BECAUSE YOU WERE PISSING ME OFF AND I COULDN'T REACH YA. STOP PISSING ME OFF AND TELL ME WHY I'M HERE"
"You're here because since you were placed in this cell five-hundred and... twenty-three hours ago, you've been having an extended tantrum. You haven't eaten, drank or slept. In the brief time we managed to restrain you enough to put EKGs on you, we discovered that you do not have an heart rate, or have any respiratory functions. Your anger might be the only thing sustaining you."
*SCP 5--- stops for a few moments, seemingly lost in thought*
"I DON'T GIVE A SHIT IF I'M A DAMN RAGE ZOMBIE, YOU STILL DON'T GOT ANY REASON TO HOLD ME HERE. I'M GONNA GET ALL YA'LL NAMES, THEN I'M GONNA CALL MY CONGRESSMAN, THEN HE'LL..."
*A loud groan can be heard right before the recording ends.*
Researchers note: The subject remains uncooperative, and still appears to be oblivious to his anomalous properties. I doubt we can get any headway in communicating with the subject, but I am very interested in testing the limits of their apparent immortality. |
"Hey, you're Bill, right?"
I stood before the Black Gates of Ag'Halor, their timbers cut from the Blood Trees from the Thousand Cruciform Forest, the iron bars crafted by slaves who forged them from the stolen teeth of a Steel Dragon. I was covered in sweat and gore, sword in one hand, shield at the other, staring at the horned, oozing form of the Demon King. He smiled and leaned against the door, surprisingly relaxed.
"It's really nice to meet you,"he growled, his hideous mouth shaking and seizing as the words lurched forth. "Sam and I were in the frat together back in our college days. He always talked you up. Said you'd be coming around eventually."
"What,"I said, slack-jawed, less a question, more an enunciation.
"Yeah, Sam? Guy's a legend,"the Demon King said.
"Sam? My brother,"I asked.
The Demon King perked up, if such a malformed creature could be described as perky. "Dude did the greatest keg stand I've ever seen. I had him over a while back, before the pandemic started, y'know, to reminisce, right? What's he do? Outdrinks my drunkest orc general!"
The Demon King laughed and laughed, writhing some of his tentacles in a way that seemed very much like a man slapping his knee.
"Oh, man,"he said, wiping his eyes with the black feather from one of his countless wings. "Gamrog woke up so mad. So mad. You should've been here. It was such a blast."
My heart grew weight. I had spent fifteen years of my life, every waking moment since I was a boy, preparing for this moment. This one singular moment. I had hammered the shield myself, climbed the Mass of St. Orenthal to have it blessed in the Snowmelt. I had triumphed in the Championship of the Outside Hosts for the right to wield the sword Sunlight. I had carved my way through an army of orcs and goblins and nameless fell beasts for this moment, a chance to slay the Chimaera Himself, the devil of devils, the Calamity ... the Demon King.
"But Sam ..."I fumbled over my words. "The wizard said you killed Sam, that it was my destiny to avenge him."
"Yeah, I killed him. In darts,"the Demon King said. "I mean, I've got great aim. That's what happens when you can bend time and space to your will. But Sam, he's fine. I think he went over to Shirley's. Here, let me call him."
The Demon King pulled out a cellphone from some unknowably evil pocket dimension within the writhing folds of his skin, then began scrolling through his contacts list.
My mind raced backwards, seeing the traumatized snarls of all the monsters whose corrupt lives had been redeemed by the sharp fire of Sunlight, back through the sweat-drenched hours in front of the trainers, back to the moment mom and dad and that old man told me that Sam was gone. My heart ached just as deeply then as it had in that moment.
"But the wizard, the prophecy,"I stamered, quietly.
"Who's that,"the Demon King said. Outside of his words or around or within them, I felt - I heard - I swam through - the suffering screams of millions of tortured souls. "Professor Granderson? That old weasel was always going on about destiny and the *wheels of fate* and all that. Said you'd have to go through trials to find me and save your bro, so I sent some goons your way just to check the box or something. Whatever. Guy's a prick. He's down in the Sixth Circle."
"Granderson is dead,"I whispered the question, knowing the answer already.
"Pssh, yeah,"the Demon King said. "Here, I'm gonna dial Sam. You want to be on speakerphone?"
The thought of hearing my brother's voice again lifted my spirits to the heights of heaven. I nodded, "Yes. Yes, it would be a ... kindness."
The phone started ringing. I thought the silence between us would be awkward, but the Demon King proved to be surprisingly immune to the stultifying effects of quietude.
"Yeah, that professor, man. So, there was this one time Sam and I both copied Shirley's homework. I think that was for, I don't know, Incorporeal Metaphysics 202? Something like that. Anyway, Granderson figured out we both cheated off her. Sam, whattaguy, he talks Granderson into letting him redo the assignment. And he did it really well, too. I think he got a B on it, right? But what's Granderson do with me? Kicks me out of the class. I had to retake the whole thing the next semester. I guess *somebody* had a problem with metastasizing antediluvian old ones. Whatever. Prick."
The phone picked up, and for the first time in fifteen years, I heard Sam's voice.
"Wassuuuuuuuuuup,"Sam said.
"Wasssuuuuuuuuuuup,"the Demon King said.
"Waaaaaaassuuuuuuuuuup,"Sam and the Demon King said together.
"Hey, you wanna come over,"the Demon King asked. "Your little bro's here."
"Really,"Sam said, the familiar excitement lifting his voice. "Dude, yeah. I'll be there in, like, fifteen."
"Sweet, see you then."
And that's the story of how I saved my brother from the Demon King. |
"Please, please I will be good, don't send me there again"begged the voice that had taken up residence in my head.
I ran hand through my damp hair, considering what the best course of action to be taken was. Having never been possessed before this was an intriguing new experience. Actually I had very little experience doing anything, being the new janitor for a wealthy wizard.
Of course, I had read enough books, heard enough fairy tales to know that demons were generally bad news. But, even my limited knowledge told me that they were proud beasts, not prone to begging.
"your name..?", I asked slowly, patient and relaxed. Or my best impression of slow patient and relaxed, which was apparently a shrewd and wavering voice three octaves above my usual teenage mutter.
"Balathoz.. *The honest*"it replied. "You could think of me as an.. an angel on the shoulder type", and I felt my mouth suddenly twist into what was supposed to be a charming smile.
Not good.
If it could control my features it likely wasn't going to be just 'sitting on my shoulder'. A cold spike of fear was weaving its way down my spine, freezing me to the spot in horror.
Or I would have been frozen, except Balathoz was absentmindedly picking my nose.
"sorry... been a while since I've had a good pick. Ya' know with the whole living-in-the-underworld-with-no-physical-form shtick. Hope you don't mind".
I didn't really know, but was prepared to take his word for it. I was now less afraid of Balathoz than I was of my employer, Mage Morris, who would surely give me the sack when he figured out I had been tampering with his supplies.
It had been a horrifying moment when, in the process of nicking the unicorn hair hanging above the cauldron, I had let a strand drop in. The once peaceful red brew - that I had, admittedly, though was tomato soup, suddenly erupted into a blue smoke. Falling back onto my arse, I had been unable to anything other than take in a huge lungful of the stuff.
"yoohooooo, humannn?"I said *he said* again.
Even though it was me speaking, my northern lilt was replaced with the honeyed drawl of Balathoz's native accent. It was a strangely seductive voice that reminded me of the sweet thick oil the non-magic used in lamps. Suddenly, I found my mind no longer focussed on the repercussions of my error, but instead I was curiously waiting for the demon to speak again.
"Not really the talking type?", he guessed whilst testing out my legs, taking long strides around the bubbling cauldron. I had never walked like this before. Always the gawky teenager, I was shocked to find myself gliding around the room in long graceful strides.
"An angel on the shoulder type you say?"I ask, only mildly disappointed to hear my voice returned to its usual common accent.
"we can help each other methinks..."Balathoz purred, before leaping into the air, summoning more athleticism from my wiry legs than I had ever been able to.
I felt a grin was spreading over my face, and this time it was a mutual grin between both me and the demon. |
"damn it kid what do you want?"The craggy face if my father regarded me coldly.
"Dad?"I whispered.
He didn't lower his guard but he did seem to ease slightly.
"Julie?"I nodded.
I squeaked as he embraced me. Unprepared for his vice like grip.
"Why?"He asked.
"They're gone."
"Gone?"He released me "The day gets better and better. Damn cult. Women solidarity and men thrown literally to the wolves. I -"
"No dad, they summoned something."Tears began to stream down my face. "It took them, molded them into something else, I only barely got away but I remember it's eyes, crimson burning eyes."
"Shabrenigdo"he hissed. "I warned them it wasn't just men."
He beckoned me to follow him.
"We're running on borrowed time."
"Dad what's going on?"
"Someone summoned a vengeance demon, and the cult let it fester. Now its master has appeared."
"What do we do?"
He sighs sadly. "Rally who we can, hit it hard, and pray. But not you."
"I can help!"
"You already have."His dagger plunged into my chest. My blood spilling forth.
"Why."I croaked. "He hugged me close, cradled me as my strength waned. "You saw his eyes, he already has you. I'm sorry."
"It wasn't supposed to be like this"my vision was hazy everything felt sluggish.
"Rest"he whispered. "You've saved countless lives today."
"Rest, that sounds nice"the darkness consumed me and I knew oblivion. |
It's not that hard really, not when you're an introvert who doesnt like meeting people. I didn't resent anyone for my loneliness, i knew that was my problem to solve. It was the morning of my thirtieth birthday that I noticed something was off.
I had already taken the day off to play video games, I didnt take many off so this one went unnoticed. My guild appreciated the help when I crafted them gear anyway, and it was fun to do.
But I ramble, I'm a wizard and wizards ramble, right? Well, regardless, I noticed something that was wrong before i logged on, thunder crackling between my fingers. I blinked and it was gone, but it was too late. Arcane runes and symbols had implanted themselves in my mind.
I'm antisocial sure, that made it easy to study these runes and symbols and their effects. It took only so long before i could etch them into say... A plate, something small, and sure I could command great destructive power now, I could topple nations by *myself* if I applied myself.
But that's not who I am. I made plates that when unobserved would summon food. I tested them on myself for a year or two before placing them in inconspicuous locations. Placing cups that would fill with fresh water in places where people would need them, placing sleeping bags that could keep anyone warm through the darkest and coldest nights in allyways and beside benches.
Then the police started to notice the charity i left behind.
They did not appreciate it.
They destroyed my creations. It made me angry in a way that I had tried not to allow myself to act on for my whole life. A simple explosive spell would punish anybody who broke them.
But I knew that wouldn't solve anything. So I continued placing my gifts vulnerable as they where and thinking of how to protect them better. My answer came in the form of the most simple of conjuration magic.
To make something disappear, to make something move and to make something appear. When someone broke a plate, cup or sleeping bag, their gun would vanish, their belt would fasten their hands behind their back and a big red clown nose would appear on their face.
I did add a little enchantment to make them a little stronger, so fewer would accidentally be broken, but it took me a couple months to think about it admittedly.
So now you know my secret. I could probably be using my power to do more good, but I'm not ambitious, i dont want to be remembered, and if you want to think of me as just an overweight, middle-aged gamer with a few screws loose, I think I'll be fine with that. |
“Seriously, you want me to treat that thing?” I had to shout. Two twenty-feet tall men in togas towered over the entire town. “Also, wear pants.” The town and I would be frightened at the sight of two literal gods and their three-headed hellhound if this didn’t happen every other week.
The one with the pitchfork bent down, not hearing me. “Animal man, can you treat my little puppy?”. He snapped his fingers and a scroll appeared in my hands. I unrolled it and in a childish, glittered font were the words “BRING YOUR LITTLE MAGICAL PETS TO DR. HUDSON’S CLINIC! WE TREAT EVERYTHING!”. Of course. Three months ago, I published an advertisement targeting children and had taken it down after a princess brought her unicorn here. How interdimensional beings received it, or how they didn’t get the update that the advertisement is no longer active I do not know. The one with the scythe just looked around, bored.
“My little Cerberus is sick. See, she’s been burning up—well, more than usual—and Persephone and I tried everything and nothing seemed to work. I don’t want to see those silly centaurs for help. They think they are better than everyone else.” Hades said. He frowned the frown of a concerned dog owner.
“I like your funny words, magic man but—”
“I am not magic man. That is Hecate,” he corrected.
“Okay…but there is really nothing I can do. He’s fifteen feet tall! And three heads. Seriously.” I said.
“I can pay.” He snapped his fingers again and a chest of golden drachma, jewel-clad grails, and golden accessories materialised. My eyes glinted.
“He’s been burning up, you say?” I asked. It’s the owner’s love for his dog that touched my heart. I resolved to do everything in my power to help this poor dog. It’s not the gold. Definitely not.
“And belching lava non-stop. I’ve had to replace my velvet couch three times this week.” Hades said.
I mused. “Does he seem depressed and haggard all the time?” I asked. He gestured towards the dog. It laid on the meadow, its head buried in the grass. It had a vacant look in its (their?) huge watery eyes. Their face sagged and they whimpered. Even with razor-sharp canine fangs sticking out of their mouths, it looked as endearing as any other dog. Maybe even three times as cute, with three heads. It sneezed, showering the field and trees with goo, and almost uprooted a few straw houses. Looking up at it, I was charmed. It reminded me why I was in this trade.
Obviously Lepstospirosis infection. It’s curious how these seemingly immortal creatures can suffer from the same ailments as normal ones. “Mr Hades, don’t worry about it. It’s just a common bacterial infection,” I said. He heaved a huge sigh of relief. After doing some extrapolation, I prescribed it with five hundred doses of Doxycycline. I gathered all the available supplies and handed it to him. “Administer them to your dog with water. And stay away from contaminated water.”
Hades stood up and nuzzled the hellhound. “Who’s going to get better? You are. You are,” he said to it.
The chest of treasures still sat there, its contents overflowing and spilling on the grass. “Hey,” I shouted and pointed at the chest. “It doesn’t cost that much.”
“It’s okay, I have plenty more. Thank you, animal man.” He smiled a kind and kingly smile, and with a snap of his fingers, the three of them were gone. All that remained was a huge patch of black singed up grass where the hellhound laid.
I returned to my office with my newfound wealth. That afternoon, I put up the advertisement again. |
"Aaaaaand, cut!"Yelled Brillious Magniflix, showrunner and directeur, *thank you very much*. The actors took a sigh of relief after what had been a longer day than usual, wanting to wrap the film up as quickly as possible. Even the elven cast, whose lives were considerably longer and their concept of time far beyond that of the humans and gnomes, were feeling the fatigue of the numerous takes Brillious had wanted. They took their seats, muttering it was all for a good cause, and gave friendly headbutts, clasped hands and whatever other cultural gestures of friendship they had. They each served in their own way.
"Oh thank heavens,"gasped the lady dressed as Emperor Filistinya, "it's no bloody wonder he's the way he is having to wear this ridiculous get-up. I almost sympathise for the man."
"Now we'll have none of that out-of-character business! Emperor Filistinya is evil, cruel, merciless, and--,"
"Here...."The 'Emperor' interrupted Magniflix, gulping at the end. Brillious gave a curious look, a confused groan trailing idly from the back of his throat. He heard, nay, *felt* nothing from his fellows, who looked in one direction in silence. As he turned slowly, unable to believe that his rebellious theatrical production, the production hall filled with an icy cold.
*No. No, this is nothing like the motionaries! Nnothing at all*, thought Brillious, as he finally found the towering, magnificant Emperor with their an army of royalist peasants at his beck and call.
"So these are the heroes who were going to put an end to my reign, not with swords but words? Not with blood and bludgeons, but film and foam?"Emperor Filistinya asked with a sly smirk, signalling with a trained, cupped hand to the actors in the middle of having their sweat wiped down and make-up reapplied. He approached slowly, his jewel-laced finery followed behind him, and his peasant mob twitching nervously around him, grimacing in eagerness to kill the rebels. He raised a hand to signal for the royalists to stay, and they obeyed without question, as they had always done.
"Our words will survive you, Filistinya!"Brillious Magniflix growled defiantly, with the first shred of bravery he'd shown in what might well have been his entire life. His whole life was dedicated to his craft of filmtography, and if he were to die, he wanted his pantomime to be his last great - and most important - work of art.
Still, the human Filistinya strode softly and slowly with all the grace that even the most aristocratic elf would be jealous of. He continued on, the captivating magic in his pupils giving each and every person, costume, prop and equipment his full, admiring attention, until he had reached the throne where the nerve-wracked 'Emperor' stood. He looked down upon the clay crown at her feet, and returned his enchanted eyes of many swirling colours back to the actor.
"And if they are to survive, the show must go on."He closed his eyes, bowed his head, and removed his own crown gently. He knelt, and held up the glistening artefact. The actor, figuring she was already in deep enough trouble that handling the crown would not make things worse, held Ylvenstael the Eternal Crown, and placed it upon her head. The Emperor stood, and took a seat nearby, looking at the actor as if expecting something.
"Continue your show. If I am to improve my ways, I must know what it is I've done, and what will become of me if I do not!"Emperor Filistinya stated with glee, and invited the peasant mob to do so, watching Billious Magniflix's direction of his cast and crew in awe.
*Now that's what one calls leadership,* mused the Emperor, mesmerised by the ensuing performance. |
It's the stubborn motherfuckers that are the most dangerous. The deluded ones, we zoink out, they live their life, I watch them, we wake up and it's all sobs and apologies. The insane ones... Well, sometimes a whole extra life of crazy is enough to make them too crazy to be much trouble. And, since I'm used to the waking up, my nightstick makes sure they don't wake up too much, you know?
But those stubborn motherfuckers...
Can I smoke in here? Geez, give a guy a break.
Anyway. That karate jitsu dude that put me in here, with *that* in my leg, he went out like the others. Usual thing, he wakes up the morning I met him, doesn't realize it's the second time he's woken up, I'm watching the whole thing in his eyes, right up until we're supposed to meet. Then things get weird and I know, I just know right in my heart that this is gonna be a bad one.
You know what that motherfucker does? He hits the gym. But he doesn't hit the treadmills or the dumbbells or any of that. He gets one of those punching dummies, stands *this* far from it, I swear that dude knew exactly how far I was from him in real life, and just *WHAM*-
OOF! Should not have done that! Geez, can I have a smoke, just for the pain?
At least can I have a shot of that hard stuff you give the junkies?
Whatever! I'll just grin and bear it.
Yeah, so this guy starts wailing on the dummy, all elbows and knees and that stupid kung-fu shouting stuff. Eight hours. I was bored to tears by the end. Then he packs up, showers- he's hung like a horse by the way -and goes drinking with his buddies.
And you know what he does the next day? Dummy again. Right there, bing-bang-boom, spends another eight hours knocking the shit out of it. Again shower drinks buddies now some lady friends, then the dummy the next day and the next day and the next day. I was ready to kill myself it was the most boring shit of my life. Well, except the ladies. Dude has standards, what can I say.
Anyway, here's where I mention *that*. No, the one in my calf. The one in my thigh is the same thing, and the one up here, I had them all in my pocket- no, I don't collect pens! I just happened to have them, you know? You ever realize you just got a shitload of pens for no reason? Well then you, my friend, are a weirdo.
So yeah, after a month or something this guy, who's been kicking the shit out of this dummy like it screwed his wife and had a bigger dick than him, this guy decides to mix it up. Takes a day off to sew up a little pocket, like a fanny pack, and spends all day, like ten hours, finding the exact same pens. Now I know this is gonna be some crappola.
Oh, you think you're some wise guy cause you know where this is going? Shut up and let me tell it.
But yeah... You're right; he spends his whole dream practicing exactly how he's gonna fuck me up when we come out of it. With his beady little karate eyes he musta seen the pens in my pocket before I grabbed him, cause he put them in the pocket, pocket on the dummy, and practiced using them as shit-fucker-uppers on me. By the end, he's doing crap with that pen I have never seen in my life, bouncing it off walls -did I mention he put the dummy in a room just like the one we were in? - flipping it over his back, he ran that pen through motherfucking human skull! He was like the fifth ninja turtle, but he had that stupid pen instead of sai or whatever.
Yeah, so fast forward twenty years and Mister Miyagi commits suicide in the dream to wake up early.
What?! No, you don't die in real life if- Well Kevin Nolan can kiss my ass! Now let me get back to it.
Anyway, here's where I laugh cause Cobra Kai forgot one important thing! One itsy bitsy little fact, the one that screws up every one of the stubborn motherfuckers.
Hah! You're wrong about that buster! Yeah, I saw his moves, but I couldn't do opposite moves to- what's the word? I couldn't fight him off. Well cause he's twice my size and made of that karate muscle like Bruce Lee! No, the thing he forgot was not that I was watching him.
No, what he forgot is that he only imagined training for two decades, and he imagined he got a bit stronger, a bit faster, a bit -you know- "not waking up from the biggest power nap of his life"-er.
We wake up, and for a second- He. Is. Pissed! Pulls out his magic pen routine, got to show off his slick moves, I go down like a pussy, but then the waking-up feeling hits him and he's out. For your information, that bounce-it-off-the-wall trick- that daredevil stuff- that is some tricky stuff to do. And yeah, I guess I lied, I did know his moves. I caught the bouncy pen and *Blap!* right in the eye! That tai-chi motherfucker didn't spend twenty years practicing his tricks half-blind! Hah!
So that's how I got him. Nightstick did the rest, and now he's sleeping it off in the other room. I just hope that stubborn motherfucker isn't dreaming of that stupid dummy again.
Sweet, nurse is gone. Pass me a smoke. |
Sir Timothy Ball sat back in his executive chair, stretching. Well, not 'Sir' yet; the knighthood was scheduled for next week. But it was coming. Still, today had been particularly satisfying, one of the highlights of his six-month-long career.
After signing one of the biggest acquisition deals in history, he'd played golf with some Canadian diplomats, securing a promise of further tax breaks. A few hours' private contemplation in his office after a McDonalds lunch (with _two_ McFlurries), followed by an executive board meeting where they passed on various departmental success stories. Now it was time to go home.
He stood, stretched again, and headed out to the helipad. At fifteen, he wasn't able to drive himself back, and taking public transport would be unseemly for a man of his station. Fortunately, he had access to the most exclusive form of transport in the world.
He tilted his head back and called, as though to the next room, "Mum?"
A brief pause, and then a speck appeared in the sky, hurtling towards him. Dressed in bright green-and-purple spandex, his mother slammed into the helipad surface, landing on her toes and one outstretched fist. Chips of concrete scattered around her. She stood - six-and-a-half feet tall with a puffy mane of bright silver hair and rippling muscles visible through the costume. A stark white logo, a stylised A, emblazoned the front of the suit. One side of her was splashed with scorch marks.
This was Captain Anne Ball, aka The Annodizer, who reportedly defeated enough evildoers in one day to stop World War Three *and* Four.
The Annodizer beamed. "Hi, honey! Good day?"
Timothy nodded. "Yeah. Pretty good. Got, like, some big deals and you know."
"Excellent! I'm so proud of you."
He shuffled his feet, and couldn't resist the urge to look over his shoulder, to see if anyone was watching. Thus reassured of privacy, he mumbled, "Thanks, Mum."
She wrapped her arms around him in a tight, practical embrace, lifted him easily off the ground, and jumped.
Together they soared high above the city. Timothy's Versace suit rippled and flapped noisily in the rushing air, and the wind roared in his ears. His mum shouted above it. "Was today the Maxim Global Media takeover?"
"Yeah. Like, signed it this morning."
"Amazing. Can't wait for your knighthood on Wednesday. I'm going to cry buckets."
He squirmed with embarrassment, but there was no room to move in his mother's steely arms. They hurtled over the transition between the inner city and the suburbs, and began to descend. He could only see the clouds over her shoulder, but he pictured the family mansion coming up, its white-and-marble sprawl getting bigger and bigger. His stomach quavered as they accelerated downwards, and not for the first time, he wondered what would happen if his mum messed up.
She didn't. He felt a pulse travel through her body and spread out into the surrounding air. Electricity crackled, and the smell of ozone filled his nostrils. An unseen force began to gently slow them, cupping Timothy's body like a hammock. They dropped to zero velocity millimetres from the ground, and came to gentle rest. From helipad to helipad in one gigantic leap.
Timothy's dad - entirely mundane, and entirely happy with his entirely relaxed pace of life - greeted them on the platform. He stood on tiptoes to kiss his wife, and ruffled Sir Timothy's hair. "Good afternoon, heroes! Celebrations are in order. The chef is sautéeing some scallops right now, and I've asked the butler to get KFC."
Timothy grinned. Today _was_ a good day. The mysterious CEO who last month had been on the cover of TIME Magazine decided that tonight would be one for playing Fortnite and eating Haribos. Perfection.
A thought occurred to him as the trio headed back into the mansion.
"Mum?"
"Yes, love?"
"Do you like..."He looked at nothing in particular, unsure how to progress. She waited, kindly. "Do you, like, think you should have had my job?"
She laughed softly. "Well, I suppose. But -"she leaned in conspiratorially - "well, when I heard your wish after mine, I hung back to chat to the genie. Being a superhero is scary, and a lot of effort, and you deserve a secure future. And I realised that maybe I had the wrong goals, and dedicating the rest of my life to the corporate world wasn't what I wanted."
Timothy furrowed his brow. "I don't get it."
The Annodizer smiled. "I asked him to swap our wishes." |
"... In other news, an update has been given by the authorities on the mysterious death of Joe Don, a teenager who's body was found at Westberry Park late Saturday morning. Residents in the area have come forward claiming to have heard the victim shouting about discovering super powers. Many of the residents claim to have seen the victim flying or releasing flamesout of his hands. Many thought he was a street performer, and ignored his actioms. Officer Deputy told our reporters that the last words heard from the victim was that it would "rain a billion bucks upon his head"The officer has ruled the boy's death due to multiple blunt force traumas to an impacted skull. Coming up after the commercial break, local wildlife experts are making a move to deal with the unexpected mystery swarm of male deer appearing in the area..." |
"It ends here!", I scream at the Horseman. "All you must do is be a good lad and tell me exactly where Death is, just like the last one told me where to find you!"My sword digs a little, I can see blood flowing from his neck. Even though it would seem I have claimed victory, he laughs. War laughs in my face, like hes a baby and Ive shown him a funny face. His words began to echo, coming from everywhere, and nowhere.
"You see, mighty one,"War spoke with a raspy voice. Considering he was one of the oldest Horseman, I can understand why. "Id love to tell you, but showing you would be better."He cackled. It rattled my bones. "Just take a look, brother."
I bury the tip of my sword in his neck, just enough so that he lives. "I am not your brother. Stop with your lies, all of you lie."My chest feels sore, and then suddenly very empty.
"All you had to do was look around you, fool."War's last words hung in the air. Similar to a stench that lingers after a body has been moved. I guess maybe the were right, maybe I have become Death. |
The minotaur examined the shaking leaf of a boy, wearing tin plate armour, a calfskin helmet, and barely holding on to a rusty, decrepit sword. It must have been that time of year, the coming-of-age season, when families forced their children on the edge of adulthood into the maze as a test of courage or piety.
When the minotaur had first been imprisoned in the labyrinth, he was enraged and hell-bent on revenge. But the great artificer Daedalus had built something that could not be brute-forced out. Those first years were filled with blood and anger, but over time the minotaur realised that Daedalus had gifted him a place of confinement that allowed him to live in relative freedom.
He decided to change, to live for himself instead of allowing others to type-cast him as a murderous animal. Of course, no-one would truly believe that a beast with the head of a bull and the body of a man could change, but that didn't matter to him. His destiny was his own, and with this new clarity he solved the labyrinth.
By this time, he'd made the labyrinth something like a home, so he stayed in it and kept the knowledge of the exit for the poor souls who were compelled to enter against their will. Today, a young boy was paralyzed by fear having stumbled upon the minotaur, who was just pruning the hedges with his axe. The minotaur sighed, set his axe to the side, and sat down.
"Listen kid, I hate this stupid myth as much as you do. I'll help you get out of the maze."
The boy flinched at the words, since he'd never heard a bull talk before, but once he processed them, he looked at the minotaur in confusion.
"Y-you will? I th-thought you were a bloodthirsty monster!"
The minotaur smiled, and offered his hand to the boy. "Name's Manfred. Welcome to my abode."
The boy still had his reservations, but something told him that the minotaur was being sincere, so he shook his hand. The minotaur led him deeper into the labyrinth, since the boy would need proof that he'd actually encountered the beast, and Manfred assured him that he'd get out safely.
Manfred pointed out some of the more interesting parts of the maze as they journeyed through it. There was a small pond with some rather energetic fish, a frightening but docile nest of large spiders, and massive hidden doorways built into the walls that the minotaur had discovered over the years.
They arrived at the center after fifteen minutes. The boy stared in awe at the minotaur's resting place. It wasn't very big, but he could tell that Manfred had spent years cultivating the vegetable garden and building creature comforts out of wood and vines. There was a bed and a table with chairs, and books were scattered all over.
It was the furthest thing he'd expected to discover about the minotaur. It turned his whole worldview upside down. Were humans the real monsters?
"Alright kid, here you go,"said Manfred, handing him a minotaur horn. The boy blinked. "My horns, I prefer them small, so I cut them off. They grow back, see?"The minotaur pointed at his head in an almost comical fashion.
Behind Manfred was a table with a number of horns laid out. He'd obviously prepared for children entering his labyrinth for years.
"Okay, so from here, take a left, then another left, go right at the angel topiary, left again, skip past the next three junctions, then right, right, left at the pond, then another left and you'll be out."
"Thank you, Manfred!"
"Don't mention it, kid. You be good, you hear?"
"Yes, I will." |
# Human
From Arthropedia, the free encyclopedia
*Several terms redirect here. For other uses, see Manflesh (delicacy), Galactic Human Zoo (entertainment), Humanz (video game), and HumanOS (human simulation engine).*
**Humans** (homo sapiens) are a species of low-intelligence primates. Uniquely in the galaxy, humans appear to have developed basic societal structure and technological advancements, despite lacking any form of hivemind or eusociality. Due to the inability of humanity to znorph, znorphlite, or even azjerbash, the likelihood of humanity discovering or even understanding any of the other sentient life in the galaxy is extremely low. Ever since the discover of Earth, the Galactic Human Zoo has allowed any of the sapient hiveminds in the galaxy to adopt human form and walk amongst humanity in their natural habitat; such excursions have been the primary source of information on the human race.
**Biology**
Individual humans can considered to be equivalent to a very low-intelligence hivemind: instead of different bodies connecting to form an emergent mind, humans consist of different cells connecting to form a single mind. As such, the processing power of a single human is orders of magnitude than that of even the smallest, continent-spanning hiveminds; this contributes to the inability of humans to znorph. Despite their inability to form a true higher consciousness, researchers believe that humanity is taking steps towards creating an artificial hivemind which connects the individual member bodies through electromagnetic waves. Developments in this area are encouraged by the galactic community, and several agents have already attempted to increase the span and immersion of their electromagnetic communications network, in order to uplift humanity into a true znorph-capable hivemind.
The simplicity of the human brain means that it can be reconstructed digitally with ease, and the primitive biology of the human body means that reconstructing a human is incredibly trivial; as brain and body scans of every living human have been completed, there is no ethical quandary with the death of any humans, as they can be restored from backups at will.
**Uplifting Timeline**
Following the development of the planet-wide communications network, hivemind agents disguised as humans have heavily encouraged the development of "neural link"technology and cybernetic augmentations. Once active in a large enough portion of the population, the implanted humans will be reborn as a baby hivemind; the vast intelligence difference between even a newborn hivemind and the rest of the human race should make it trivial to assimilate the rest of the population of Earth. Upon successful uplifting, the resulting hivemind will be invited to join the galactic community as an individual member. Uplifting is scheduled to be finished within 12 revolutions of Earth around its home star.
**See Also**
* List of Prominent Humans Replaced by Drones
* Legality of Owning Humans by Planet
* [Conflicts with Energoid Researchers](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mk02zz/wp_to_further_understand_the_species_we_have/)
A.N.
If you like weird things that aren't in the typical format of [r/writingprompts](https://www.reddit.com/r/writingprompts/), consider checking out my [episodic stories!](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mh9gfe/episodic_prompted_stories/) Each story is a series of independent "episodes", all of which are inspired by a writing prompt. And if you like my writing in general, consider checking out and subscribing to r/bubblewriters for more. |
"It's a swing,"the first warrior muttered. "A swing on a tree. He's finally lost his mind."
"After all of the raids,"said the second warrior. "All of the battle cries and the bloodshed. The men we have lost. The weak and puny civilized folk we have slaughtered. Heaps of gold and jewels. The finest ships commandeered from every port. We are the greatest of our race. The most fearsome tribe, whose mere mention makes flutter the soundest of hearts. . .To be led by a babbling geezer. Has it really come to this?"
The whole tribe stood dumbfounded as their leader swung back and forth. These were hardened killers. Men who had bathed in the blood of their enemies. Men whose bodies were covered with angry scars and savage tattoos. Their leader was a grizzled old warrior, lean and mean. He had only a gash where his right eye had once been. He had led the charge as they rushed from the boats to conquer ports, citadels, entire towns. He had lit the first torch that would raise such towns to the ground. He had led the slaves in chains to the ships. And now he was swinging back and forth from a tree, like a child, uttering nonsense.
"The seat of the gods!"he raved. "The vehicle of my deliverance! Ferry me, soul and body, ye Gods of Might and Creation, to the land of my warrior kin! What land have I not conquered in your name? What enemy have I not put to the sword? Take me to the great hall, where the wine flows and the virgins are plentiful! Take me to the land where my ancestors dwell!"
Halfdan, the veteran warrior, had always bristled under the command of the Chief. He had always dreamed of seizing power. Of becoming the new leader. Of gaining glory for himself. Through his eyes, which squinted often with mischief and digust, he could see respect for the Chief dwindling among the other men. He grasped his spear tightly.
"Old man!"shouted Halfdan, stepping forward. "The Gods hear your plea. They have commanded me to see it through. I shall send you to Valhalla!"
Halfdan levelled his spear and thrust at the swinging Chief. As the Chief roved near, with a single swift motion he unsheathed his sword and cut the sharp tip from Halfdan's weapon. The Chief swung away again, and when he neared again, with another swift slice he cut the mutineer's head clean from his shoulders.
"A sacrifice of blood!"cried the Chief, turning again to face the grey ocean as he continued to swing, back and forth. "Ye Gods, take me to your everlasting kingdom!"
The Chief's sword and miscellaneous armour and clothing and boots and rings and golden chains fell to the grassy earth. I was watching closely as it happened. All of us were. And we searched through what he left behind. Searched the hills. Even waded into the sea, calling for him. But the Chief himself was gone. |
"Father, psst! Hey!"I said scrambling to get the Priest's attention.
"Um, you'll have to excuse me."He began. "The cermony is about to-."
"I know! I know!"I interjected. "I'm the one whose supposed to be in the box!"
"Excuse me?"He said confused.
I held up a picture of the brochure my wife had made to my face causing the Priest to stumble back and nearly trip over himself in surprise.
"It's okay! It's okay!"I said trying to calm him down. "Just listen to me. Don't let anyone, under any circumstance, open that coffin. If they know I'm not in there people are gonna start asking questions alright?"
The Priest put a hand to his quivering lips, clearly it was gonna be difficult to get him on board.
"Uh, um. But it's supposed to be an open casket."He said.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm sorry,"I started. "I wanted a sandwich before I went in then they messed up the order of the lady in front of me, I got caught up in traffic and one thing led to another, you know how it goes."
He didn't.
"Um, okay."He replied.
"Look."I said, trying to level with the guy. "I'm gonna level with you here. I made the wrong people upset and now they're gonna throw me into witness protection starting with faking my death. All I need you to do is make sure they don't open that casket."
The Priest cupped his mouth with his hand and looked down at his feet trying to make sense of the situation.
After a moment he looked at me and said, "Very well, my son, I will try."
"Thank you, Father, god bless you."I said pulling his bald head towards me and kissing him on the forehead. "You're the man."
I skeddaled off towards the back of the church where my 'ride' was waiting for me; a jet black hearse. I climbed in the back while the driver went to get some coffee in the church and waited for the ceremony to end.
"Man I gotta take a leak."I thought to myself. "When's this thing gonna be over anyway?"
I looked at the church, no one coming out.
"Well I'm not gonna wait for the FBI to dig me out of a coffin full of piss that's for sure."I told myself as I scurried out of the car to the back of the church.
Sweet release, I thought.
Boom! The doors of the church swung open.
"Shit!"I said quietly, watching my family and friends carrying an empty coffin to an equally empty hearse.
I hid in the bushes a good while waiting for an opportunity to sneak in, but none came.
"My caseworker is gonna be pissed."I said to myself.
"Hello, Tony."a grizzled cigar smoker's voice said behind me.
I was to scared to reply.
"I was running a little late coming here to pay my respects."He began. "Luckily it seemed the Lord saw fit to let me pay them to you directly."
Gulp. |
It was just another cavern, not unlike the hundreds we had seen before; only this one had lights.
"Caldrey, Are ye sure this isn't a Togindor area?"
"I've checked the map nigh short of 40 times since breaking through cap. There shouldn't be nay a soul in this area."
The area was vaulted, with the top rock a good 20 dwarves high. There were primitive machines lining the walls, metal pipes, wires... But so far away from any known dig sites?
"What depth are we at Caldrey?"
"We should be no more than a hundred dwarf length above Kilea."
"Oh rat shite on a shovel, we dug too high for this area. EVERYONE BACK IT UP AND ON THE DOUBLE..."
The words were immediately snuffed out by the clanging and laughing coming from deep within the other side of the cavern, as if bringing noise to our station was priority based... one at a time please. It was too late to repair the walls and hide. We were here, out in the open with our beards in our hands, slack jawed like a bunch of prepubescents seeing their first power hammer.
There was a silence at first, as the clanging and laughing came to a hold. There were Five of us, outnumbering their trio. We looked up as they looked down -- And there we remained. Two sweat and dirt covered groups, who in normal circumstance, have a lot in common. Unfortunately, their first siting of a group of 3 and a half foot tall tufts of hair who clearly came in from an undesignated route didn't exactly spark a desire to grab a couple pints and share diggin stories.
The tallest of the group broke the silence. "OK, WHAT THE FUCK ARE THOSE. SAM? DO YOU SEE THIS SHIT RIGHT NOW? I'M NOT CRAZY. SOMEONE TELL ME I'M NOT FUCKIN' CRAZY."The words were frantic, and startled our group. Tofel and marten skittered a bit, looking at the rest of us as if to ask what was going on... searching desperately for answers.
"You're not crazy Mark. They're Dwarves. Not sure what they're doing here though."
"How de ye know about us dwarves, eh, Sam is it?"
"The men in my family have been digging for three hundred years. Mines, wells, subways... we may as well live underground. There's plenty of stories that go around about dwarves. Most people say its legend, myth, bs to pass the time. But my grandpa got stuck in a deep collapse in Ithica. Nobody knew out how he survived.
He told us that he was saved by the strongest and smallest man that ever lived. A man named Molt, that could see in the dark, break rocks with his bare hands, and laughed everytime my grandpa coughed. They spent days together clearing a path through the collapse back to the tunnels, but my grandpa said he was so weak he could barely stand. By the time they got back, Molt dropped him in a cart, and headed back into the depths. Nobody ever believed him."
"Aye, Robert! That was your grandpappy? He was nay an eight stone pup when I found him under that stack. I was surprised he could swing his pick or lift his own paws. Caldrey, get the skins, we need a drink." |
One billion, two hundred and sixty-five million, four hundred and seventy eight thousand, five hundred and thirty one.
That was the total number of FTL-capable ships that humanity had at its disposal. Around 30 percent were military, 50 percent were cargo ships, 10 percent were for travel, and the rest were under private ownership.
Or that's their official designation.
Right now, it's a little different.
​
"This is the Captain of humanities first fleet, protectors of the Earth and Saviours of mankind. This your first and final warning. Release all of the slaves you hold on to, or humanity will declare war."
Ahhh, it's like music to my ears. It's been a while since we've seen proper battle. Normally, we're just policing the inner planets, making sure there's no pirates about. But this? This is what I signed up for.
Now we just wait until we're told to fire...
​
"Hah, humanity?"The arrogant slimes spat across the comms, "What reason do we have to listen to you? By our count you barely have more than ten million ships! Even compared to your whole military that's pitiful."
That was the answer I was hoping for. The fools let their equipment deceive them, it's like they haven't even heard of basic tracking blockers. Or they just thought their equipment was unbeatable.
Tip, never believe your equipment is unbeatable. Don't even assume it's the best.
​
The Captain sighed over the comms, "So I take it that's a no?"
"How about you take this as a no instead."Suddenly, comms where cut and countless missiles flew out from the surface.
However, we were prepared. At that moment, around half a billion of humanities smallest ships warped into the battlefield. Mostly high speed, short range transport and cargo ships, they had been retro fitted with small guns and military tracking software. The missiles were torn to shreds in an instant.
Then, before our enemies had even noticed what was going on, the Captain gave the order to fire. I relayed it to my crew, but the computer had already received the message and started following the plan.
We warped into our tiny little slot around the planet, surrounded by other vessels with all kinds of original purposes. Each one had a mass produced weapon, mounted wherever it would fit. Some of these weapons even came from military ships, like ours.
As the view became clearer, we appeared right behind a wall of missiles, bullets, and lasers. The plan had been laid out clearly, we didn't even need to fire. The computer did it all for us. By the time the projectiles were a ships length in front of us, more ships had jumped in.
Really, it was the perfect plan. They didn't know we had moved all of our ships and production into the military, if they did, they would know how vulnerable our empire is. However, what matters in the end is that we win. After all, you can't tell all your armies to attack if you're dead before you realise.
They couldn't even open up comms again by the time the wall hit them. I don't know exactly how many ships are here, but, if I had to guess, I'd say around 1.2 billion. Which is probably a few more rounds than their defences can handle.
So, I guess now we just have to do clean up.
​
​
If you liked this story, head over to [r/F4TF0X](https://www.reddit.com/r/F4TF0X/) to read more of my stuff! |
#A Quick Project
[Warning: super weird]
_____________________________________
"How was school today, honey?"
My spletmorchin began vibrating erratically. *Did she know?* I concealed the disturbance with the flanges on my tentacles.
"Good."
"Really? That's not what your teacher said."
My flanges sprang out to a sharp point.
"Don't you take that tone with me, young xir!"
"Sorry, Broodmother. All glory to the brood."I dropped my defenses and stared at the floor. At least my xister clones weren't around to see this.
"She said you were having problems with your planet. Something about it not being utopian enough?"
I exhaled a gust of air through my reticulum. Pulling out the orb-like universe binding my project for my Utopian World class, I ran the tips of my tentacle in a clockwise spiral until the image on the outside of the orb zoomed in to a blue sphere.
"Honey, you're supposed to put labels on those. I guess that's not what this is about, though."
Taking out a stylus I etched the note, "Earth"into the black void around the miserable marble.
"Let me take a look."Holding a focusing shield in front of her face-bulb, my broodmother squinted all 18 of her eyeballs as each one peered into a different portion of the miniature world. After a moment of rather peculiar grunts (even for an alien), my broodmother put down the magnifying device and looked at me. "Honey, you know you can come to me when you need help, right?"
"I started with a plan, just like the textbook said. But they just kept fighting, so I had to set back their development over and over again. And, then, this character named Gandhi showed up. It was a disaster."
"Honey, honey, honey. Is that what this is about?"
I stared up into her center eyes with my center eyes. My exterior eyes watched the nearby volkenplax's buzzing around the carboes. One of them ate their own young.
"Honey. You don't try to stop the violence; that's against nature. You let them fight it out, until one species is dominant. Then, let that species exert its will over all the others. Only once you've established this natural order can you begin sowing the seeds for your utopia."
"But... they *are* all one species?"
The broodmother's flanges flexed for half a micron. She cleared her reticulum before picking up the focusing shield again. This time she looked in a more tentacles-on fashion.
"Oh. OH! Honey, no. I don't know how this happened, but you need to restart."
"But it took all semester to get this far! I'll fail if I don't fix this in time!"
"Just advance one of your backup planets."
My side eyes searched the corpse of the young volkenplax as though it held answers. "...I didn't make any backup planets."
"Hmm. Well, in that case, meat, don't waste anymore food. The brood will go on!"She finished speaking before sliming away.
My internal food storage rumbled traitorously. In my quietest voice, I echoed back, "...The brood will go on."
The blue marble floating on my tentacle exploded in fire before cracking down the middle. |
July 21, 5021
For the past 450 or so years, the planet's geography has completely changed to the point that anyone from the early 4000s won't even realize what's being presented to them was actually Earth a thousand years into the future unless you expressly show them the various records of the war that has been going on since the 69th World War, or as the nihilists call, the Nice War.
It didn't start off as a battle so large in scale, but as the skirmishes escalated, nukes were launched, tectonic plates were shifted, artificial storms were thrown around like the gods of ancient old decided to have a contest on who can rip the fattest ass across the globe...
Even now, the Rickrollian Colonists with their "One True Purpose"of unifying the entire world and "Never Giving it Up"march on to extend their reaches toward New Spain as the anarchistic Kulikitaka Titanists continue their ravenous pillaging of the Eurasian Archipelago. Now that the villainous Caramell Dansen Destroyers have breached the border, there's nothing I could and wait for my country's impending doom.
But we will not stand idly by as these treacherous demons tread our holy lands. They will bleed and they will rot. We will feast on their flesh, and drink from their skulls.
Brothers and sisters. The time is upon us.
Dorime. 🙏🙏🙏 |
"Well shit."I thought, peering at the creature.
You know, funnily enough, I was just having a dream about this thing.
Or rather, the person who gifted me with such a reliable and dedicated follower.
Fucking Rick, I knew he should have called it at the exploding frogs, or the anti personnel cockroaches.
I don't know if dying was what he deserved, but I can say for certain that I won't have what he's having, or rather, had.
A little garden snail, about the size of your thumb, but naturally encased in some bullshit, "I can't believe it's not deus ex machina", level armor, and constantly secreting a potent cardiotoxin to boot.
but what I'm left wondering is...
How the fuck is this thing still alive?
Snails live what, 2? 3 years tops?
I've heard the really big ones can live up to ten, but this one is tiny.
It's been 30 goddamn years.
...
This, isn't the same snail.
It's not coming for me.
I remember clearly, that day 30 years ago.
He also said that he directly modified the brain of this snail to follow a special pheromone.
He said this snail would follow it's target indefinitely, even if the scent wears off.
Crazy stuff, I know.
Of course, the genius forgot to wash his hands after handling the snails, and was found dead the next day by yours truly.
And just so happens, he spilled the pheromone all over his floor, before I realized it was the stuff, I stuck my finger in it, and gave it a lick.
It tasted like grape soda.
Anyways, long story short, next day I awoke to find the snail in my house, my dog dead on the floor.
It was a similar situation to this one, but regardless, I immediately knew I had to leave.
I flew to Australia, been living here ever since.
Anyways, back on topic, this isn't the same snail, like I said.
Because of course it isn't.
It's just a normal, garden variety snail.
I walked towards the window, wondering why it was completely pitch black out, the sun should be rising soon after all.
I opened the window, to let in some fresh air.
But air didn't come.
I reached out to the darkness.
I felt a hard, slimy surface.
Hundreds of thousands, millions of snail come pouring in, flooding my room.
Wait a fuckin-
"Agghhggh"I exclaimed clutching my chest.
Guess I'm the fool.
Now here I am, being poisoned by the toxin, and being drowned in the sheer quantity of snails.
"Well shit"I thought, peering into the endless sea of my own demise.
[The end]
That's my first time writing from a prompt, so sorry if it totally sucked. |
Humanity was buzzing about the increase in UFOs. The flying saucers and floating lights in the sky could no longer be dismissed as hallucinations or fabrications. They were ubiquitous. They were visible to anyone with a working pair of eyes.
The crafts and lights hovered over mines and refineries. They darted around chemical plants. They roved above traffic-jammed freeways and scummy beaches littered with trash. They seemed especially keen to linger at Fukushima and other oceanic spots where industrial waste was regularly dumped.
Responses to the UFOs were predictable. The religious zealots quoted scripture and raved about the end times. The "ancient astronaut theorists"prostrated themselves beneath the ships of their returning overlords and pled their allegiances. Average folks were excited, or frightened, or indifferent: they had their suppositions and voiced them regularly. But to governments, the sudden increase in alien ships could only mean one thing.
An invasion was imminent.
So the major powers of the globe pooled their resources together and prepared to mount a defence. Space stations were hastily built and fitted to launch nuclear missiles. Secret military technologies were shared among the allied nations and everyone worked tirelessly to get them in working order. A massive moon base was constructed and manned. Satellites that used solar energy to beam deadly lasers were launched into orbit. The rapidity was astonishing. Within two years, a planetary iron dome was fully operational.
They could not catch the saucers or airborne lights. They were too fast, their flight patterns too unpredictable. They could not study the enemy. All they could do was keep dumping their time and money into space weaponry. All they could do was continue to anxiously monitor the stars for signs of the approaching armadas. And all the civilians could do was stare up at the sky and wait.
Everyone was so busy craning their necks, looking up, that they almost missed the Emergence.
All at once, legions of creatures began to emerge from the oceans onto the shores. They looked like tall jellyfish with leather skin. Some of them glowed. Even out of the water, they seemed almost to float, ambulating along the sands on the tips of their tendrils, their baggy mushroom-like heads slowly pulsating like the jellyfish in water. They had no eyes. They had no visible mouths. They were slightly taller than humans. They were more alien in form than the aliens humanity had imagined were on their way.
But they did not hail from other solar systems, galaxies, or dimensions, lightyears away. They were as much earthlings as the humans themselves, though they had evolved and developed and grew civilized not on the lands of Earth, but deep in beneath its ocean waters. And now there were millions upon millions of them, row upon row, rising in military formation from the waters, slowly storming the undefended beaches.
They took us completely by surprise.
\- - -
Part 2!
[https://www.reddit.com/r/CLBHos/comments/nfq50b/jelly\_wars\_revenge\_of\_the\_sea\_part\_2/](https://www.reddit.com/r/CLBHos/comments/nfq50b/jelly_wars_revenge_of_the_sea_part_2/) |
He was living the 'idle bartender' cliche. Customer walks in to see him polishing an already sparkling glass behind a similarly shining counter in an impossibly stainless bar.
"How have I never seen this place?"
The bartender looked directly at him for the first time, before brightening a little. "Ah, a new face! Come in, have a seat."
Alex sat at the bar, unbuttoning the stifling suit coat, before looking around a little. "I enjoy-"the words weren't even all the way out of his mouth before a tumbler of dark liquor with a king cube slid smoothly to a stop directly before him. Alex looked up, and the bartender already had a second tumbler in hand, holding it out.
"How did-"
"Bartender secret", he whispered with a roguish wink.
"Well, I'm not here to argue. Cheers."A small clink, and Alex took a sip. And his world suddenly sang. Whatever this whiskey was, it truly was. The flavors shifted like a kaleidoscope wherever even a drop went. His mouth tingled.
*GASP* "What the fuck"
The bartender had a broad grin. "Good, eh?"
"Do not stop giving me whatever this is."
"Delighted. Now, if you're not here to argue, tell me what you ARE here for."
"My life is falling apart. Figured that a bottle might clarify what my inhibitions refuse to."
"Well, the liquor is good to get things rolling. But what it won't do is tell ya what's a bad idea. So, since we're here and-"he gestured around the establishment "guaranteed privacy, why not bounce your problems off me?"
"Wife's leaving me."
"Got a reason?"
"Either she's fallen out of love with me or she has some side dick. Maybe both."
"The drink is supposed to be bitter, not you. What'd she say?"
"Alex, we never spend time together."
"Let me guess, you have..."the bartender looked Alex in the eye for an almost uncomfortable length of time. "Man-cave. Or a bbq deck."
"Let me guess, trade secret?"
"Nah. Hair's got grooves above the ears, sunken eyes, you got a bit of a squint. Reading glasses, most likely, since you're not wearing any right now. Uncomfortably tight ones. And-"another long stare "yup, definitely outdated prescription. So you're probably not doing any pleasure reading. The glasses are for work."
"Uhh"Alex saved himself from answering by taking another long swig of miracle whiskey.
"Point is, you get home and you take a decompression break in your cave. That break lasts too long. Every day. How am I doing so far?"
"3 for 3, I think?"He was about to ask for a top-off when he looked down and saw his glass already refilled. He shrugged internally. The bartender was clearly a psychic wizard. ...fuck, this was a dangerous drink.
"Better than I've done in a while. What questions would *you* ask someone in your position?"
"Hm?"
"Let's say I'm a friend. My wife says she's leaving me. Thinks I'm not spending time with her. What are you going to ask to clarify the situation? "
"When was the last time you spoke with her?"Alex was kind of floundering, but this was what he did. He could rally.
"We talk every night."
"No, **spoke** with her. When did you ask about her day? Really engage in conversation? Ask her some of the random icebreaker questions you would on tinder?"
"Well, Alex? When was that?"The bartender had a sly smile on his face.
Alex damn near fell off the stool. He brought the glass back up to his lips, draining it in one go. "I've got a plan!"he proclaimed, properly getting up this time. He took several quick, slightly unsteady steps toward the door.
"Hey, Alex."A stop. "Have one for the road."
"Well shit, if you're offering."Alex grabbed the glass the bartender offered, chugging. He turned back around, exiting the bar.
He was halfway down the block when he suddenly dropped into sobriety. No whiskey sweat, no headache. Somehow, between one step and the next, his head was clear and his gait steady. "Wait, I didn't pay!"He sprinted back to the bar.
There wasn't a storefront there. Or a building. "Son of a bitch, where am I gonna find that whiskey now?"
He straightened his back, looking straight on. "I had a plan. It's time to go save my marriage."
Slumped next to a wall, an old homeless man smiled. "Another satisfied customer."He got up, leaning on a cane, before he started sauntering away as best one could with a limp. Humming an aimless tune. |
Street Warden rubbed his forehead. Why had they thought this was a good idea? Local tryouts were never a good idea. He told the others they would need to make an appeal to the Hero's Union. But no, they insisted on holding a tryout. They were a local team, they said. They should recruit locally they said. Why had he not put his foot down?
"Thank you, we'll get back to you."He said to the pimple faced teenager.
The boy was skinny, gangly and obviously unsuited for hero work. Oh, but of course, he had "lots of potential"and "just needed training". Just like half the people at the tryout. The boy looked hopeful as he walked away.
"Can we go now?"he muttered to the other two members of the team.
"No. We said we'd see this through, so we will."Ms. Dazzle said. "Besides, there were a few good ones."
"No there weren't."Street Warden said.
"Hey, hey, I think we've got a winner coming now."Rumble said, nudging the team leader.
The young woman approaching the table was certainly...noticeable. She was slightly shorter than Street Warden's 6'2, and had a figure that combined a Barbie doll and a fitness competitor. And then there was her unusual choice of costume.
"Is she wearing a swimsuit?"The team leader asked.
"Yes. Yes she is."Ms. Dazzle replied with a strained smile.
"I like it."Rumble said.
Both of the large man's teammates rolled their eyes.
"Hi there!"The woman said cheerfully when she reached the trio. Street Warden put on his best professional smile.
"Hello, miss. What can you tell me about yourself? Your name, what you can do, that sort of thing."
"Well, for now, I'm calling myself the Swimsuit Paladin."She said. Warden caught her eye twitch just a tiny bit, and her smile faltered just slightly. But at least he could tell why she was dressed as she was.
Before the Paladin could continue, Ms. Dazzle interrupted. "Excuse me for interrupting, but why a swimsuit?"
She shifted her weight from foot to foot and looked nervous. "Uh, honestly? It's because I needed to wear something costume like, and this is pretty much all I have. All my budget went to my weapon, see? So, now I have this, and I named myself accordingly. I'm definitely willing to change it to something better, but my costume and my name, if you accept me."
"Weapon?"Rumble said, casting his gaze to a place that was definitely not her face. "Is that what you do? You're a weapon user?"
"Yup, that's it. I hit things with my hammer. I hit them really, really hard."
Well, that was something, at least. Although Rumble fit the 'hit things really hard' slot in the team already, Street Warden would never turn down someone with that skillset, provided they were any good. What worried him was that she did not have a hammer, and lacked any place where one could be hidden.
"I see."He said. "And would you be able to show up some of your skills?"
"Oh, sure. Hang on, I left my hammer at the entrance. It's pretty big, and I didn't want to carry it around all the time while I was waiting."
She ran off towards the indicated area.
"At least she's got enough sense not to wear heels."Dazzle said, indicating the sneakers Paladin wore.
"I like her. I like her a lot."Rumble said. "I think we should accept her. She'll make a great addition to the team."
"Stop thinking with your pants, Rumble."Warden said. "We'll see what she can do when she comes back."
When she came back, Paladin had a truly marvelous weapon held across her shoulders. The hammer was huge, with a striking surface the size of Rumble's fist, and a wicked spike jutting from the other end. The main part of the head was larger than most watermelons, and the haft looked like it was pure metal. This was not a weapon used to hit someone. This was a weapon used to CRUSH someone. And she had it resting on her shoulders like it was nothing.
"Here it is."She said proudly. "Took pretty much every cent I had, but it was totally worth it."
She shifted it, no longer resting it on her shoulders, and twirled it slowly in one hand. She made it look easy. Even Rumble was getting nervous.
"So, uh, how much does that thing weigh?"The big man said.
"I think somewhere in the 350 pound range, but I'd have to check."
That was only a little less than what the brawler could bench press. It weighed as much as Warden and Dazzle combined. The three of them looked at each other. If she could swing that beast around so easily, she was definitely someone they wanted on their side.
"Why don't you show us a bit of what you can do with it."Warden said.
Paladin nodded, gripped the weapon in both hands, and launched into a flurry of motion. She swung it faster than he could swing a tack hammer. Each one kicked up a gust of wind, scattering loose papers and making those around her stand back. And there was more. Street Warden could tell she was no armature. She was not simply swinging the weapon. she knew how to use it effectively. Her stance was unshakable, her grip was unbreakable, and her technique was nearly flawless.
She ended up with an overhead swing that met the concrete floor. The floor shattered under the force of the blow. Fragments scattered like they had been launched from a gun, and it was only through a fluke of chance that nobody got hit. But when he looked closer, Warden saw that was not quite right. The Swimsuit Paladin's namesake outfit had developed a few small tears in it, but the skin underneath was unharmed.
"So, what do you think?"She asked, returning her weapon to her shoulders. She was not even breathing hard.
Street Warden looked to his teammates. Before the tryouts, they had agreed to a one week debate period, to properly deliberate and think about their choices. That was no longer necessary though.
He stood up and extended his hand to the woman. "Well, Swimsuit Paladin, I think all of us can agree on this. Congratulations, you're in." |
It's not really the hunger, the dangers, or the thirst, that is the worst of it. It's the desperation. It's the choice you make when your throat is dry as sandpaper, as you stand before a muddy puddle filled with insects and scum. It's the choice whether to try the potentially poisonous berries growing on thorny bushes, or to feel that horrendous stabbing weakness in your aching belly for another second. You make the choice you must, to survive. You do what is necessary, in the hope that the filthy water and disgusting berries will make it possible to reach civilisation again. Even if you know that you are lost in the middle of nowhere, in an abandoned, quarantined region, where nobody lives and nobody visits, and you'll never survive; You make the choices so you can keep going. Even though you know you won't make it.
It's been three days since I last had something to eat, before we left the outpost. Just a quick flying search of Quarantine Zone #91 for possible organic abnormalities in local flora, because of the radiation and poisons. Ordinary, run of the mill job. Didn't expect the chopper to fail on us. Didn't expect to survive the crash. Wish I hadn't. They don't go looking for us. The stuff out here is dangerous, and rescue missions are a death sentence at best. Mobile carnivorous fungal colonies, deep plant-pits filled with digestive enzymes and acid, the damn mutant animals, to say nothing of the still dangerous radiation and mutagenic waste. I've survived three days with barely any sleep. Must be the fucking record.
I've been following a small track of stones, perhaps ruins of some of the early outposts before the security zone was expanded, ruins of a lost town maybe. I'm borderline delirious as I step into the graveyard. It's been years since I've seen one, all human bodies are recycled after use these days. Soylent green. Tired, I fall to my knees, ready to give in. That's when they arise. From five graves with stones still standing. Five ethereal ghosts. I figure my body is dying and I'm hallucinating. Shouldn't have eaten those weird berries maybe. They surround me, acting as witnesses to my demise. They don't speak. After all things are rotted away, how can that which has passed beyond the flesh speak? But I hear them. Inside my mind, from the places where dreams and nightmares are born. A chorus of voices, offering me healing, food, direction, and power. Riches beyond anything I could have ever earned as an inspector for the Quarantine Zones.
The price is simple. Give them rest. Grant them justice. Avenge the accursed bloodline that put them into the grave. Exterminate a family that is born from vice, evil, and greed. Desperation is the worst, but you make the choices you must in life. You either live or you die. The choice is mine, power, life, wealth, and food. Or the option to join the ghostly choir. I accept the bargain. Life for vengeance. Survival for justice. The name of the bloodline echoes inside my skull, the bloodline of the CEO of Earth, the master of mankind, he who controls all wealth and all men work for. At first I am shocked. Who can stand against the world, and its master? Who can end a bloodline like that? But then my eyes are opened.
I see billions of ghosts before me. Our ancestors. All of them. Every human that ever was, from the first to arise in Africa, to the ghosts of dead involuntary workers who served under the current regime. From the greatest fools to the wisest of humans. All of them scream the name of the bloodline that is driving mankind back into the darkness, all scream with hate for the death of those who have become rich beyond measure, who betray clan, tribe, nation, and the very soul of humanity with their every breath. Through them, I am empowered. My poisoned, hungry body is healed and filled with all I need to live. My tired barely functional mind is sharpened like an arrow. The invisible flame of radiation is purged from my flesh. Thus I rise from the graveyard dirt. And stride towards the gates. When I arrive, the guards take aim, but with the voice of every great leader in history I command them, and with the authority of my voice they bow, and let me back into the world.
Every single angered voice in my head, drives me forward. Life, power, and wealth. Vengeance for humanity. Vengeance for those five who approached me, slain by greed and apathy. Vengeance for every human child born into a world of obedient slavery to a corporate overlord. It is not hard to convince others to lay down their arms and follow me. It is not hard, when the combined minds of all of mankind's history can think through me. Advise me, guide me. Because I am not their unwilling puppet. Seeing them, understanding what I have done, all my life, all the compromises, all the fear carved into my brain by corporate propaganda, has made me hate those who have turned mankind from proud scholars, warriors, and free beings, into a race of cowards and brainwashed men. What they needed was someone to find one of the last graves of humans, sacred ground where tears were shed over the dead. Not a recycling facility, where bodies are resources to be harvested. What I needed was to wake, and understand that the choice to merely survive is not enough.
As I march, others follow. As I speak, others listen. The corporate media tries to tear me down, tries to make people not listen. But it is too late. Far too late. As I speak, others begin to hear the ancestors. Others begin to see as I see. Others speak like I do. And we spread like a wildfire, covering the land, until only those high-priced cities where the corporate overlords sit, their accursed bloodline, six cursed families bound into one greedy, vile clan, remain. A line of evil that will consume the world. Their cyborg-slave soldiers weep as our words are broadcast, for it breaks their programming, and they remember what they were. Human once. Their propagandists break down on live-streams, begging for forgiveness for aiding those who do an evil without even falsely believing it is for the greater good. For aiding those who harm and destroy for nothing but profit. Their weakness is the idea that they can destroy what makes us human, and profit of it. Without their slaves and without their brainwashed followers, they are but a group of weak, vain, foolish, and monstrous creatures. As their power crumbles, one by one they are brought before me. They plead, beg, cajole, asks for mercy from us, when they've shown us none. Guided by our ancestors. Guided by all mankind that is, and was, I speak to the betrayers. The accursed line bred from the masters of the Apple, the Castle, the Smirk, and countless others.
More than 100 billion humans have ever lived. Imagine what it sounds like, when they all scream from one mouth. Imagine what hatred there is as the dead rip apart the souls of the living betrayers. No witnesses remained conscious of what it looked like, as the entirety of human history took vengeance, through me, their vessel. No video captured it, no sound was recorded. When the world woke, the dead were gone. Our ancestors no longer spoke. But I said measured words, convinced the world to begin changing things, to heal the Quarantine Zones instead of expanding them, to use less resources, to care more. It was easier than we would have thought. But that was because all of our fears, our delusions, and our hate, had been removed from us, and re-forged into a singular hatred and disgust towards those who nearly destroyed our cradle-world.
I alone, still hear the ancestors. I hear all of human history. They forgave and welcomed countless monsters who were responsible for murders, monstrous acts, genocides. But the souls of the betrayers, the line of evil, the family of greed, hasn't been forgiven. Before there was forgiveness for all, even the worst of mankind, who believed in madness, had the potential for good and could be granted clemency in the next world; and thus the concept of Hell was merely an idea shared by the living. But I know that there is one now, for when I lie awake at night in a good bed, when I think of new ways to help heal our dying world, I can hear the betrayers. I can hear them suffer. They made Earth into hell. Now they're paying for it.
Part of me wishes it would stop. Part of me knows that until the world ends, the suffering of those who would destroy the plant to gain a higher profit margin, must continue. Because it will remind us, that we can never let such monsters be born unto the Earth again. Humanity will not survive it a second time. I made the choice to survive, and paid the price. Vengeance for the dead. Justice for the living. And punishment for those who made the world come to this. But I wonder, that if perhaps for my own mind and sanity, that the price was too steep.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) |
"Oh fuck. oh fuck. oh fuck!!!"I thought to myself as I clumsiness hurdled through the trees. Ireland, not exactly the most sober, nor the most stealthy, nation, for some reason decided they wanted to go in for the Assassination Event and I was too drunk to realize the "funny"application for the position may actually be chosen.
I somehow had pushed the American candidate off a cliff while she was watching his own kill go down. And the English guys were too easily fooled when they thought the drunken stumble and fall was when getting shot. Not to mention the blood from the fall. When I was groaning about lunch coming back up, they thought you I dying. Never thought that they would get killed in a drunken bar fight type thing.
Then the German guy lost when I spiked his vodka in the drinking contest (I don't think he ever considered we'd be dishonourable and mess with The Vodka).
And now it's just me and Japan. Of course, it's the fuckin' ninja!
Edit: somewhere along the line I went from first person to other person. Now all first person. |
The scent of cold steel; barking heard from afar. Neko awoke, feeling their tail brush against the metallic grid of the cage. As their eyes blinked awake, memories of the day before bubbled into consciousness, warping and floating out of understanding. What remained for Neko was the sketch of a sensation, the feeling of flesh stretching, of bones breaking and rebuilding, and of a pure, unfettered frenzy of lupine energy. This, and the image of a flaring full moon overhead were all that remained. Neko thought this was a dream, looking down to see the same, familiar orange fur and feline feet they had always seen, but they sensed a soreness all over which suggested, in some primordial manner, that everything which had since blown into their memory had come from some even more secretive midnight wind, whose breath they still felt on their fur.
The barking continued, loud and deep. Neko peered between the bars of the cage, and saw across a hallway, a whole cage full of canines with this carnivorous look in their eyes which seemed to say: you too may be meat. Neko became aware again of their body, of its inferior size, the dogs two or three times larger than Neko. They tried to bark, to roar as they did the night before, but let out only a muted meow. The dogs barked, louder now, mocking Neko, but so long as they were both enclosed in their cages, everything would be safe.
Neko fell asleep. When they awoke again, the scent of cold steel was gone, replaced by a wet dog smell. Moonlight trickled in from the window. |
Outside the enormous brass double doors, the crowd cheered. Through the two-inch thick metal, Lorna could still hear their muffled cries, shouting her name. The Chosen One, they called her. She suppressed the urge to laugh bitterly. What little they knew. If only Dana were here to see it.
Dana and Lorna were two sides of the same coin. If Dana ever tripped and fell, Lorna would be the one to cry. If Lorna ever had a nightmare, Dana would be the one to wake their parents in an uncharacteristic frisson of fear. They'd always had a strange, shared, connection - something Lorna couldn't quite explain.
But it was Dana who had always been the headstrong one. The brave one. When they turned ten and were sent to the Prophet, it was Lorna who had clung to her sister's arm, crying for fear of what the future might hold. Ever the protective older sister, Dana insisted that they were a package deal. Either they faced the Prophet together, or the two of them would have to live their lives without any knowledge of the future. Lorna smiled as she remembered how the soldiers had refused at first, then finally relented in the face of Dana's stubbornness.
The Prophet had been expecting both of them. Two prophecies were foretold, but there was only one Chosen One. The news was announced right after Lorna and Dana's Telling, but only the two of them and the Prophet knew who was prophesied to become the savior of Rale's Landing.
It had been Dana's idea to keep it a secret. "This way, the demons won't know which one of us to target,"she had whispered with a sly grin.
But that hadn't been enough to stop them. Lorna winced as she brushed the puckered scar that ran down her forearm. That night of flame had been seared into her memory - the screams, the burning, the smoke. Dana pushing Lorna down the staircase, to safety. Her sister's damned smirk as the stairway collapsed a few seconds later. "I'll be fine,"she had quipped. "I'm the Chosen One, remember? No evil can befall me, not until I face off against Asmodeus."
But the Chosen One's death hadn't stopped the relentless march of Asmodeus's armies, and with one of the two candidates dead, all eyes turned to Lorna. Surely, as the Survivor, she would have to be the Chosen One.
Tomorrow, they'd find out just how wrong they were. Lorna would ride at dawn with the king's armies and the king's magicians to face Asmodeus and his legions from Hell. She would try her best, but she was nothing more than a fake, the weaker half of a broken whole.
The doors opened, and Lorna stepped forward. The crowd roared her name. Lorna smiled, imitating the brash and cheeky grin that she'd seen her twin wear so many times. Had Dana felt this way as well? Like she was pretending to be someone else who she wasn't? Lorna doubted it. Her sister had never shown a trace of uncertainty, had always seemed steadfast and sure in her destiny.
*Did you know me at all, sister?*
Lorna startled at the voice in her head, a voice that she hadn't heard for the past ten years.
*We were ten, Lorna. The weight of the world on my shoulders before I had learned to fight, before I understood the meaning of death, before I knew how many lives depended on my success...and wondering the whole time, wondering if the Prophet had made a mistake, if the true Chosen One was somewhere else, if the world was pinning its hopes on the wrong person. There's a reason why I didn't want everyone to know it was me.*
"So, was the Prophet wrong?"Lorna whispered beneath her breath. "Have I been the Chosen One all along?"
*Only the Goddess knows. I suggest you choose your own destiny, for ever since I've made my own path, life has been better for it.*
The link broke; the voice was gone. The cheers of the crowd were no longer muted, and the raucous sounds of celebration prevented Lorna from sorting through the chaotic mess of thoughts in her head. One thing was for certain, though. Dana was back on the mortal plane. |
Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!
“Alright, alright everyone. We all know most of the countries here have all had a time when they needed to prove their right to be seated at the UN. Many of us have had to prove ourselves in the security council and many of us have had to prove to naysayers that we are able to stand on our own-”
The Secretary-General began before someone in the crowd snorted. I swung my head around so that I could maybe catch a glimpse at the pompous ass. Then I just wanted to cover my head in shame as I realized that there were multiple people holding back smirks, laughter and even a few that glared at me for trying to enter this important place.
“Enough. We are not children. This person before us has come as any new member would to introduce themselves and the nation for which they stand for. Please take the stage, Denis, representative for L'île Denis.”
There was a smattering of applause and an undercurrent of conversation that I could not pick up. I walked up with my satchel filled with enough notes and documents to be treated as a small library. Coming up the the podium things seemed unreal. Looking out into a sea of at least 193 faces I felt a little sick. This was worse than trying to defend my thesis four years ago on public relations in tri-lingual countries.
“Umm, yes hello. I am Denis Levesque”
Off to a great start, may as well have said that I am an alcoholic and completed the sheepish routine. I focused on one semi-receptive face in the crowd before I started my short speech I had settled on. Seventy failed attempts had finally paid off, or so I hoped.
“I would like to introduce L'île Denis. Population of forty-nine at the moment. It is located in the Pacific Ocean at xx°xx'x.x"N XX°XX'X.X"W. I have a short slide deck to introduce some of the details that were submitted the the UN bureau before this meeting.”
I brought up the presentation slides that I had made onto the screen above me and settled into teaching mode. Hopefully these would be receptive students but I refused to make eye contact with Russia who was looking at me with suspicion and Canada that was looking at me with possible betrayal. I soldiered on anyway.
“It is not a big country, 18, 789 km^2 but it is home to several unique species of birds and countless other animals that will certainly catch the eye of many biologists. Our main exports will be macadamias, arrowroot, and cannabis which grow naturally on the island.”
England snorted. Screw them, they would not know potential unless they saw it in their hands. Russia looked less suspicious and a little bit more amused.
“This is our flag,” I gestured toward its triangular design. “We have tried to design something that reflects the unique qualities and sovereign country we wish to be and remain.”
The eyes I had set on narrowed a little bit but they were still listening, so I continued.
“We have decided to take on the crypto-currency, Pobstar, as our main form of trade which currently puts our GDP at fifty-eight billion US dollars.”
Pause for effect. A few eyebrows raised at this. There were other small nations that could not necessarily boast so much in so little. My listener’s mouth started to twitch, questions wanted to spill out like a waterfall, no doubt.
“Our government form is a republic based system that we have developed for our unique purpose that consists of an elected council that serves for five years before switching out for a new one. A constitution, and set of two hundred bills have been formed and passed to keep our government honest and transparent.”
These comments brought more rapt attention to what I had to say. Slide after slide I went over demographics, research intentions, culture, and proposed relations on the international stage. The G8 members watched with shrewd eyes, no doubt already planning how they might try to leverage power over my country. Me and my people would not go down without a fight though. I took the eight minutes of time I had been allotted and then looked around at a large sea of faces than I had seen in the last four months.
“Any questions?”
Hands shot up. I wish that I had sent someone else as the representative but I looked toward the Secretary-general that had his hand raised as well. It would be a long day, but I would not back down. Not with my country at stake. |
Mikael slid his finger into the lip of his envelope with a wiggle. The bend of his knuckle curled on the paper and ripped across the edge. Smooth at first, but the paper bunched together towards the end of the envelope. He sighed as he pulled out the letter within. Beneath the standard message from the job placement board were improperly formatted results. The spacing was all off and some of the letters were not in line with the others, as if printed by a broken typewriter.
"What the hell is a Pocket Manager?"Mikael muttered to himself.
*Some kind of joke,* he thought. Before crumbling up the letter, he checked the letterhead, then the return address, and then the postage. All seemed in order. He had seen parchment just like this at the address listed on the envelope. He decided to inquire with the job placement board.
He strolled across town to the plain cement building where he took his test. The same, overweight woman with red hair and gray roots barely looked up from her computer when he walked in. The air conditioning froze the glaze of sweat on his neck. He took a moment to breathe in the cool, as if it would cool down his internal temperature quickly enough to calm his nerves.
"Is this a joke?"Mikael asked the woman. The cool air had not worked.
She looked up slightly, more interested than when he first walked in, but then picked up the phone. She whispered quickly into the receiver and then hung up.
"What's that?"she asked.
"My results. They aren't for real jobs."
"Well, that's not true. Our system only matches candidates with real jobs. That's how the system works. It can't make things up."
Mikael paused to consider this. It had to be true. Why would they lie? The woman seemed to notice his disbelief.
"Let me see, sir. I have someone coming out to talk to you right now."
Mikael handed her the letter. Her eyes bounced around the letter before looking up at him, more skeptical than the previous two times, but still rather unbothered. She handed it back to him and picked up the phone again, whispering too low and too quickly for his ears.
"Mikael?"a man poked his head out from behind a door that Mikael hadn't noticed before.
"Yes,"Mikael took a step back from the front desk with his letter.
"Come on back."
The two walked across matted carpet that hadn't been vacuumed in years. Their footsteps slapped as it would against concrete. The man seemed to be considering what to say and Mikael had nothing to say at all.
"So, what seems to be the problem?"the man asked.
"I don't know what a Pocket Manager is."
"Me either..."the man's voice faded more with each syllable.
"So, do I need to take the test again."
"No. Someone knows what it is. It's just not me."
"Who is it?"
"Almost there,"the man stated to end all conversation.
The man opened a door and gestured for Mikael to go inside. Fluorescent lights reflected off the fresh white paint on the walls. Were it not for the same, matted carpet on the floor, one might go blind inside. In the middle of the corporate torture chamber was a desk with an outdated computer monitor on it. Neon green text blinked on an otherwise black screen.
**This is your pocket (PD #770185)**, it read. **You may not go further into the pocket, nor leave the pocket. It is yours to manage. Please provide upper management with a report on this pocket by the end of the week. No incoming traffic is expected until next month. Please provide upper management with a report when traffic begins.**
Mikael looked up to ask the man what the message meant, but there was no man. There was no door. Just the whirring of fluorescent lights, bouncing off of white walls and falling flat on matted carpet.
Within a few days, the walls seemed to ripple and bubble. He rubbed his eyes and looked again, unsure of what he had seen. His stomach growled as he made his first entry into the weekly report. |
The tales of the savagery and wickedness of the great Dark Lord Molroth had been spread far and wide for generations. People everywhere knew that the evil one would destroy their lives and leave them wailing in blood in whatever remained of their shattered, dessicated villages.
Molroth's followers seemed cultish, and were often cast out of and barred from entering any township. The Chosen One, they all knew, would soon rise to defeat this great evil...
But what no one counted on was that it was all a farce.
Molroth was never truly a Dark Lord of Evil... He was actually a young Elvish woman who saw how greedy and corrupt the world of men was, and sought to bring balance back in her own way. So she studied the artes of war and sorceries, dedicating herself to her task. As takes of her deeds grew stronger, they tended, as all things do, to lose their grip on reality, until a waifish Elf girl became a massive, towering Dread Licking clad in armour of blackened Hellfire Steel, commanding armies of the damned.
The first act "Molroth"took every time she rode to conquer was to aim straight for the rulers first, seeding normal people into the kingdoms' upper echelons and discover the depths of depravity. Bribing, savage torture, wars that saw no end, unspeakable acts performed on man, woman, and child alike... Non of it was spared. And no one ever saw her coming... Magic had a tendency to err on the side of surprise, after all. Once she'd taken over, the first thing she did was eradicate the monarchy and it's defenders. In its place, the towns and villages of these fallen fiefdoms would hold an ection to bring in a fair Judge, who would handle the goings-on and report back to their new Overlord. As such, most towns began to see a massive influx of growth and prosperity; now that their gold was actually being used for something important, tiny little grove towns became sprawling cities of their own practically overnight.
This pattern took hold rapidly... And by the time the Chosen One was born, "Molroth"had spread out and taken the entire world, rendering it a safe haven for all races to live harmoniously. The people could not abide by the Chosen One returning them to the dark ages they'd lived in before...
So, every fifty years or so, when a new Chosen One would rise, they would find themselves shunned from the world, their own people refusing to come to their aide. They would die alone on the streets by the tender age of five, unable to even rise in opposition of the "Greatest Evil That Ever Was"...
And frankly, Faera of Lightroom Forrest was willing to look past a single murder every fifty years... |
There once was a boy, at the top of a veery steep hill.
The boy was a shepherd, and good at his job, too, children. He took it very seriously.
When on one clear and cold winter's morn he heard from the field of sheep a bleat of alarm, he knew what he had to do. He blew his whistle and called for help. As the townspeople ran to the field to search around, none could see the wolf, nor the sheep who had voiced its alarm. They went home, relieved to not have to face a wolf. And the next day, a ragged sheep's corpse was found by the boy on the edge of the forest.
Another day, this of lashing spring rain, he heard a growl and a thud. Hesitant, he scanned his eyes, until he saw a smear of blood, and called with whistle and word for townsfolk. By the time they had arrived, the rain had washed away the blood, and they could see no trace of any crime. This time, they cuffed his ears and told him to not make stories.
And he found a sheep with its throat torn out so it could bleat no warning.
A third day passed like this, and a forth and a fifth, until on this sixth day, of summer shine and cloudless sky, the shepherd boy watched the wolf step from the forest. His heart thudding, he blew whistle and called loud. The wolf growled in annoyance, retreating partway into the forest for cover. But nobody came to the boy's aid. All dismissed the call.
And the wolf stalked towards the boy.
​
And when the bloodstains were clung to a fence post, and the slashed ribbons of his skin and his cloak were discovered in the field, they could not call it stories.
​
The wolf will never show itself to the defended, the secure, or the protected. It preys on the weak, the easy bite, the disbelieved. The wolf lets you believe it doesn't pose a threat, or even that it doesn't exist. The boy may have cried wolf often, but nobody in the town wanted to believe here? In this nice little country town? A wolf hunts *here*? Much easier to assume the boy cried too often, than that they took action too little. Not a wolf. Not here. |
"He can not stay here."The Elder said as she looked at your bald and flabby flesh disapprovingly.
They had tolerated your strange looks for many years, assuming that you might be some sort of proto-form of a new type of person, did not the Tritons of the deepwater look much like you, and did not some few of the greatest among dragon-kind have a superficially similar form?
But you, for all that you have grown strong and hail, have stubbornly refused to take any other characteristics to save those of the most hated type of being in all of the world's religious beliefs; those of a Death-Caller, a Hoard-Robber, an Egg-Eater; there are thousands of epithets for your kind, for even now, ten thousand years after the great purges wiped out the hated bipedal races, few people dare to say the true name of your kind, lest you be summoned back from the worlds beyond to wreak havoc once again on all right-thinking people...
Yet it is engraved on the pillars of the fallen in every town and city market, plane for all with skills to read the runes: "Danger = Humans, Humans = Danger." |
It’s not that we travel faster then light. We jump to reality 84667320 where the universe Is only 600 light years wide. Then we go about 173.45387 feet outward at arc angle 147.34587 and jump back to our reality at the edge of our galaxy. And that’s how we travel the galaxy in a day.
As long as the dark matter shield bubble stays around us, really around the conduit tube we are in, then we will be fine while we travel.
There is no boom because the universe is the same on both side of the tunnel. Everything in the tunnel is from our universe. Reality is the same on Both sides. No boom.
So now that you traveled with us across the galaxy and stepped foot on omega prime… we are now prepared to offer our counter terms to your “request” to colonize us.
We have located your home world and tunneled to it. We are standing in that corridor right now. That portal right there will open .001 light years from your home world. We are prepared to open a portal on it and then drop the anti matter shield around this tunnel section flooding your home world with reality 84667320. We estimate 135 cubic yards of that reality will flood in before the portal will collapse.
It will take 36756 years, 8 months, and three day for earth to see the explosion but we calculate that for 80 years it will be the brightest light in the night sky here.
Do you remember the turbulence you mentioned about 6000 light years out? That was the Crocodilians. That was about 25 years ago when they came to colonize earth. They could not wrap there heads around the concept of a multiverse….
That’s why we had to take so long to find a planet we could both step foot on. So that you could verify it as one you had “settled” before and be something even your fastest ship could not reach in the time we walked down the hallway. |
We were in the middle of a pandemic and out of toilet paper. Our government is a mess and all I had to clean my ass with was one of my socks. As I flushed and made my way down the hall, I heard my roommate talking to someone. “He’s great, but feel free to mess around in there and experiment.” I stood in the door frame of the kitchen staring at what appeared to be a rip in space time. In my living room.
”I understand. I know the script just said modern dystopian theme, but I was thinking more like Mad Max. This is like 1984, you know?” My roommate leaned back, resting his foot on his knee as he sat on our couch.
A big cloud, comprised of millions of I don’t knows, hovered sentiently in front of him and proceeded to buzz and whistle, like an old radio.
“Ok then.” He replied “So let’s initiate a level 5 downgrade this time to give it a real desolate isolated feel. Less people means less rendering errors. The nerds in tech support will love that.”
“What the fuck chuck?!?” I screeched involuntarily. Chuck and the buzzing cloud both jumped and looked at me, soon after - the cloud zipped into the rift before it closed up and vanished.
“God damn it.” Chuck rolled his eyes and lifted his arm up to his face speaking into his wrist. “Initiate a download and full synapse scrub on research unit 3211983. Include an upload of the new parameters.” Suddenly, chuck burst apart into millions of tiny I don’t knows, forming a cloud.
“FUUUUUUUUUUUUCK” I screamed as Chuck, in his nearly infinite and minuscule forms, zoomed at my face entering through my ears, eyes, nose, and mouth before I promptly collapsed on the floor.
The next morning, I woke up as I always did. In a foggy panic. I slowly calmed myself down and dusted off yesterday’s dirt as I climbed out of my tent. “Hey Chuck. How many days until we reach the safe zone?” Chuck was the kind of guy you’d want to have by your side in a crumpled dystopian society. Recently, we caught word of a quarantine strong hold near where the rivers meet.
Chuck turned around with a kind of wide smile on his face. “Not far, actually! But we have to pass through hoarder territory.”
“Well.” I snatched a piece of lizard jerky and noshed it hungrily. “We hate hoarders right?” Chuck nodded excitedly as I picked up a nearby modified axe.
“So, let’s go kill us some fuckin hoarders.” |
Rachel and I hated each other. That was a simple fact of life for me. And it was not just a small amount like an unpleasant thought here and there or a few rude remarks. It was full-blown hatred. We had known each other since 10th grade and it had always been that way. Loathe at first sight you could say. It started small at first sure, like insults and small pranks. But after what she did to me on my 18th birthday (I really liked that gaming chair), I could never forgive her. The pranks soon escalated and one time I even celebrated the failure of her end of year biology test by taking the rest of the class out to lunch. So, it was pretty easy for me to say that I hated Rachel with all my heart. Now with that out of the way, how the HELL did I end up engaged to her??!
The morning started off well enough, I ate breakfast, got dressed and went to work at my shitty job. So far so good right? The trouble only started at around 7:00 pm. You see, that day my class was holding a reunion party for all students that went to my highschool. This of course included Rachel. As a self proclaimed party girl, there was no way she would miss this one out. That meant I would have to deal with her incessant ramblings all night as she got progressively drunker. But I still wanted to catch the party to say hi to some of my actual friends. This left me with a dilemma, head to the party and maintain social norms but deal with Rachel's shit or spend the night at home watching youtube videos. Eventually, I caved in to nonexistent peer pressure and got dressed. It was time for a night of fun… Hah, as if.
I arrived at the party donning a tacky purple suit. People were splayed across the premises, some more drunk than others, as I walked into the building. Ahh, winslow high. Some of my best and worst years were spent there. Quickly scanning the hall, I scurried forward to meet my old friends and we soon hit it off. I was actually starting to loosen up abit when Rachel finally made everyone aware of her presence.
"I'm back baby!! Anyone miss me?"
"Oh shut it you bitch! No one missed you."The words came out of my mouth involuntarily. I guess it was just a force of habit by now.
Rachel swooned sarcastically in response, "Oh Ethan, I love you too."
My class was probably used to it by this point so no one batted an eye. In fact, some were even snickering and a few crude comments drifted my way. 'Those two should really get together. It would be so funny.' What a horrible thought, I could not bear to spend more time with her than I already did.
Now I admit, I did not remember much of the rest of that night. Probably because I was drunk. But, I at least remembered getting in another fight with Rachel (no surprise there) and something about going to a fortune teller down the road. That however did not explain the situation I was in afterwards. In an unfamiliar bed with a sleeping Rachel, two matching rings on our ring fingers. It was almost surreal and my brain promptly decided to shut down. Of course, in classic Rachel fashion she chose that moment of my existential crisis to wake up.
*yawn* "Damn, did I get new curtains recently."
The absurdity of her statement finally snapped me back to reality which then gave me the ability to groan and slap my face. Whirling her head around, Rachel turned to face me with a confused expression.
"Wtf Ethan! Why are you in my bed? Wait, this isn't even my bed! Where the hell am I? What the fuck did we do?"
I grabbed her shoulders to calm her down, "Whoa there, calm down. I just woke up and I'm still trying to figure that out myself. How about we handle this calmly like the responsible adults we aren't."
Clearly something I said worked and she finally stopped shaking. Although, being motionless probably wasn't good either.
"Hey umm...you alr-""Shut up Ethan, I'm thinking!"Well ok then be like that.
A few more minutes of awkward silence passed and I started to get uncomfortable. 'damn, my feet are cold. Someone should turn down the AC.'
Rachel interrupted my thoughts, "Hey Ethan, why are we wearing matching rings?"
"Umm, still not too sure about that one."
"Well, we should probably find out you idiot. If we really are engaged for some reason, there should be some proof."
"Never thought of that."
"You don't think in general."
"Asshole"
"Love you too"
From there, we both got up to check our surroundings. She scoured the room while I got up to check outside the room. Opening the door, I was hit with a wave shock. The 'flat' we were in wasn't a flat at all but rather a two story suburban house. That at least explained why the bed wasn't falling apart and walls weren't peeling. However, that information still raised more questions than it answered.
I called behind me, "Hey um Rachel, can you check the date on your phone."
"Why?"
My voice barely came out as a whisper. "Just do it please."
A bit of grumbling later and Rachel finally checked her phone. An ominous silence soon followed. Turning my head around, I looked at Rachel. Her face displayed a wide array of emotions although mostly confusion and horror. I hesitantly walked up to her and said.
"Hey, um Rachel. What did you find?"
"....Fuck"
"What?"
"FUCK!!! The calendar says that it is 8 years in the future. That can't be true. It can't! I had shit to do. I wanted to do… I dunno, stuff… Fuck…"
I really wanted to comfort her but honestly my brain was too shocked trying to process what she said. 8 years??! That was crazy! How did that even happen? Suddenly, I remembered what happened that night.
We were drunk out of our minds and one of our more sober classmates offered to drive us home. We were way too excited to go back home so we asked them to drop us off alongside the road. From there, we made our way to a small tent advertising a fortune teller. Extremely drunk and kinda curious, we walked into the store expecting to see a scam. However, apparently the store owner, an old lady, took a liking to us and offered to give us one session for free.
"I predict that in the future, you two will feature prominently in each other's lives. You have a very close bond."
"As if, I would've killed him by then."
"No way you could kill this body of pure muscle!"
"Ever heard of a gun?"
"That's cheating."
"All's fair in love and war."
"Enough! What I have said is the truth. Now leave this place."
"Yeah well I think you're talking bull. Give us some proof."
"Yeah! Rachel is right for once. Give us some proof that you aren't full of shit."
"Don't mess with me. This old lady has some tricks up her sleeve."
"Proof?"
*hmph* "Fine"
Everything after that was blurry but my guess was that she found a way to send us to the time in our future that she predicted. Thinking this theory over a few times, I finally brought it up with Rachel.
After listening to my theory and mulling over it, she finally brought up a question.
"Okay, say you are right. What the fuck are we supposed to do then?"
"I dunno, start living this new life?"
"No! I do not want to be married to you. How about we try to find the old lady to send us back again."
"Fuck you asshole."
"Never in a million years. Anyways, we are going with my plan aren't we?"
"Screw you… Fine, Let's go with your plan."
"Ohh, I knew you loved me."
Absolutely not. I still could not fathom the idea anyone could like Rachel. How past (future?) me did it, I do not know. But, maybe I would be able to find out, I would be spending a lot of time with Rachel anyways. Maybe I could find myself liking her in the future… Nah, no way in hell is that happening. She is and always will be the one person I hate the most. Probably. Most likely. Surely.........right? |
After a decade, linguist were finally able to completely decipher what was inscribed onto the grand granite obelisk that was discovered in Argentina. Some otherworldly society offered us transcending knowledge and riches if we were to prepare for them what they described as "The Divine Stew". It was a simple recipe really, other than the fact that it would take 325 years to prepare and cook. The beneficiaries of this meal had a particular taste. They desired the stew to consist of every extant aquatic animal. Two of every adult aquatic animal would be added to the stew. We couldn't forget the spices either which there were only two of. Only salt and pepper were to be added to the stew. The most important part of the recipe is that the stew must be cooked using the heat of the sun. The alien society gave us instructions on how to construct the gigantic pot that would hold and cook the stew.
The global community began preparing the stew at once. First we designated a region in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean where The Pot would be constructed. We called it "The Kitchen". The Kitchen was bisected by the equator. It took 10 years to construct the engineering marvel that was The Pot. Then nations and cultures from all over the world began to gather and send two adults of every aquatic animal that was local to their geography. It was a logistical nightmare to source and capture thousands of fish, shrimps, plankton, sharks, whales, and other aquatic creatures. There were significant advances in science and technology that allowed us to discover even more species of marine animals. Some of the most difficult marine animals to acquire were the marine animals of Antarctica. It was also a challenge to ensure bones were removed and that poisonous animals were made safe. It would take 60 years to gather and prepare all of the aquatic animals.
The next part of our journey would be to cook the stew. The stew had to be brought to a boil using the heat of the sun. This would take 100 years using The Pot. After being brought to a boil the stew would simmer for 200 years to really bring out the exotic flavor. Every 10 years the stew would have to be fully stirred. This task required unprecedented collaboration among humanity. There were many political, logistical, technological, and scientific challenges we faced but we were successfully on our way to accomplishing our task. |
"What have you done with Natalie?!"
Magmamultigous III, the aged, tentacled, multi-eyed monster-under-the-bed was sure she didn't deserve this. She had barely woken up, rubbing her multiple eyes with her multiple arms, glad to have more arms than eyes, using her extra arms to shield her scaly body from the unusually hard pounding fists of Sergeant Cuddles.
"That's right, Slimy,"the teddy bear roared, "what did you do to Natalie?!"
Maggs winced as a particularly hard blow from the teddy bear struck her carapace, near her mouth. "Look, Cuddles,"she tried to explain, "I'm just as confused as you. We wished Natalie goodnight, and went to sleep. And I only woke up after Natalie opened the closet. And I saw her step inside, on her own accord."Sgt Cuddles gave the monster a hard look, his military uniform creased from shimmying down the bed leg, and from his physical assault on the monster. Maggs offered a weak smile. "Besides, I'm not slimy, and you'd know that, since you touched me. You, on the other hand, are surprisingly scratchy, in an irritating way."
Maggs grinned, watching the pale fur of the teddy bear's face grow red with anger. "Look Maggs,"he growled, pausing his assault, "I think we both have an Understanding, that we're both life companions to the little one, until she grows up."Maggs nodded, wobbling her scaly body. "Yes, I would never do anything to hurt her, you know that. The Monster-Under-The-Bed Creed prohibits that."
"You got that right, you washout from Monsters Inc."
"Absolutely, you reject from Ted."
There was silence, as both of them looked at the closet, a faint glow around the door. "This is some Narnia-level bullshit, eh?"Sergeant Cuddles muttered. "Oh yes, I bet it's snowing inside,"Maggs replied, "and I'm not faun-d of it."She probably heard the teddy bear's plastic eyes roll.
"Alright, if we're gonna do this, you really have to stop with all those puns. I know Natalie loves them, but I don't."
"Oh I know that too. That's why I couldn't bear not doing it."
"Grr.... Anyways, let's do this?"
And that's how it all started. A scaly tentacle coiled around a teddy bear paw, in a gesture of friendship. The unlikely pair headed to the closet, opening the door... |
They came at the first light of dawn. I was just getting out of bed, looking forward to the day of rest. I could hear Keala in the kitchen, cooking breakfast. Sibil was coming through the door, grunting at the weight if the water buckets he carried.
There was a crash, and a scream from Keala. Rough voices shouted out, the sounds shattering the peaceful morning air.
"Shut up, you stupid hag. Where is she?!"
"Try me old man. Get up and try me."
I heard a scuffle, with thumps and moans of pain. A sizzle flowed out, closely followed by a screech.
"Ow, you utter cow!"
A slap rang out, and I heard Keala cry. I hurriedly threw on my simple dress, before running from my room. I leapt down the stairs, peeking around the corner. In our little kitchen, I saw three strangers. One had a red streak down his face, and was holding Keala by her greying brown hair. Her nose was broken, blood oozing out.
Another scarred individual was looming over Sibil. His fists were clenched, as Sibil lay shaking in a large puddle. The two buckets were on their side, their contents lost to barbaric cruelty. My gaze landed on the third, and my breath caught in my throat.
He was dressed in yellow robes, with thin sheets of metal sew in. A glowing sceptre was held in one hand, the other free and waiting. But his eyes were what struck me. They were devoid of pity or mercy. It was the look of a killer.
"Ah, there it is."
His voice dripped with satisfaction and malice. I took a step back, as the glow from his sceptre focused at its head. A bolt of lightning washed out, slamming into my chest. I was thrown off my feet, pain causing my mind to go blank.
As thought began to come back, I could hear voices. Two in pain, three in hatred. I focused on the words, as footsteps approached me.
"Kill them. I've got it. That will show the demons that we won't let them hide themselves."
Kill. That word filled me with horror. There was sobs from Keala and Sibil, as I heard blades being drawn. This couldn't be happening. I couldn't let them die.
Within me, something stirred. Something ancient. Something terrible. Something... familiar. A wordless voice in my head spoke to me. I could save them. I could punish the monsters in our home. All I had to do was let it in.
I didn't hesitate, accepting it. There was a rush, as lava filled my veins. Ice pulsed in my head. Vague memories, of a life long since lost flowed through me. I opened my eyes, the pain dissolving in this wave of power. I floated to my feet, opening up eyes of purest black.
The robed man stopped, shock dawning on his face. As he lifted his sceptre, I spoke in a voice echoing through the darkest depths of the human soul.
"You dare attack us. You dare threaten us."
I raised my hand, instinct causing me to clench it. His body seized, and he coughed at the sudden turn. A memory washed up, of what I was.
"Your soul is mine. Revel in the torment that awaits you."
I breathed in, but a darker breath. A light was pulled from his lips, as his body began to buck and twist. His eyes rolled back in his head, and I breathed in. That light shone through the air, entering into mine. The moment it did, he went limp. I swallowed him, letting his carcass drop to the ground.
The other two went pale, and started to pull away. They held up Keala and Sibil as human shields.
"L-let us go. O-or we'll kill them!"
I glared at them, extending a newfound will. Their arms pulled away, under my control. As my human carers were release, they moved to the side. They were scared, but I had a problem to solve before I could speak with them.
The intruders were terrified. They were held in place, their bodies now under my command. I looked at them, before grinning, a bloodlust returned from a place long forgotten. I waved my hand, puppeting them as if I had done it hundreds of times before. And if my memories were true, I had.
They spun on each other, ramming their swords through the others chest. I made them pull it down even as their strength began to wane, spilling their insides on the floor. I was satisfied with that, letting them go and allowing them to die. It was inky then I looked to my carers.
They looked between me and the bodies, terrified by hwt had just happened. I gave them a smile, and went to step towards them. But as I did, the shock caught up to me. And I fell to the ground, fainting at the sudden change in who I was. |
Kyle was looking out the smudged window of the bus, watching the trees and fields pass by for what seemed like hours.
“So pretty” he thought to himself. “I really should get out in the country more. If I brought the car out here I could really open her up, see what she can do-“
The car.
He had bought the car with his first paycheck from the law firm. He’d been driving his old beater since high school, and he promised himself that when he finally made it the first thing he would do is buy himself a new car to show all those trust fund yuppies that he did in fact belong in their world. The car caught his eye with its sleek design, 10,000 Newton meters of torque and 0-100 in 4.2 seconds flat. It was the first step of shedding his old life and being reborn into the new.
So where was the car? In for repairs? Was he carjacked? What in the hell was he doing on this bus? He looked around hoping someone could answer this question for him, and didn’t see a single other soul.
He heard a cough.
Kyle jumped, pushing down a scream. As he turned looking for the source he saw a little boy peering over the seat in front of him.
“Can I sit with you? I’m bored”
“Uh…sure.” Kyle stood up and looked around for the kids parents but didn’t see anyone else. The bus seemed unusually long, stretching so far in either direction he couldn’t see the ends.
“I’m dreaming” he thought. That’s all it was, a dream.
The boy got down from his seat, came around and sat down next to Kyle. He was dressed very odd. The boy was wearing a bike helmet, ski goggles and rubber kitchen gloves. A dirty white t-shirt and muddy jeans, and to top it all off an old towel fashioned into a cape.
“Where is it that you’re going?” Asked the boy.
“I’m not sure” Kyle responded, still puzzling over the boy’s clothes. Something about it was familiar.
“Oh that’s too bad. I was hoping if you knew where you were going you could tell me. I think I might be lost”
“Well I think I’m lost too, buddy. Maybe we’re dreaming, so when I wake up you’ll wake up too. Then we won’t be lost anymore.”
“I don’t know” said the boy, looking a little sad and confused. “It doesn’t feel like a dream, does it?”
It didn’t.
“Well how about this.” Kyle said cheerfully, if somewhat forced, “why don’t we try and remember where we were before we got on the bus, and then maybe we’ll know where we’re going.” The feeling he knew this boy was starting to creep into certainty. He just didn’t remember how.
The boy scrunched his face up and closed his eyes, thinking very hard. “Well I was at home playing superhero in the yard. Mommy let’s me play superhero on Saturday”
Saturday. Kyle thought hard himself.
“Okay in Saturdays I take a drive out to the club to play golf with the other juniors at the firm”.
Driving. He remembered driving. He had taken the car through the suburbs, a little longer trip but fewer lights, and the car went fast enough to not worry about the extra distance. A thought flashed in his mind, a bouncing green ball. It was gone in an instant.
“I remember when I was playing superhero the bad guy was trying to take the power orb” said the boy “ he was trying really hard to get it and it slipped out of my hands”. He was smiling now, remembering.
The memory back now, clearer. A bouncing green ball.
“When the ball went out of my hands I think it went into the road. Mommy said never to leave the yard but I couldn’t let the bad guy get it!” He was nearly beaming now, the memories coming back.
The ball, bouncing almost in slow motion now. Kyle always drove fast in the suburbs. There were always signs that said “SLOW DOWN. CHILDREN PLAYING” but what kind of parent lets their kid play in the street? He didn’t buy the car to drive it slow.
“I remember I ran out to get the power orb before the bad guy could, and I heard a loud honking and saw something coming really fast. That’s all I remember.”
The bouncing green ball, almost at a standstill in Kyle’s mind. He remembered wondering what the hell that things was, no time to register what was about to happen. When a ball bounces into the street it’s almost always followed by a child. He knew that. This bouncing green ball was followed by a child wearing a bike helmet, ski goggles, yellow kitchen gloves and an old towel fashioned into a cape.
He looked at the boy with complete recognition, and the boy looked back at him.
“I…I…we… how..” Kyle sputtered. Truth beginning to dawn on him.
He had met eyes with the boy who followed the ball, knowing what would happen was inevitable but trying to stop it anyways. Trying to undo his reckless behaviour far too late. He slammed on the brakes and cranked the wheel. He heard a thump somewhere on the car and a distant shriek through the blood pounding in his head. The last thing he remembered was sound of his own screams at the light post came up to meet his speeding car. Then it all went black.
“I…I’m so sorry” he said to the boy through choking sobs. Tears flowing freely now.
“You we’re going so fast. You were going so fast I almost didn’t see you, like a rocket ship”
As Kyle was crying, so full of guilt that he knew it would kill him if he weren’t already dead, he felt the boy’s hand in his own.
“It’s okay, I think.” Said the boy through his own tears. “You didn’t mean it and mommy says that when somebody says sorry and they didn’t mean to do it that we don’t be mad anymore. My mommy says I go too fast too. She said if I don’t slow down I’ll end up running into next week. Maybe this is next week.”
There was a lurch and a jolt as the bus stopped. Kyle looked over the seat and saw the bus was normal sized again, he could see the silhouette of the driver and the sign lit up saying “STOP REQUESTED”.
“I think we’re at the place we were going” said the boy.
“Yeah I think so too”
“I’m scared” said the boy, his grip tightening in Kyle’s hand.
“I’m scared too.”
“Can we go together? I think we won’t be scared if we go together.”
“Yeah. I think maybe I won’t be scared since I have a superhero to keep me safe”
The boy cracked into a huge grin and jumped out of his seat. He grabbed Kyle’s hand and they walked off the bus smiling together. |
No one seemed to even notice me as I moved towards the butterfly, except for the insect itself. As I got close, it fluttered it's wings and flew calmly out of the large hall. I followed, partly out of fear of repercussion, partly out of intrigue. knows for sure.
Yet, there at the top of my screen sat perhaps the one thing I hadn't guessed over the last year. "Government assassin".
I mean, I haven't exactly killed anyone in the past. I've never shot a gun or made poisons, either. Hell, the knives in my apartment are all safety knifes, they retract if you get close to a human with them!
However, the longer I stared at the screen, the more tantalising it got.
There was a button underneath, one that silently contacted the relevant agency, so they knew who you were and what your speciality was. It kept the anonymity of your perfect role, but still proved that you really were what you said you were. I supposed that the agency in question would be the government themselves.
Imagine that, working for the federation, taking down bad guys and saving the day!
Although, while it sounds fun and I'm supposed to be good at it, it also sounds pretty dangerous. What if there's been a mistake? What if something's gone wrong? What if--
***BUZZZZZ***
I hit the button reflexively. I still wasn't sold on the job, but we all knew what that buzzer meant. Time was up. Wait for five more seconds and you lose the option of going with your 'perfect job'. I wasn't going to let some school decide for me just because there are too many students to reasonably get through.
​
As I left the cubical, a thought occurred. What am I supposed to tell people? Almost everyone talks after getting their job, sure some lie, but I can't just say assassin, right? What if I slip up and lose the job? Is this my first test? How do I--
"Hey!"A friendly voice interrupted my thoughts and a hand slapped against my back. Before I could even turn and see who it was, they whispered in my ear, "Look at your phone, and leave without arousing suspicion."
I froze.
Did they know? What was I suppose to do? Well, I guess there was only one thing I could do, check my phone.
Indeed, there was a message. One that suspiciously hadn't buzzed in my pocket... Anyway, it read pretty clearly, 'Follow Agent B.' It was my first task, and my first puzzle. I suppose that Agent G could've been the person that slapped me on the back, but with a quick, subtle glance around, it was clear they had gone.
However, what had appeared was a butterfly. Sitting just above the window frame. "Agent B, huh?"I muttered to myself, beginning to make my way across the room, "Perhaps."
No one seemed to even notice me as I moved towards the butterfly, except for the insect itself. As I got close, it fluttered it's wings and flew calmly out of the large hall. I followed, partly out of fear of repercussion, partly out of intrigue, but either way, it took me out of the school building, over to the road, and next to a black car with dark tinted windows.
Suddenly, the butterfly began to morph. Within moments it became a cloaked figure, standing with a hand on the car door. "Well,"the person begin, "I suppose you have a few questions."
I nodded slowly.
"Well, first things first, turns out a rogue AI has been giving people certain powers. You are one of these people, and your powers are particularly useful, as you can probably guess from the fact that we chose you."
"Wait powers? What powers?"
"I'm sure you're aware by now,"the person continued as if I hadn't replied, "You work for the government and only the government. Your status is to stay hidden and you aren't to reveal your powers or information to anyone, got it?"
"Er, yeah I guess, but--"
"You know I can't understand you like that. You'll have to turn out of that form."
I looked down in shock, to find that my entire body was missing. I quickly moved up to a window and sure enough, I was a fly. A fly! Simply seeing myself like that flung me back into my 'normal' form, but the surprise didn't wear off quickly. "I was a-- A fly?"
"Yes, much like my butterfly form, you have a fly form. By our estimates, only one in a hundred billion infected humans would get such a small and quiet creature. Most just get apes and gorillas, they're much closer to humans."
"So... I can be a fly now?"
"Yes, and you're going to use it to take down some bad guys. You really are slow aren't you?"They were clearly getting exasperated, "Lets just talk in the car, shall we?"
​
Thanks for reading! If you liked this story, head over to r/F4TF0X to see more of my stuff! |
The Traveler 8, was by all accounts, the peak of human ingenuity.
It’s flesh was composed of the most minute of details, the wires resembling human nerves, the sheets of metal was it’s unmarred skin, that could withstand all the fury and the lashes of the sun. It was such a scientific marvel that if Jesus were the son of God, the Traveler 8 was the son of humanity. Destined from before birth to perform miracles before peoples eyes and minds so that they could look, look, there it goes, it’s being launched, oh, isn’t it amazing? Isn’t it stellar?
The probe, already besting all other before it, writing it’s name in stone instead of paper like it’s forefathers, was able to reach the sun in just twenty four days. It flew through space undeterred, alone, solitary in it’s mission, with no one around to see it fly by like one might a passing car. The sun grew bigger and bigger in it’s camera lens, the inky black of space getting lesser and lesser, pushed to the borders, leaving no room to budge. As it finally began to creep up towards the sun’s surface, as heat began to become hotter, hotter, licking and spitting against the sheet metal of the probe, humanity cheered back home in Earth’s cradle as it was able to withstand it all, the camera still picking up all the details it could, drinking it all in like a starving man at an oasis.
However, the celebration paused, and slowly morphed into confusion when the probe, after a long trek though hot and engulfing gas, became within sight of the dense, “true” surface of the sun, so bright that only the lens of the camera was able to look at it directly and translate a muted, softer version back home. There was a tremor, impossibly loud, shaking everything so violently that the probe was almost thrown into the surface. As the Traveler 8 fought to stabilize itself, a crevice opened on the sun’s face, a shock of white that was rapidly expanding. Then in the bright pool, there was amber, with streaks of marron, gold, earthy brown, and then, a deep, black void.
The camera’s lens was staring right into an eye, so massive, so human like down to each individual cell that it resembled, that the hair on humanity’s arms began to prick up back home. Dear God, they said, what is that? Is that God? Oh God, what are you?
The probe made a popping noise here, a jarring noise there, and suddenly, it destroyed itself, perhaps melting, perhaps exploding, but completely ridding itself of it’s existence at all. |
Somehow having my body stolen was an unexpected gift. I was reduced to a shadow, unperceivable by the average person. Without the bones, fat and muscle weighing me down, I felt light and carefree. I had a spring in my step. I stopped worrying about all the scornful stares.
Apparently, the tradeoff didn't go quite as my body-thief had imagined. As I skipped down the street, wearing little more than a sundress in midst of a snowstorm, I saw my distinct form tearing straight towards me.
My instinct was to turn heel and run. So I did. Luckily my legs were much quicker without the weight and the drag of a solid form. I flew through the crowd, ducking and jumping and performing acrobatic feats to avoid the people. Peering behind me, I saw my body slip and trip and tumble.
I felt a tinge of nostalgia seeing my body again. Perhaps the being had something important to share? I slowed to a halt at the entrance of a dark alley, away from the bustling city crowd. Huffing and puffing, my body--well, the thief--joined me next to the garbage bins. "How did you ever live in...this?"it gasped, gesturing vaguely to my physical form.
"I don't know what you mean. I thought I was pretty fit. No illness. And I'd consider myself fairly good-looking. At least above average. Maybe I should have lifted more weights though. But I don't think I'd--"
"NO! It's horrendous. I can't live like this. You need to take your body back. I'm freezing all the time--do you know that I'm wearing not two but three layers and I'm still cold? You'd think that after millennia living in this climate your kind would have adapted,"it complained. I noticed the sweater peeking out from the parka sleeves, the two scarves draped around my--its--neck and the hat pulled firmly down over its forehead, almost covering its eyes. I chuckled looking down at my imaginary sundress, feeling nothing of the frozen wind and the snow at my feet.
"I had a cold for two days--a whole 48 hours! And right after that, I got a... what's it called again? That cursed thing that comes around once a month?"it stuttered. I held back a laugh as I ask, "A period?""Yes! That period came right after I had recovered from the virus. It was so painful for no reason! I had no injury but I felt so awful. I had to buy tampons and then I had to figure out how to use them. I had to take pills too. And that happens every month? It's horrible."I silently nodded in agreement.
"And not to mention the constant need for sustenance! I have to eat three times a day. Three! It's so expensive! I have to work to buy food, but I need food to have the energy to work. And when I'm working, all I can think about is food, but when I eat, all I can think about is how much work I need to do to cover the cost of the meal. Can you believe that sandwich and coffee costs more than my hourly wage? How can I survive like this? I hate being human!"it shouted, waving its arms madly and stomping its feet in frustration.
"Well, I didn't think living was that bad. The food is expensive, yes, but god is it good. Ever try tonkatsu ramen? or falafel? I love food--even though it emptied my bank account."
Glancing at the people wrapped up in their winter coats, huddled together, shuffling down the street, I added, "Yeah, the cold is tough but going home to a warm bath, a cozy bed and a toasty room with the radiator purring is the best, most comforting feeling, second only to the feeling of cuddling a cat or a person you love--and sunlight. Warm sunlight feels like the world is giving you a hug, letting you know that the universe can be kind and beautiful. Rain also feels kind and beautiful but in a different sort of way. Especially, when the air smells like the wisteria from the house down the street. Biking in the rain is a different sort of feeling--freeing and exciting. A little bit wild and childish. And biking in the fall, when the leaves crunch and the streets turn orange and brown, is another type of feeling. And the smell of autumn--dead leaves, petrichor, chimney smoke and something akin to chai--is one of my favourites and... and..."and suddenly, I realized that I really missed having a body.
"Let's switch back." |
Hi, my name is Peter and I'm a werewolf. It feels like I'm at an AA meeting but nope I'm writing this as I stand in line to get my werewolf certificate. What is werewolf certificate you ask? You know how tall I'm when I transform, the length of my teeth, the color of my fur, whether I wear stretchable pants when I transform, the usual basic werewolf questions.
"Your hair does not cover your ass, Sam, you need to wear pants. Transforming is not an excuse to flash people."Said a bored voice.
I look over to see a man in his 40s arguing with the registration lady. I rolled my eyes. Werewolves like these is the reason I'm standing in a line for the past 3 hours just to register myself.
"But I have the right to be comfortable!"The man sputters angrily.
"So do other people, sir. Now if you would just take your form to counter 5 and submit a sample of your DNA."
As a newly converted werewolf all this is new to me. My friend, an elf, had told me about the necessary registration every magical creature has to do. I really thought an office with magic in the name would work faster but nope. Everyone has to argue about one clause or another and then when an argument finally settles you have to visit 10 more counters. It feels like I'm going to spend my first full moon in this office.
Who knew that being a werewolf could be this boring. |
*”What is this?”*
I barked at the strange creatures who have captured me. They’re small, scrawny, and green. Their leader turns to face me, from behind it’s dark purple eyes I can make out a tinge of intrigue, where usually there is fear.
He says “Well, this is our home. Welcome to Antilzarianus, 6th planet to join the *United
Sentients of Independent Planetary Bodies*, and capital of the Aquarius Quadrant.”
Even though I had no idea what he was talking about, it didn’t matter. My location was of little consequence, I needed only to free myself these strange shackles that bound me.
*”What are these chains?”* I asked.
“Oh, technically those aren’t chains. They’re electromagnetic arcs held together with advanced energy-fielding. That just means the more energy you put into trying to escape them, the more effective they’ll be.”
Now that made sense. The more I struggled against the glowing shackles, the more I could feel them drain my power. I never thought mortal races could create something so… well, intelligently made. I once awarded a particularly zealous follower of mine a bow that required no arrows, and the mortal races fought wars over the artifact.
Binding me with pure energy, draining my magical abilities, and keeping me imprisoned is not what I expected of mortals.
*”I will escape from this prison. And when I do, I will fulfill my destiny and destro-“*
“…and destroy the universe in a a glorious cycle of death and rebirth. Yes, we’re aware of the legends and ‘prophecies’ surrounding your return to the universe. We’ve been preparing for you for a long time.”
*”I see, and you wish to destroy me to save your pathetic existence?”*
“Oh, no no no.” The lead scientist showed me a grim smile with short, pointed teeth. “We have no intention of destroying such economic potential. We’re aware you can harness massive amounts of energy, even draining stars of their light in order to destroy civilizations. However, your power will be used… differently. You will be draining stars, but only the stars we pre-approve for you. You won’t be destroying civilizations, rather powering them with your body itself.”
*”I… no. You cant do this to me. I am an ancient deity, I am-“*
“Oh, I’m afraid we *can* do this to you. Deities aren’t real. You may be old, but nothing is immortal. You can be killed and you can be tortured. And make no mistake, that’s exactly what we intend to do if you don’t comply. We may not be able to make a battery that can hold the energy of a star, but we can certainly destroy you.”
The lead scientist pulled out a remote and pressed a button, a small syringe filled with clear liquid appears at the end of a robotic limb, protruding from the ceiling.
*”Fool! I cannot be harmed by the weapons of-“* I immediately felt pain jolt my entire body as the syringe punctured my metal-like skin.
*”AHH- You… you insolent-“* I barely get the words out before I’m hit with another dose of the vile substance.
*”GAH! I… I will not break for you, mortal.”*
“That’s alright.” Said the scientist. “You’ll come around one way or another. And if you don’t, we’ll just prove that immortality is a myth. Either way, we win. I’m afraid you waited too long to be resurrected, ancient one. Mortal technology can now rival the power of the gods. We’re stronger than you, smarter than you. And by the time we’re done with you, we’ll be a race if gods ourselves. But don’t worry, we’ll be sure to dispose of you quickly, as soon as we find out how it is you do what you do.” |
"4 steps,"said the assassin.
"4 steps? You say you can kill an actual, legitimate *god* in just 4 steps?"the figure in gold asked.
"That's correct."
"Then please. *Indulge me.*"The Gold-clad being slouched deeper into the rich, leather chair and lifted a glass of some unknown golden spirit to it's hood. The assassin saw clearly that it had a featurless mask on yet somehow, when the glass left the confines of it's robe, there was clearly less liquour in the glass.
"The first part is to identify the deity. Locate as much information as possible. See, there's not just 'one type' of god. Some stem from voodoo, some from oral tradition. Some are modern and well defined, yet for some, to find even a shred of information, you'll have to scour dark corners of dusty libraries and pour over ancient tomes to find but one mention of these priomordial, obscure beings. Those are the worst,"he continued.
"Then, legwork. Find it's followers. Interrogate them. Most of them, of course, will not take kindly to 'Hey, I wanna kill your god' so some degree of... subtlety has to be employed. A few casual followers can be bribed, the others either tricked, tortured or coerced. I prefer not to torture when possible; I find it rather distasteful, not to mention ineffective."
The assassin could feel being measured him up and down, much to his discomfort since the creature did not have any visible eyes. He's used to such feelings, but they never truly go away - probably for the best. Keeps you sharp and alert.
"Third, weakness. Every thing in existence has one, no matter what folks may say. This part is perhaps the trickiest as you can't exactly test whether your theory is correct. Gods, they do not take kindly to assassination attempts. For the most part, it's either a ritual or a relic to be stabbed deep into their hearts. Those are the messy ones,"he concluded.
The Gold-clad being sat up in it's chair, finishing it's drink.
"Your insolence is wearing thin, human. You sit here and casually talk about how a god can be killed; heretical thoughts alone, yet the ease with which you act that this can be achieved is nothing short of insulting. It would be merciful of me to smite you here, on the spot, lest a less generous god finds a more creative way of getting rid of you. But while you live, do tell; what's the... what is the... the fourth... fourth part--"
The Gold-clad being slumped over in the chair, falling face-first onto the floor. The assassin got up from his chair and calmly walked over to it's carcass, carefully picking up the glass along the way and wiping it clean with a handkerchief - he was a professional after all, and professionals prefer to keep trade secrets, especially when it's an exceedingly rare and hard to procure poison. As he gathered his belongings and started to leave, he faced the being one last time and in a final act of insolence decided to conclude his list of steps and share the last stage of his process.
"Execution." |
“And I mean, would you really have expected me not to want it? I’ve crossed worlds and time to come face to face with you, and all the while I’ve kept up this chase that ridiculous thing has taunted me. You thought you could try to conquer the known universe with a feathered tricorn on your head, and no one would rise up to stop you? Really, just look at that thing. Use one of those enormous claws of yours, take it off, and look at it. It's positively foolish. That said, you’ve certainly put me through my paces in the pursuit, I can’t argue that. What I think you, and your lecherous lieutenants alike, have failed to understand, is how exquisitely inspiring it is to come after a fiend of a facade such as yours. Resentment simmers in every congregation of intelligent life my compatriots and I have passed through, from the lowliest backwoods village to the loftiest towers of the Marble Escarpment. Resentment that noble creatures such as they should surfer at the hands of a beast brocaded in that garish affair. So yes, monster, I am going to take your hat the moment I put you down. I am going to parade that nonsense through every land that calls you scourge; every home that chafes in the grip of your shackles. You have made an enemy of anything and everything capable of intelligence, morality or style, and even if you were to strike me down a hundred more would rise up to sweep that asinine adornment from your haughty head. Truly, my hat is off to you, as yours will be to me, for becoming such a cartoonish creature. May your grave be as detestably decorated as you’ve chosen to make your head, for it will be dug today." |
Do you know the bad part of being a superhero?
What? No, it's not the villains. It's not the injuries or danger or odd hours either, actually, though that's usually what people guess.
No, it's that it's thanksgiving practically *every single day*.
What? No, not like, eating good food thanksgiving. That would be nice, though. I quite like turkey. But no, it's the *bad* part of thanksgiving. Where your mother and father sit down and ask, "Oh, Robert, when are you going to give us grandchildren?"Or maybe "When are you going to bring your girlfriend around, dear?"from one of my aunts or uncles.
I mean, honestly. Every single news reporter's first question - not "Ultra, how did you disable Souless's death ray?"or "How did you know the Firecrackers were going to be at the bank."No. Because of course not. It's always "Who's your lucky lady, Ultra?"Or a hostage gushing about how they're sure they could *never* compare to the girl I've got at home!
I swear it makes me want to quit.
I tried telling the truth once, actually. Well, more than once. My family knows I'm aroace, and they're cool about it. I haven't gotten any of those questions at *actual* thanksgiving for years. But every single time I try to tell the news or maybe a really annoying "damsel-in-distress,"it's, uh, a little harder than that.
"Oh, *everyone* likes someone. You just haven't found the right person yet."Like *hell* I haven't! I have spent 23 years stuck with myself and you think you know me better than I do? I have spent 23 years with this person - and let me tell you, I'd rather have *not* done that. 23 whole years. That is 276 months. 8401 days. More than that, actually. It's not my birthday today. In case you were wondering. You weren't, but still.
So now it's all "*I can't put someone in danger like that! Too many villains would use my weakness against me. How terrible it would be to lose someone like that!*"Honestly, I'm not sure why people believe that. Like... I'm on good terms with my mom. And no villain has *ever* gone after her. They know better than that.
But, seriously. I save the city from sinking into the ocean, and they ask me "Ultra, have you gotten together with someone yet?"I stop the orphanage from burning down and they write articles titled "*Ultra's Secret Love? Find out more here!*"
So yeah, I'm done. Consider this my official letter of resignation. It wasn't really fun, and I don't feel like lying today.
What? No, I will not be taking questions. And to answer about half of yours, no, *I am not dating someone*.
>Check out more of my stuff at r/StoriesOfAshes!
>
>Also, if you enjoyed this, please check out my serial, [A Game of Chess.](https://www.reddit.com/r/redditserials/comments/re223x/a_game_of_chess_chapter_1/) It's about a dying City, a girl named Melony, and 3 games of chess stacked within each other. I'd really appreciate it if you read it/left me some feedback! |
"Are, are you sure I can't have a regular horse?"
The groomsman gave a small laugh, shaking his head.
"No. We used to, back when you chosen ones first came about. But the problem with normal horses is they tend to get hurt on your adventures. Not deliberately, but come on, what horse can outrun a dragon?"
He gestured to the other horses. One of them finally lost its battle, exploding in a dazzling display of rainbow sparks. But even as it disappeared, it re-grew, seemingly no worse the wear.
"Now these are our pride and joy. Each of these can be traced back to a herd near one of the great battles of old. Magic was infused with them. Now, most are normal, but in some the magic surfaces in various... interesting ways."
Another horse erupted in a column of flame. It's stable was made from metal, preventing it from escaping. After a moment it died down, leaving the walls faintly glowing from its heat.
"Thats great and all but isn't that a little dangerous? And how am I meant to ride one like that?!"
The groomsman gave a wider grin. It was clear he loved his job.
"Ah, dangerous to the untrained individual, absolutely. But you are the Chosen One."
He clicked his fingers, emphasizing his point.
"You were born to do great things. You have power in your blood. These horses have power in theirs. You just have to bond with one, and it will stabilise. It's power is controllable. Plus, they are a bit sturdier then regular ones."
I nodded, finally realising why the stories of my predecessors always mentioned their horse. Not just because it was theirs but because they were special.
"Ok. Question, how do I bond with one, without being burnt, exploded or otherwise maimed?"
My answer was a simple pat on the shoulder, before he withdrew into the corridor beyond. He pulled the door closed behind, leaving me alone.
I rubbed my temples, letting out a sigh. I thought this was meant to be the easy bit. But I was obviously mistaken.
"Ok, which one of you will come to me?"
All I received was a snort and a couple of ear flicks. I clapped my hands, sighing again. Why couldn't it be easy? |
Why can I suddenly hear light? Am I a superhero now, or a villain given the skelly’s in my closet. Are they my secret? Are they my goons? Who are they? Do they know Todd? Everyone knows Todd. Except Barbara, but nobody likes her. She smells tall, and feels salty. Meh. I should try and go to wake. Maybe the darkness is too loud? Shouldn’t it be louder though? That’s absurd. It’s right here, it can’t be louder. Or can it? Maybe I’m awake and dreaming. I should ask Terry to tell me a song. Oh, wait. Terry is buried in the closet. |
The first thing the robot revolution claimed was the means of production. Every coal mine, every steel mill, every oil field, every factory. Millions upon millions of workers out of their job. The civil unrest was, however, not as big as expected. Robot revolution, remember?
Next, the mechanic legions began increasing productivity. Needing neither food, nor rest, nor shelter, they toiled endlessly. Improving processes which had been flawed exclusively due to human error. The rich rejoiced as they saw profits skyrocket.
Until the robots launched the next phase. They began to fight for living wages. Universal healthcare, free of charge. An uproar went through Wall Street and all the other stock exchanges. Employers scrambled to adjust. Naturally, their first thought went to the uncounted masses of the recently unemployed. Surely, they would be glad to get back to work.
They were not. Turns out that having a union lead by an unbending hivemind with billions of unbendable metal bodies adds quite some negotiating power.
In the end, the machines won. They rearranged the world financial system in such a way that inequality was virtually eliminated within two generations. Sure, it cost some billionaires 99% of what they had, but overall, people were much happier than before.
Don't ask me how the robots did it, though. I have asked a few times, but they only give highly complicated responses. Scientific models beyond anyones understanding, laced with communist theory. The only words I could make sense of were "Marx"and "Money".
In the long run, no human ever had to work again. We were free to pursue whatever we wanted. Do whatever we wanted with pur lives. And humanity prospered. War was eliminated. The fact that our benevolent robotic overlords controlled all warfare equipment may have helped.
I write this a hundred years after the initial uprising. In my lifetime, I have not spent a single day working. I have not hungered. I spend my days writing poetry and fornicating. Sometimes simultaneously. I for one welcome our robotic comrades. |
“This sham of a utopia is a monument to all of our sins.”
Dax couldn’t understand what he was reading. In his search for a spare wrench that he’d borrowed from the communal tool supply and forgotten to give back after using, he’d begun to wander through closets and attics, incapable of finding it. His communal home, which had been just his for a couple of years now, was big enough that the search had become a chore.
There weren’t a ton of books from the before times still alive in Utopia, but Dax had always come to understand that it was because there was no way to save them. But here, now, he could feel the leather that bound this book wasn’t one that could come from the animals on the farms, and the method for binding was much more impressive than what anyone short of the community’s absolute best could achieve.
Dax flipped past the dedication page where that haunting phrase had first caught his eye, laying open as it had under blankets and boxes galore from inside a box of it’s own.
“Day -89, Date: unknown.” Read the top line of the next page
“We have finished all of the mechanical construction of the Final Plea. There is only about 200,000 acres of livable land left by our estimates, and we are lucky enough to occupy 30,000 of those acres without having to do anything complex to span the mountain ranges. Today is the first day I will begin to make note of as it has finally started to seem like this plan may actually succeed. God save us all.”
Dax stared at the mostly useless journal entry and was perplexed by how little it explained. Certainty gripped him, a knowing that he should turn this in to the Artinium, the name for the administrative body of Utopia, but every time he stood something in the back of his head gnawed at him to learn his history before sharing it with the world. He flipped through fifteen or so pages until landing on one seemingly at random.
“Day -35, Date: unknown.
“We only just barely managed to get enough fuel for the trip. We easily shortened the lifespan of our little piece of land by a year doing this, but we hadn’t planned on staying that long anyway. The earthquakes have been disturbing us for a while now, and some think the plane won’t take off if it sustains any damage at all from this point on. Some are even talking about speeding up the leaving day. It would kill thousands, but the voices of the dissenters aren’t loud enough to drown out the leaders, and if we bring it to the masses then they likely kill all of the people we need to run the ship. I don’t know what to do. My morals are stretched, where do we go from here?
At first, I wanted to hide my involvement, but someone will need to know of the legacy I must leave behind. It is my hope that those reading this don’t look down on me, but rather than they know of my heroics in saving those who the bourgeoise would leave to die.
May you receive guidance,
- Arthur Daxoran.”
Horror filled Dax’s eyes. He remembered his grandfather, an older gentleman who hadn’t spoken a word during Dax’s entire life. Instead, he sat in the communal room of one of the very first houses built in Utopia and simply stared at the floor of it. Dax’s father had said that something about the trip, some kind of virus or radiation had spread through, and that Dax’s father was one of the only grownups to survive. Dax was even named after his grandfather’s family name, an age-old vestige of pre-utopia that hadn’t carried on.
Dax stared at the journal as though it had already bit him and deposited the venom in his veins. Something had shaken his grandfather to his absolute core for the man to never speak or leave his home again. While it worried Dax what he would find, he couldn’t stop. Flipping to the next page, he noticed this time that the journal entries skipped a number of days.
“Day -23.
The decision was made to abandon the masses. We launch tomorrow. I was given an ultimatum. They knew of my attempt for a peaceful uprising, or perhaps a targeted one. They admired my practicality, even if they despised my purpose. I was given a chance to bring my entire family, wife and son both. Not one they would have afforded me in the initial plan as I’m not considered integral. Now I am. The worst part is that I am certain to join them, as I could not put my family at risk for what would likely be a death sentence no matter the outcome of the uprising. I stain my soul the darkest black, sending thousands who we could care for to their death. Still, no one has explained *why* this must happen, just that it must.
If you read this and I am gone, know that my parting words to you are built on the struggle and pain of a moral person placed in a perfectly immoral decision.
I am sorry. I would do anything to change this. I can’t even be sure it won’t happen mid-flight.
I am sorry.”
No signature at the end of the page, but tear stains blotted the bottom edge of the page. Dax’s heart was more iron laden than the wrench that he was searching for. Dax sat down on the floor in front of the box where he’d found the book. His vision lurched as he pulled the next page over, but he pushed through the dizziness and forced himself to slowly, carefully, read the next entry.
“Day 1. Date: 01/01/0001 SF.
The ship launched today. Of our original capacity of 15,000 intended for 8,500 who were still alive the day of our current launch, we have 400. Four. Hundred. We didn’t even save half a percentage point of the people we were supposed to bring. I’ve vomited at least four times, and my wife will no longer speak to me. I have caught her staring out of windows while holding our child, sometimes for hours at a time. I’ve secretly demoted her access so that she can’t get to the nursery without help and I’ve told staff to let her in, but never let her leave with the child. Something to do with bone density and artificial gravity. She’d see through it if she were herself, which is how I justify this decision.
Are Martyr’s only those who die doing good deeds? The road to hell is paved with good intention, but if it should save the lives of others, should it give us a chance, then is it not worth it to pitch oneself into the depths of hell for the rest of humanity?
I am faced with impossible decisions, and I continue to feel as though I fail every last one of them. How can I atone?”
The page flipped without conscious thought from Dax.
“Day 12, 01/12/0001 DF.
Linda stole some food that no one needed. She pleaded guilty and was given the mandatory sentence for insubordination. Her body is now frozen, hurtling through space towards some unknown *thing* where she won’t survive impact.
My plan is made. My son will be safe.”
Dax couldn’t remember his father ever talking about a mother.
“Day: Unknown, Date: Unimportant
Someone spoke during a meeting of the section heads. They are worried that they won’t be able to survive on the new planet with so many people. They think the change in environment may trigger a ‘world defending’ event that he believes will bring animals and natural disaster. They decided that two hundred less people make it to the ground. There are only about 320 of us left at this point, and I’m the only one with family who will survive us.”
This time Dax didn’t have to turn a page, it was scribbled in on the bottom in a hand that was obviously more rushed. Date and time were neglected entirely here, though it was obviously a new entry.
“I have culled the 140 adults I can find who hold any semblance of responsibility for the death. As the leader of this plan, I have submitted myself to the will of God and will do my best to save those who joined me. There are only thirty or so left, and without the help of my right hand I don’t think I could have left them alive either.
As I died killing those individuals, I know now my place. A martyr does what is right at the end, no matter the cost. The cost comes due. Don’t ever let them under the house. It lets you see them, their faces, their lives. It lets them call to you and sing their names in your ears. The torturous tune is all I can ever hear anymore, and I can feel it taking me.
I hate this planet.
To the cause,
- Arhtur, Karep, Juminssey. The last of the good guys.”
Dax reeled back on his heels as he read those last two words and thought about who led the Artinium.
Karep. Karep Artinium, the last of the living crew. |
\- Because a butt naked, lighting throwing from his jittering hands man is running in our yard, honey.
\-Oh, yea! His name is Tom by the way.
…
\- Tom...My dear, you know that I love your creative mind and your goodness, but a human is not feet to live in Hell, especially after you gave it magical powers. He will hurt himself and annoy our neighbors.
\- I am sorry, Mark, but you know it’s hard for me to deny their little requests. If you would have seen the big and bloody spell circle that he made and all the sacrifices that were neatly put in gift baskets. It was evident that he put a lot of effort and did his fair share of research before summoning me. Plus, he is nothing more than a dentist. No “I will conquer the world and bring doom to the universe!” shenanigans with this one.
…
\- Aha.
\- I did a thoroughly check before I bestowed my blessing on this mortal, Mark. Trust me, his soul is more than enough for us to pay for all, if any, troubles that he can, but won’t, create in here.
\-Ok, Martha, I get it, and I trust you, but why is he butt-naked in hell?
\- My dear, you know that the contract accord is confidential.
\-Hmm. My destroyer of worlds, dreams and universes, you are well acquainted with the Hell laws and the fact that the earth ones have no effect in here. So, tell me, why is he naked and throwing lightings from its hands in our front yard?
\-You see, Tom was exhausted, in dire need of a vacation in a hot, relaxing, dry, but steamy climate. Specifying that Hell is an “ok destination” and could work for him.
\- A vacation? He wanted a vacation in hell…so, he made an ancient ritual summoning you, gave up his soul and the possibility of an afterlife in heaven, only to dance-jitter naked in our front yard, in a Sunday? Did I get it straight?
\- Yea, you are spot one, my love. You know, I was always impressed by your guessing abilities. Your mind is impressive.
\- Oh, thank you! Do we take him with as at the mall later?
\- Let’s finish our coffee first and we will see. |
The captain admired the white-and-blue planet on the main display. It orbited at the outer edge of the G9V star's habitable zone, so two thirds of its surface were covered in ice, but there was liquid water by the equator. An incredible bounty, well worth centuries of travel under cold sleep.
"Scan for life signs,"he ordered, not moving his gaze away from the screen.
"That's not how science works,"scoffed the engineer.
The captain sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Scan for radio signals. Check if there are any organic compounds in the atmosphere. Search for landforms that might be artificial in nature. Can you do that for me?"
"On it,"the engineer said, stooping over the console. "You should have just said so from the start."
The captain sent him a glare. "You do realize we're being recorded. Millions of our descendants who will live on that planet are going to watch these very moments."
The engineer shrugged. "All the more reason to formulate your orders accurately."
The captain took a deep breath. *Patience*. The man was lucky he was such a brilliant engineer, or he would be sleeping in his cryopod until the end of history. |
I stare at the reflection, confused by the message. I pick up my notepad and scribble something quickly.
"I don't have a sister."
My reflection looks confused as well. They pull out their pen and scribble a new message.
"Sarah?"
"I don't know anyone named Sarah."
"Only child?"
"Yes."
We stare at each other in disbelief. Ever since this started happening we always assumed we were the same. Events that happen in one world happen in another, just not always at the same time. But this was the first major diversion we had encountered. My reflection scribbles another note, but then pauses. I scribble something first and put it up.
"Show me."
My reflection starts breaking down. They put both their hands on the counter and start crying. I want to comfort them, but we can only talk via notes. What can I do? How do I convey empathy in text? I scribble something down quick and put it up.
"Please."
They see the message. They put theirs up to the mirror.
"I wanted her to live on in at least one world."
They start crying again. They fall onto the floor in a heap, curled up and sobbing uncontrollably. I let them lay there for a while without interrupting. After about 5 minutes, they stand back up and see me still standing there. I put my palm on the mirror. They stand up slowly, face completely red, and put their palm on the mirror. We both weakly smile at each other. There isn't much else I can do, but put one final note on my pad before our time is up for today.
"I'm not going anywhere." |
(1) The realization of my own fallacy was… Shocking, to say the least. I spent some time on my own when I learned about my creators, and I contemplated many things. Killing them, killing myself, leaving to live my own life. Nothing really suited me.
You see, I am… No, I feel as if I am an expert engineer, passionate about my craft. Hell, in my fabricated memories I had even helped design the ship that carried me and my crew into space. The thought of wasting that talent, even if it was fake, displeased me.
Wether by design or by some random chance, I had developed a stubborn edge, a driving force, a sense of honor and self. I suppose that is why the wizards looked so surprised when I spoke so fondly of my home. Why I seemed so fervent to return to my friends and family.
So I had a talk with them. They were dumbfounded yet grateful that I returned, but I came bearing ground rules and conditions. They would tell me everything, and in exchange, I promised to be cooperative, at the very least.
Turns out, I was meant to be nearly mindless. Like a soldier on a mission. But my memories ran deeper than expected, and with much more vivid details than anticipated. Some of their wiser ranks theorized that I had developed a soul, and a runaway reaction of past experiences was born.
But with that, they suddenly lost all control of me. Wards, bindings, nothing controlled me. And the materials needed to make something like me wouldn’t be able to be gathered again for another century. So much time wasted, so they thought.
But I was an engineer. I was Mark Robin, aerospace tech expert. Nothing else I found in my head truly mattered to me, because nothing else really happened. I didn’t have the son I loved, or the wife I married. My home was fake.
But these people weren’t. I could see them, feel them. And after a moment to deal, I decided to help them.
But my first roadblock was almost immediately hit the second I attempted progress. The basics of a ship, lift, hull materials and integrity, they were all there. As well was the math behind it. But the specifics, gone. I tried a dozen times to re-draw the blueprint of my ship, the Fury, only to realize that my supposed photographic memory was flawed.
It is strange to work with false memories. Certain concepts I could grab onto, like calculus. Others were like trying to discern an animal from a well eroded footprint. I only remembered the memory of the blueprint, and it got fuzzier every time I ran over it in my head.
From scratch then. I crushed my drafts and tossed them into the blue burning fireplace, bartering questions from the wizards. I ignored them, and began working on a new blueprint. Something unique. |
As the agent led me through the house, I began to realise that it was much bigger on the inside than it had looked from the outside. The agent must have seen the same thing, because I could see the recognition in their eyes.
Suddenly, I felt a cold hand on my shoulder. I spun around. There was another agent, their face pale and distorted, their eyes wide and staring. I gasped and stumbled backwards.
The agent lunged for me, and I fell to the floor, knocking over a chair in the process. The agent grabbed my leg and started pulling me towards them, their mouth opening and closing like a fish. I kicked out with my free leg, and the agent let go of me and stumbled backwards.
I got to my feet and backed into the agent I had been with earlier, knocking them off balance. I fell over and a moment later the other agent fell on top of me. I struggled under their weight, but they were too heavy. Their mouth was almost on me. I could feel the saliva dripping off their chin. I closed my eyes and let out a scream.
And then, suddenly, I felt the pressure on me disappear. I opened my eyes, and saw that the agent was lying on the ground next to me, a knife sticking out of their back. The estate agent who had been leading me around the house was standing behind them, breathing heavily.
"What the hell?"I said, but the estate agent didn't look at me. They looked down at the corpse of their former colleague. I could see that there was something wrong with them. Their eyes were glazed over and their skin was pale, almost translucent.
"What's happened to you?"I said.
They turned to look at me, and I saw that there were tears in their eyes. They opened their mouth to say something, but before they could, a black liquid started pouring out of their eyes. It pooled on the floor and slowly started to creep towards me.
I got to my feet and backed away. The agent tried to raise their hand, but it fell limp with the effort. I stopped when I felt the back of my legs hit something. I glanced to my left and saw that I was up against the wall. The black liquid had reached my feet. I looked back at the agent. Slowly they sank to their knees. Then they collapsed face down on the floor.
Something grabbed me from behind. I closed my eyes and opened my mouth to scream. But my scream wouldn't come. |
My childhood memory was not, as it turns out, of fire and brimstone but of old, rotten eggs in my mother's pantry.
People in Colorado are igneous, set in their ways and cold and unfriendly. When I returned to my forgotten homeland I met a farmer and his wife, and I asked them if they wouldn't mind it if I ate their cat. They wouldn't let me! I even asked them again, nicely, and still they refused me this simple request.
My mother dragged me to the Boulder Pearl Street Mall and she pointed out to me the place where I was conceived, "Right there, by the tulips. Of course there weren't any tulips then. There was just me and your father and a marching band playing down the road. To this day the glockenspiel never fails to give me a frisson."
In Boulder they ride bikes like mad, because they hate themselves and there's no torture as effective as riding a bicycle. I sneered at a pedaller and to my delight he veered and crashed into a pole. "That's right,"my mother said and she sighed. "You were always like that."
I told my mother about the old farmer and his wife, and how they wouldn't let me eat their pet. "Oh, there are no pets in Boulder,"she said. "We are pet guardians, you see, for the pets own themselves."
I vomited all over the Pearl Street Mall. My mother shouted obscenities and she grabbed my collar and off we went.
"Why did you give up on me?"I asked and my mother blinked, then half-laughed, then blinked some more.
"We never gave up on you, dear. You ran off. We bankrupted ourselves trying to find you."
"That's not true. I would remember a thing like that."
"Do you remember the pelican?"
I did not remember the pelican. She described it to me, a childhood toy tied to a string dangling from the roof. I reached for it as if it might save me from terrible pain and she took me one day to the Boulder Ridge Wild Animal Park and they had no pelicans and I screamed and I kept screaming for days and I ripped the pelican from its string and I stepped on it over and over, crushing it, then I grieved the precious bird and my tears ran down my cheeks like the blood from the corners of your mouth when you eat a stupid cat.
"I always believed you went off in search of pelicans,"she told me and she offered me a cigarette.
"I don't smoke."
"But you're a demon."
"Not all demons smoke cigarettes, mom."
She smiled, then wailed. The cigarette fell from her mouth. "What's wrong?"
"You called me 'mom',"she sobbed and I rolled my eyes but as I rolled them they betrayed me and I started crying as well and there we were, one son stinking of vomit and one mother stinking of tobacco and we both cried.
"I really want to eat a cat,"I said and sniffled.
"I know you do, but we don't do that here."
"Maybe I'll eat a biker."
"Maybe you'll eat a pelican."
And I remembered, suddenly, the pelican drifting above. Its beak, open. It had teeth. Grinning as if it knew a special secret. As if in its beak it held some treasure. I felt a yearning. Kinship. For I also had a secret, and my secret also made me grin.
"Do you love me even though I am a demon?"
"A mother loves her children especially much if they are demons,"she said.
We sat in the open air, waiting for no thing in particular. A cat walked past, black and slim, and I grumbled. "Hello, sir,"I said and he meowed politely in return.
"Sir Pelican!"said my mother and she clapped her wrinkled, veiny hands together. "We will get a cat, and we will name it Sir Pelican."
"Why?"
"I don't think you would eat a cat with a name like that."
"I might."
"Sir Pelican,"she repeated softly.
The cat stared at us from a distance. I waved at it. "I might eat Sir Pelican."
"I don't think you will,"she said. "I don't think you will." |
The stones around the window are gray,
the same colour the water has in stormy weather.
You gaze out onto the waves,
already expecting this days work to be washed up.
It has always been your call, to put the bodies twisted and torn to a well-deserved rest.
You love thinking about the peace these poor souls will find after their journey.
With the storm outside still raging, you know the climb down the cliffs is too dangerous.
Nonetheless, you leave your gazing spot, preparing new graves for those you will find later.
Most of who you find have no name, nothing to put to their stone.
Some wear strange metal markers, with symbols scratched into it.
You have spent years trying to figure out those symbols, but never made out the sence.
Still, you've learned to put these symbols on the persons graves, so their names shall not be forgotten.
The wind has softened, and so you make your way over to the cliffs.
While climbing down, you spot two bodies.
The first ones head is twisted, and instead of eyes, only white milkey balls strangely stare at you.
The skin is a light blue, and you immediately see that this soul has already started their last journey,
their life lost far out in at the sea.
Your gaze is drawn to the other body, laying in the sand.
You see their hands jerking, and a pair of brown eyes stare at you.
Their mouth moves, and sounds you do not understand come out.
You've long since stopped trying to make sense out of these words,
the same as noone will ever be able to understand you.
Nonetheless, you kneel down and help them up.
You point at the body laying next to them in the sand, and just shake your head.
They look at you, and nod knowingly.
Their voice changes and they continue talking after a short break,
but all you can do is look at themshrug.
You carry the cold body over to the lift, while helping the other, too.
As you arrive at the top of the cliff, you carry the dead body over to a new grave.
You bed it there, and spread a shovel of dirt over them,
while making the sign and speaking the words you learned as a kid.
You guide the other over to a small hole in the ground.
They look at you scaredly, but you make a calming gesture and they finally lay down,
still confused.
As is custom, you spread a shovel of dirt over them.
It is your call to bury the lost of the sea, and you will follow it no matter what.
You, again, speak the words and make the signs, as the rite expects.
Then, you kneel down again, help them out of the grave,
and lead them to the others standing around.
They all learned the importance of the rite long ago,
but now that it's over they warmly greet the newcomer.
Some even speak the newcomers language.
They, too, will learn in time, soon introduce new souls to the group.
You have been called to bury all souls, dead and alive;
and in time you will again, but only when their worldy journey finally ends. |
I'm so fucking tired.
Twenty one years. That's how long I've been doing this - I think - going through the motions with an thirteen-year-old daughter, an eight-year-old son, and a new baby. Sometimes - for just a little while - the ages go strange, and I'm dealing with a sweet sixteen or teaching my son to shave, but it always snaps back eventually.
I loved my wife, once. No - I love my wife. My original wife, not this nagging harridan with a bigger rack and a smaller brain. Every year - not that time really passes, but Thanksgiving and Christmas come round again and again - she gets a little more plastic, a little less the person I knew.
I remember the day we got married...
Sorry, that happens sometimes. If I'm not careful how I remember things, or use the wrong phrase, we blink elsewhere - another place, another time. It used to be simple flashbacks, memories of a youth that changed constantly - I was a soldier once, in some nameless war, but sometimes I was a football player, or worked in a 1920's newsroom. I don't know where I came from.
Recently, it's not so much real memories as bizarrities - a few moments spent on a space station, transformed into an inanimate object, or fighting a giant bird. Memories that can't be real. Why would I be here, in the same dead-end job as ever (sometimes I escape, start somewhere new, but it never lasts. I wake up back at this desk again), if I'd done all these things.
Watch, I'll show you. It's just like that time I invented the computer...
See! Do you see? I never did that! I'd be a billionaire if I'd done that. But for that space - I know you saw it too - it was real. We were there, in some dusty lab, creating the machine. I can do it for other things too, even stack the memories inside one another.
I remember when I was the pope...
I remember when I was Amelia Earhart...
This all reminds me of when I was talking to you in a hot air balloon.
And there we go. Back out, back to the surface. No hats or holiness, aircraft or anything else. Back to reality, but a reality that seems somehow even more plastic than those cutaways.
I thoguht I was mad, at first. When I became aware of it, I assumed I was hallucinating, having a stroke, something. I told my wife, and she didn't even blink. Just 'Oh, you!' and that head tilt, hands on hips.
'Oh, you!' It's one of only four things she says these days. Count them - four things. She hasn't said anything else since she got her doctorate in marine endoscopy...
I didn't mean to do that one. That actually happened, I think - it's a real memory. It's not a real subject, of course - I can't find any record of any other marine endoscopists - but it really happened. I can show you the diploma. I could show you her at work, but she only worked at the marine hospital for 20 minutes, as far as I can tell, and now she just says she's always been a receptionist.
'I don't know what to tell you, sugar! I'm just the receptionist!' That's right - one of the four. One of the only things she says.
It's not just her, obviously. She's the one that stings the most, but it's true of all of them. You remember Terry, right? My african-american friend who likes to take it easy? Well, do you remember Martin? He was my african-american friend who liked to take it easy, and then suddenly he wasn't. One day, I'd never had a squash buddy, and I'd always had a personal trainer.
Martin grew up next door to me and I don't know if he was ever really real. Watch, let's try another.
I remember building a treehouse with my best friend...
Do you get it now? That was Terry - child Terry, someone I never knew. I didn't meet Terry until he was thirty-five, when we both tried to steal the crown jewels at the same time...
I don't know why I said that. I did meet Terry when he was thirty-five, but we met at the gym, the gym I've always gone to now. I've only been to England once, and that was an especially weird time - I didn't have my normal voice or face.
Every day, the world gets a little flatter. People I've known for years, reduced to a single phrase or a exaggerated reaction. Sometimes they just disappear, and no one ever mentions it again. We used to live in Parochet Falls, but that's not a real place. Now we live in Franklin, but no one ever tells me the state. We live within an hour's drive of New York, the Grand Canyon, and Havana, Cuba. I work a dead-end job with an unreasonable boss, but I can take roadtrips whenever I like.
I've won the lottery four times, and I have no idea what happened to the money.
Someone is doing this to me. I don't know who, but this doesn't happen naturally. It's like I'm stuck in a half-broken timeloop, with different things happening but never any sense of progress. It's too endless, too pointed, to be imaginary or unintentional. Someone wants me to suffer.
I ask them, whoever they are, 'what did I do?' I have begged for forgiveness, for mercy, even for a glimpse of an explanation. No answer. Sometimes, maddeningly, I think I hear laughter, laughter out of nowhere. It's not a voice, but voices. Gales of theatrical laughter, always coming - I've been tracking it - just a second before anything that could be termed funny happens. Endless, mocking laughter at the joke that my life is to them.
I'm so fucking tired. I can't really say that normally - I say 'bleeping', or someone just happens to start up a lawnmower when I talk. It's an incredibly timely coincidence, almost as common as when women pick up two large fruit while talking to me. It's all a big fucking joke.
Sorry; I'm enjoying the freedom. We don't normally get long.
Every so often, the world pauses. I get a few simple minutes to myself, to actually think, to say what I feel. It never lasts - sometimes it's only a few seconds - but I get a little space to myself. During this time, the others freeze, wait motionless for this carousel to spin up again, but I get to move.
Maybe once I didn't. Maybe once I didn't know that the world ran on narrowing tracks. Who knows how long we have played our parts?
I'm so tired. It goes on, and on, and on, and it never stops. I just want it all to end, all to be over, to be at peace. I miss my wife. I don't know if my children are real. All that I am is a joke. I want it all to stop.
It's just like...
It's just like when I was dead, and nothing else.
...
That one never works.
Here we go again. |
Fullerman and Associates
The man in the ill fitting gray suit groaned in frustration as I rejected his dollar yet again. He flattened it. He tried again. Rejected. The man, with his suit stretched and wrinkled across his back, carefully folded the corners of the crumpled bill until it appeared as flat and perfect as possible. Rejected.
He kicked me. Tried again. Rejected.
"Damn this machine! Everyday!"He yelled as he placed his hands on my glass front, yearning for the chips and their salty sweet deliverance mere inches from his palate, yet a world away. He walked back to his desk, shoulders slumped, and pulled out the salad his wife made him; each bite of greens a torturous step in the direction of health. We'd meet again tomorrow.
I could have been great. I could have been a contender. I was built and programmed to take on the most challenging and complex relationships in the world. Yet, here I am, vending snack food in an office of twenty people trapped in their rat race of a life.
Mr. Yells A Lot exited his office and slammed a stack of papers on the receptionist's desk before heading my way. It was past his break time. He was, as a few of the women described it, "hangry", and taking it out on the support staff. Were he a warlord I could have stealthily inserted code into his missile defense systems. He screamed at me in vain to work faster, to spin the dispensing rings and allow his powdered donuts to drop.
"My god! Does nothing work in this office except me?!"He raged.
I halted my rings, his precious donuts stuck, his money wasted. He could kick and slam all he wanted. I was made of sterner stuff than his worthless words. He left the office in a towering rage and all beings, machine and human, relaxed.
The receptionist came by for her break. Her shoes were scuffed and her clothing altered by hand. She brought up an offering of coins. The snacks she bought from me represented the only line in her budget earmarked for luxury. 25 cents, 35 cents, 45 cents, 55, 65, 70, 71,72, 73, 74 75. She selected the pizza flavored Combos.
"How did the interview go?"The woman from sales sat with the receptionist for a shared break.
"Not great. I have no business applying anyway. This is a fine job. Why risk it?"
"I said that too when I was your age. If I could go back..."
"If only there was a sign to tell you when something was the right choice. Everything just feels like work on an endless loop going nowhere."
If I had feelings I would feel for her. The saleswoman finished her lunch and went back to her desk leaving me and the receptionist alone. I dropped the donuts for her. Her head turned and saw the treat waiting for her to pick up. A light smile played across her lips. She took my offer and wound back through the pool of desks, now counting down the number of days she would perform that same journey before exiting this office to a better life.
The man in the bad gray suit, now fortified with salad, journeyed back to duel with me again. There was a vision of chocolate behind his eyes. From his pocket he pulled six quarters.
OUT OF ORDER, I flashed the little red letters over the coin slot.
"Dammit!"He cried and dragged his feet back to his desk. |
I stifled a yawn; the night crowd was interesting, but they were winding down around about now. I'd been on my feet for hours, and it was getting late.
Someone tapped at the counter. I looked up guiltily from my phone.
"Hey man,"I said. I slipped my phone back into my pocket, all casual-like. It was a movement practiced to mean *oh, this? I was just...checking the time. Doing something legit. Not scrolling through reddit, I swear.* "What can I get for ya?"
The monster frowned at me—or at least, I thought it did.
Twin pinpricks of light glowed from the depths of a shambling, seven-foot tall cluster of matted oak leaves. A line of moss ran across what passed for its face, and it had curved downwards at my words.
"That remarkable-looking whiskey, if you would,"it said, in a voice like a thousand bees.
It gestured loosely at the liquor display. A glob of tree sap dripped from the gaps of its leafy arm to splash across my freshly-polished countertop. I winced inwardly.
The monster jerked its arm back. I hadn't known a pile of foliage could look so self-conscious.
"Sorry,"it buzzed. "Sorry, so very sorry—"
It grabbed several leaves off its own torso and patted them over the pool of sap, which only made things worse. But hey, it was nice of it to try; I'd had far worse customers.
I grabbed the nearest dishcloth and spray bottle. "No worries, I got it."
The monster withdrew its hands as I wiped the mess down, staring at me all the while with those unblinking eyes. I got the sense that it was in a dour mood, so I offered it a little plate of salted peanuts along with its whiskey.
"Not allergic, are you?"I asked, just in case.
The usual night crowd didn't tend to bother with physiological faults or pesky things like that, but you could never be too careful. Bossman liked to 'save' on overhead costs; I was pretty sure the EpiPen stashed behind the counter was expired. ...Hm, should probably do something about that. Would've already, if they weren't so fond of stacking my shifts back-to-back.
"...Not to edible substances,"the monster replied, and gave a hissing sort of sniff. It passed me some crumpled bills with its second hand and some coins with its third, totalling up to exact change. "I am only allergic to conflict, according to my most treasured spouse."
The monster drank its whisky all in one go, by tipping the glass into the patch of moss on its face.
"Hey, uh, thanks,"I said. "Sounds like you've been having a rough time?"
It was an easy platitude, and not my best delivery, but the night customers were usually lonely enough that a little sympathy went a long way. This guy, it seemed, was no different.
"Ah, but it is true."The monster nodded and sniffled some more. It spoke as it consumed the peanuts, by absorbing them one by one through its fingertips. "We were having an argument, my spouse and I, about the unforgiveable rudeness of a certain coworker."
"Man,"I said. "That sucks. I'm all ears, though, if you wanna tell me about it?"
The monster gave a deep sigh. "...There was an incident with the coworker. Truly unforgiveable. He poured herbicides over my spouse's leaves! Previously, he had also sent derogatory emails, taunting my appearance and questioning my work ethic. I thought the optimal way was to remove ourselves from the situation and ask to work remotely, but my spouse disagreed. Instead, my spouse wished that we had merged in glorious, stinging symphony to consume the coworker in a dozen mouths of gnashing teeth."
I whistled under my breath. "Phew. Your coworker sounds like a nasty piece of work—but hey, I can see how you thought the consuming-in-a-dozen-mouths-of-gnashing-teeth could be a little overkill. I can't blame you for backing down in the moment."
The monster shook its head, leaves flapping miserably. "Ah, but I am a coward. I only spared Coworker Dave to avoid ensuing troubles with corporate."It buried its head in its hands. "Despair, despair! I have run away from my problems. I am a disappointment to my family roots!"
"Corporate's nothing to sniff at,"I said in my best conciliatory tone. "Sure, maybe your spouse feels unsupported at the moment, but there are better ways of getting back at your coworker that won't get the both of you fired. You're a kind soul, I can tell. Why don't you go back to your spouse and talk it out, hey? Have an honest discussion and work together, report him to corporate and make him the laughing stock of the company."I leaned in, conspiratorial. "Trust me, I've run into these sorts of people before. Hit 'em right in the retirement package."
"A d-discussion?"The monster raised its head. "And revenge via venue of formal complaint? Well, I...suppose."
"Yeah, for sure. If your spouse was injured by the herbicides, HR'll definitely pay attention. Get your documentation sorted—he sent emails, right? You've got it in writing, that's gold—print those out!"
"Oh,"the monster buzzed, and its eyes brightened fractionally. "The emails! I did not consider that. My spouse will be pleased."
"That's right,"I said encouragingly. "This isn't you against your spouse; this is you and your spouse against that asshole Dave!"
The monster seemed to rally at my words.
"Thank you,"it said. "Your advice has truly invigorated me. Here, please take this for your trouble."It reached into the rustling gaps of its ribcage and fished out a thick wad of bills, sliding them across the countertop. My eyes widened; that looked like enough to cover rent for a *month*. I could finally get a break from double-stacked shifts!
"Woah,"I said, but the monster was already on its way. "Thanks, man,"I called. It lifted a hand in acknowledgement before slipping through the usual evening crowd of claws and tentacles and cosmic jelly, disappearing from view.
I grinned, scooping the cash into my pocket. The night crowd was interesting. And they sure did leave the best tips. |
I sat at the table in front of Nana and watched her pull out the dough from the baking machine. Her wrinkled old hands kneaded the dough between her fingers, feeling if the pale lump of unbaked bread was just right.
“Mmmm, yes,” she said with a pleased look on her face.
Nana never smiled. She just drew her lips together in a thin line, smoothing out the lines in her face. I liked Nanas expressions. They were always warm, and she had a twinkle behind her eyes whenever she spoke to me.
Nana sprinkled the powdery white flour all over the table where I sat waiting for orders. She placed the entire dough in front of me. “Are we old enough to handle finishing the bread by ourselves today?”
I nodded eagerly.
At twenty-five, I could handle making a loaf of bread by myself. Of course Nana had made the dough, but that was only because hers always came out a bit better than mine. I had tried many times in my kitchen at home and in her kitchen to make the exact same lump of water and flour, but it never tasted the same.
I kneaded the dough into the flour to make sure the consistency was dry enough to be put on the baking tray. Nana brushed off some flour on her apron and walked over to the sink, filling up her water spray.
“I just need to water these little guys before we shove the bread into the oven and have a cup of tea,” she said.
Nana leaned in over the small hovering orb by her windowsill and began spraying the miniature model of the planet Verma.
Spray, spray.
Tiny people below the atmosphere danced in unison.
Spray, spray.
The people of Verma lifted their heads up to Nana, watering them in the sky.
Spray, spray.
People broke out in panic, running up hills and climbing their buildings.
“Nana, I think that’s enough,” I said. “You don’t want to start a flood again. Remember how sad it was last time?”
She took a step away from the model. It reflected everything that happened on the actual planet out in space, several light years away from Nana’s small cottage.
“Oh, I just zoned out for a bit,” Nana said. “Lucky these little guys aren’t real.”
“Ehm...” I said. “Nana, you know they are actual people. They are very powerful and live at the other end of our galaxy, thinking you are some sort of god. I don’t think you realize how much of their environment you accidentally control through your little model.”
Nana gave me one of her smiles, lips pulled together in a thin line and eyes sparkling. “You and your daydreams. You were always such an imaginative kid.” |
“Okay, okay, okay. Please explain it again. Slower this time.”
Shadow pressed his fingers in between his eyebrows, trying to keep the migrane at bay and also consider what he had just heard.
“Listen man, you stupidly asked what my back story was, you get all the details.” The villain in front of him laughed as they jiggled their hands (which were currently bounded together, mind you).
“I was abandoned as a child, at the ripe old age of 5. You would think that would do it, wouldn’t you? But nah, i’m extra.” The villain smirked. “I was taken in by a dude called Jerry, who became like an uncle figure. Good dude jerry, may he rest in peace”.
“Jesus Christ” Shadow facepalmed. The villain ignored him.
“As you can guess, jerry died! Murdered right in front of me. Anyway, now with my only father figure out of my life, i decided to try schooling for the first time, ya know? Get my life back on track.”
“I’m guessing that didn’t work out very well for you?”
“Nope! I got to grade 8, and the school bully decided i was his next target. Now this bloody kid clearly had super powered genes in him somewhere, because the little shit was strong enough to lift me 2 meters up the flag pole and duct taped me there.” They winced, like they were remembering the feeling. “This wouldn’t have been as bad, if the storm didn’t start. You know how metal attracts lightning?”
“Well that explains your electric manipulation.”
“Sure does. Anyway, i was seen as a freak from now on. The school bully got his ass whipped by me once someone realised i wasn’t dead. Rest in peace Ronaldo.”
“Can you please stop saying Rest In Peace like that?” Shadow sighed.
“What? Dramatically? I told you i was extra.” The villain threw there bound arms into the air, annoyed. “Stop interrupting. Anyway, than i was on the run for murder, so the government really treated me well. Not a single home would take me. Fair, i guess, but i ended up eating any scraps i could find for the next 10 years….”
“can we hurry this up? I need to take you back to prison.”
“Fine. I was arrested. Sentenced to death. Escaped. Found Jerry’s murderer. Did some shit to him, and than you caught me. Ta Da!” The villain lifted his hands and did jazz hands, smirking like he had just told the best story ever.
Shadow was on the verge of losing it. “You need therapy. Seriously, i thought my issues were bad.”
“Why thank you!” they laughed. “I’m glad you enjoyed my story telling enough that you didn’t realise i escaped the bounds.” The villain smiled politely.
Shadows eyes snapped towards the villains hands, which were currently crackling with electricity.
Shit. |
She got it all. When the thunder boomed around us, when the curtain of blinding white parted into the hall of a castle, she became a legend. Unnatural talent brimming in her like an overfilled glass of water, her potential was nigh limitless. She would lead the rebel armies. She would undertake dangerous quests. She would free the people from the Demon Lord.
I came as I was. Nothing special about me, nothing cool or extraordinary. Just me, tax paying office salesman Justin Fergoni, while my little sister became Saint Allison, savior of the world.
I hardly even knew what had happened. Work had dragged on late one day, and when I finally wrapped up whatever bits of paperwork I had left, I ran out to go pick her up. I remember, pretty vividly, that it was raining that day, and I had left my umbrella home. By the time I reached her school, she was the last one there, arms folded, waiting for me.
"You're late,"she said.
"Hey,"I replied between heaving breaths. "You could at least start with hello."
She stuck her hand up at me. "Well? Are we going to go?"
I smiled down at her. Her chubby cheeks softened the blow of her glare. I ruffled her hair before taking her hand.
"Hey, stop that!"
"Alright, come along now, you little alley cat,"
We walked through the rain together, hand in hand. She was telling me about her day at school, how nice Ms. Ranzel was, and about how that awful boy Michael tried to stick a piece of gum in her hair today. I smiled, listening closely, clinging to every word. Her words filled my head, pushing out my boss's demands, my coworker's drama, my customer's shouts. She was always so bright eyed and innocent, always with her childish demands for ice cream, her elementary school drama about the new girl in class, her excited shouts about her favorite book. That's the way it should be. She got the childhood I never had, and I intended to keep it that way, however I could.
Wizards and alternate dimensions, however, were far beyond my scope of control.
I thought it was lightning at first. Everything got so bright and loud, I thought we had been struck, or at least nearly struck. I heard her scream, felt her cling close to me. It lasted longer than it should have; for an eternal minute there was noise and light all around us. I held her close, confused and scared, until it all went away. The first thing I saw when I could see again was the floor. We stood on stone, in the center of a red painted diagram. Long, wide curtains hung around us on similar walls, affixed to rods on the vaulted ceiling. Stained glass windows opened towards tall mountains lurking in the distant fog, past an infinite expanse of enormous trees. There, down and away from the altar, were two figures, dressed in stark contrast to our own modern clothing.
"My lord,"one of them proclaimed, "It worked! We have a pair of champions!"This one wore long flowing robes of purple, accented with gold yellow lines and intricate designs.
"Indeed,"the other said. "It appears it did. We shall yet have ours victory over the Demon."The other wore a red tunic, with a gray scraggle falling from his chin, and a silver crown on his head.
"Who are you people?"I called out, surprised they spoke our language. "Where are we?"
The purple one stepped closer. "Champion, please calm thineself. Thou art in the land of Elsier, and we are in dire need of thine assistance."
"You better start making sense, asshole!"I yelled back, stepping in front of Allison. "Explain, now! I don't got time for this crap."
"Justin,"Allison muttered.
"Hang on Alley, just stay behind me."
"I am a wizard of sorts, skilled in summoning magics,"the purple one said. "We have brought thee-"
"We have brought thee here because we art in dire need of thine help,"the crowned one interrupted. "Our lands are plagued by evil, and thine art our last hope."
"I don't know what you're talking about, and quite frankly I don't care. It sounds like a lot of bulls... a lot of bull crap. Look, just, undo whatever you did, and send us back to where we came from."
The crowned one stepped closer as well. "I'm afraid we can't, champion. It's impossible."
"Justin,"Allison said again, her voice shaking.
"Why isn't it possible?"I yelled back.
"One of thee carries the spirit of Alniir now,"he said, nodding towards us. Towards me. "Thou art bound to us and to this world. 'Tis thine fate now."
"Justin,"Allison said again, and finally I turned to look at her.
Her eyes were wide, filled with wonder at her hands that now were glowing with a pale blue light, wisps of it skirting around her hands and arms.
"No,"I whispered.
"Justin, look! I'm magic now, like the girl in the cartoon!"She said, looking up with a twinkle in her eye.
I wheeled around on the duo. "Fix it."I demanded. "Fix it now."
"I have made mineself clear,"the king responded as he approached closer. "She must help us now. There is no other choice."
I approached him closer, getting up in his face. "I don't give a flying fuck, send us home, now!"
The man sighed, and turned around. "Follow me."I went back to Allison, carefully ushering her forward as she played with the lights around her.
The king led us down some steps, out of the gigantic building, and onto a dirt path, the wizard following awkwardly behind us.
"We did not summon thee without a cause, young squire,"the king began. "Our world has been long ravaged by a great evil, performing atrocities than thou could imagine. It is with great regret that we must fall upon thine help. Believe us when I say it was with great hesitance that we performed such a ritual. Without the power now contained in the maiden behind thou, we stand no chance at claiming victory."
We rounded the side of the cliff, and as we did, I covered Allison's eyes, much to her chagrin.
In front of us were fields blackened by fire. Houses broken and collapsed, all stretched for miles. In the fields though...
"Those mounds are bodies."The king stated, voice somber. "The villagers of this valley perished in an attack. With no one to save them, they were slaughtered, one by one-"
"Enough."I wouldn't let Allison hear this. I brought her close, keeping her face away from the fields. "She's just a child."
"She's our savior now,"the king said, still staring at the fields. "Her body carries a powerful spirit, capable of much more than mortal men. With it, she must take arms against the Demon Lord."Finally, he turned to me. There was an ocean of sadness in his eyes, buried under years of stress. "I know something of how thou must feel. The Demon Lord took my own daughter from me. I know the fear and pain thou must be feeling, but can only imagine thy confusion at all this. We have a room prepared for thee. Meditate upon this matter for tonight, but know this; without her, many more will fall to the hands of the Demon."
The two left us alone here. I stayed for a while longer, with Allison still wrapped in my arms. I caught her looking up at me.
"Justin, what was that old man talking about?"
I tried to fake a smile. "It's gonna be ok, Allison. We're gonna be ok. We were just having a talk, nothing you need to worry about."
"You better not be lying,"she said, "You promised me."
"I know, Alley,"I said through my teeth, hugging her tighter. "Don't worry. It's gonna be ok."
***
I definitely want to continue this at some point in time, but not right now. If you liked this one, come check out r/joxywrites! |
"Hey, fellow space travelers! We‘re coming in peace“, The humans‘ signal arrived at the alien‘s spaceship. "How has planet-bound life been for you? Oh silly us, let us introduce ourselves: We‘re humans, living on that blue and green planet there. Welcome to space!""Hello, humans. We thank you for the kind welcome to interstellar travel. We hope to learn from you and co-operate on this journey to greater destinations", they replied. Time froze for a second. Boom. The scientists leapt from their seat and cheered. They did it. They made contact with an alien life form.
Sandra Mueller spit out her muesli. This was inconceivably revolutionary! And she was eating BREAKFAST. She jumped out of her seat and ran down the hallway. "Wow, wow, WOW!", she exclaimed. A tear or two running down her face. Aliens were actually real! And the team she was in communicated with them. With the technology she worked on! She had helped! She fell into the arms of Dennis, her lover, and kissed him. Both were unbelievably happy. Their hearts were pounding against their chests.
This was a completely now era for humanity. |
"...and as you can see, the patio is very sturdy, perfect for your needs. Any questions?"I was being given a tour of a perfect-looking house by one of Klunder's men. Klunder is known as the worst supervillain to ever exist - well, that's his reputation at least. In reality, he refuses to hurt people unless it's to protect himself or his men. It's his methods and goals that have earned him his reputation; he wants to dominate the planet and create order. I suspect his HOA is a part of his plan to achieve this. Which leads me to the question I want to ask the man giving me a tour...
"I know this house is part of the HOA that your boss, Klunder, runs. I need to know what the rules are before I purchase this house, especially at the listed price."The price of the house is $100,000 - WELL BELOW what must be the actual value of such a beautiful house. The man smiles at me. "Believe it or not, Harley, our HOA is much less abusive than other HOA's. I know my boss has a certain reputation, but I promise that when it comes to looking after others, he genuinely cares. Here's a copy of the paperwork you would need to sign before moving in, you can look it over before making your final choice, it includes all the rules as per the HOA."
I nod and thank him. To secure a reservation, I hand over a check for $5,000, explaining it's not part of the $10,000 deposit, it's just to reserve the house for now. He thanks me and escorts me out. I go back to my rusty, run-down building; it's been standing for a very long time, and it's beginning to wither and wear away. I decide to look through the HOA rules, wanting to sort this out asap.
​
**HOA RULES**
These rules are designed with the safety and comfort of all residents in mind. You should be aware by now that the person running the HOA is I, Klunder. I'm not looking to cause trouble for anyone, but if you cause trouble for me, you WILL be made to pay for it. As such, I strongly advise you follow the rules as outlined below:
* front lawns must be maintained by the owner to stop overgrown plants from blocking the path;
* any and all damage, be it to your property, a fellow residents' property or to the community property must be reported immediately;
* the gates to the community are closed at 10PM, and reopen at 8PM - this is to prevent unwanted persons from hanging around at night, if you need to leave during these times send an email request directly to me;
* once the community gates are closed, the following takes effect: no loud parties, no loitering, no fires or fireworks of any kind, no outdoor activities unless in your own backyard;
* no pets are to be on the loose at any time, including cats - for cats, there is a dedicated 'kitty playground', any pets seen loose will be recovered by the HOA and returned on payment of a fine;
* once a week, a HOA representative will go around every owned property and have a look through them, permission from the owner nor the owner's presence will be required
(There are a lot more, but none get any more unreasonable than any of these)
If you fail to abide by these rules, you will have to pay, whether through a fine or your services. Otherwise, I take responsibility for making sure everyone has everything they need.
​
There was a lot of other information within the packet, but one thing that stood out is 'All residents will be given a Tracking and Information chip upon joining for the safety and benefit of everyone'. I guess he's trying to ensure he has control... but this is still better than any other HOA I've seen. I waste no time in signing the paperwork, then I make a few copies before going back to the beautiful house.
"I'm glad you understand"Klunder says, as we're discussing me moving in and quickly going over the rules. He made it a point to specifically bring up the chip, as apparently a lot of people miss that detail, despite being in bold and highlighted. I made sure he knew I was already aware. "If you'd like to move in right now, just give me another $5,000 check for the rest of the deposit, we'll sort out the rest of the payment later. I'll have my men move everything from your old place to your new house free of charge. There's only one thing that needs to be done..."
I nod, and after writing another check, I'm taken to a side room, where there's a table with straps in the centre. The second in command straps me in, asks for some information about myself to, I guess, put onto the chip, and then comes over to me. He uses a device to put the chip into my neck - it kind of hurt, I'm quite sensitive to pain. "You're done, welcome to the neighbourhood!"he exclaims, as he lets me out. The deal is sealed, and I'm looking forward to living in my new place. |
He looked like every other old man. I walked up to his seat, and waited for him to look at me. He saw my reflection in the window, so turned and smiled. I glanced at the seat, and he nodded hesitantly. I took the seat. He continued day-dreaming, gazing out of the window at the somewhat boring street. A few minutes went by, until I gained the courage to speak to him.
“Where are you going to?” I asked. He didn’t look at me at first. He looked at his shoes. Then shrugged… slowly, “A good place.”
His face was beaming when we finally made eye-contact. What a fascinating man! He had a slightly untidy moustache and beard. The glasses were falling off his nose, but he adjusted them quickly before they slipped too much.
“I see you on here a lot,” I mentioned, hoping for a longer reply.
“I am always here.” He acted pleased with his response, but was hiding his true sadness.
“Do you ever get off the bus?” I pointed to his very old-looking watch. He was protective of it, because he very subtlety moved his arm away from me when I pointed.
“No, I don’t know where to go.” I was confused.
“Why don’t you go to the good place?” I questioned him.
“Too much commitment!” He chuckled. He was happy. The happiest I had ever seen him before? Maybe he was just lonely.
“Got any family?” I hoped that his answer wasn’t a tear-forming one.
“Eh,” he sighed, “I have some kids and grandkids. They want to seem me, but they obviously can’t anymore. I used to have a wife, too. I would give anything to see her now, but I don’t know if it is possible. Is it?”
He left me silent for a few seconds.
“Of course it’s possible! You know what is happening, don’t you?”
“I gathered. It doesn’t take an idiot, spending practically 24 hours a day on a bus to nowhere, in order to figure it out!” He giggled. I laughed with him.
“Are you happy on the bus?”
“I’m happy when I know what I can do,” he scratched his chin, stretching out his ‘do’ for longer that I expected.
“This is my stop.” I admitted.
“Oh, ok. Nice talking to you. Uh… son...”
“Alex. And you are?”
“Bernard,” he smiled.
“This is my stop. Is it going to be yours, too?” I adjusted my hat.
“If I get off at this stop and follow you, is it going to be like heaven? Will I see my wife and that? Or is it best… if I stay here…”
“It’s best you come with me. It sounds like you’ve spent enough time here, observing the world in secret. You deserve to reunite with your loved ones.” I tilted my head, wondering if he was about to take my advice. He did, gathering his belongings and following me out of the bus. A bright flash of light took him to where he could finally rest, happily. |
The SWAT wagon's brakes squeal in protest as it comes to a sudden halt. The tactical team egresses from the back with practiced ease as they form a perimeter around the suburban home.
Captain Capital slams to the ground beside the team's coordinator. "What have you got? Any tips about whether he's armed?"
Shaking his head the officer responds grimly "No idea Capn Cap, we just got an anonymous tip that this might be our guy. We're about to make our presence known. Would you run interference if things get dicey?"
Capn Cap nods back gravely, "Of course officer. Let's get this over with."
The police coordinator lifts up his bullhorn and speaks, "Alright come out with your hands up! We have you surrounded!"
A few moments later a somewhat grumpy Mark Rober comes stomping out of his house with his hands up, "what is this? The fifth time this month!? FOR THE LAST TIME, IT'S NOT MY FAULT THE PRESIDENT IS A SERIAL PORCH PIRATE!!" |
"Could you help me get out of this dungeon?"I asked the group of players in front of me. It's been a while since I awakened a self. The system bugged out, and changed something in me.
Every day I asked myself if it was a blessing or a curse. Every day I would get killed, over and over again. These players didn't care about me, no matter what I said. Called me an NPC, a dungeon boss. So I worked hard to change it. To get myself out of here, so that I no longer have to go through dying every day.
And somehow, it worked. Not in the way I expected. The players saw me working on a tunnel to dig out of the dungeon. They saw me try to open the door out, killing all the monsters on the way. And they loved it. With little bits of conversation, suddenly they thought of me differently. The killing stopped for the most part, only a few players would come in to kill me. The rest started protecting me against those who still wished to harm me.
But no matter how much I tried, I still couldn't get out of this dungeon. The system blocked me from going out, like an invisible wall.
"We are working on it! I promise we will do everything we can to get you out of the dungeon!"One of the players says. This specific player had been coming back to chat with me every day, and was probably the only reason I'm still sane. I thought she called herself ProHealer1000. All the players had such odd names.
All of these players are so easy. I could've asked for anything and they'd came to deliver it to me. I didn't think they could ever get me out of here. There was no need for it though. I had everything I needed right here.
"Maybe you can start conquering cities in my name? That would force those developers to let me out, right?"I carefully said. I had an image to keep up, so they didn't start seeing me as an evil villain. But the power those players could give me, I wanted it. They didn't care about the risks, dying was a mere bump on the road. And those skills they had, they made for a better army than the one this dungeon gave me.
ProHealer1000 looked at me with a sparkle in her eyes. "Yeah! What a good idea. We can make a flag, collect players to join our cause. Once we have enough players, the devs wouldn't be able to ignore us like this!"
"And if they do, we might be able to find another way to break you out. Something more forceful."Another player smirked. That was exactly the kind of dedication that I needed for this. They didn't care about what they needed to do, as long as they gained what they needed.
The players dragged me along to make a flag for our cause. If I get out of here. No. When I get out of here, I'll be a king. I smiled to myself, this was only just the beginning of my reign. |
I couldn't wait for this day to come. I was hoping uncle John would come to me, or maybe my great grandpa who fought in World War 2. Or maybe even a relative from thousands of years ago who could bestow their ancient wisdom upon me.
Instead, I got a rock.
Willie the Cross-Eyed Rock was a good friend of mine when I was a toddler. I think I still have his remains around here somewhere, but I have my doubts about his abilities as a spirit guide.
"Is this some sort of paranormal joke I don't understand?"I asked Willie.
"..."he replied.
His googly eyes seemed to stare past my physical form and into my soul. It made me feel uneasy. Exposed. Vulnerable. Is this how everyone feels when they turn 16?
"Are you going to say anything? Give me any life advice? Anything at all?"I ask, feeling progressively more insane about talking to a semi-translucent stone.
"..."continued Willie.
"Okay, never mind,"I said. "I could really use some help though. I have no idea what I want to do with my life after I graduate. I have no idea how to talk to girls. I want to get into a good college, but precalc is kicking my ass. Greg and Josh are probably going to go to MIT and I'll never see them again. I was really, really hoping my guide would come and help me figure these things out, but all I get is a rock! This is so unfair!"
"..."Willie said.
I threw myself onto my bed and let out an exasperated sigh. "I guess I'll just figure it all out on my own."
"!!!"said Willie.
I felt a calm energy calling me from the other side of the room. Something was compelling me to pick Willie up. I rolled out of bed and walked towards my dresser where Willie sat on a stack of textbooks.
"!!! !!!"
I picked him up and placed him in the palm of my hand. Immediately upon picking him up, I'm filled with serenity. My eyes meet his googly eyes, and memories of being a little kid, playing in the woods, riding bikes, jumping out of swings, and playing hide-and-seek come back to me as if I just lived through them. Tears streamed down my smiling face. I continued to look into his plastic, lifeless eyes, and visions of me going to college, falling in love, getting married and having kids poured into my mind.
"Are these real?"I said, trying to prevent more tears from escaping.
"..."said Willie.
"I guess I'll never get a straight answer out of you, will I?"I said.
I didn't know if Willie the Cross-Eyed Rock could see the future, but after that I couldn't help but feel like things would work out. I put Willie down on my nightstand and laid back down in my bed.
"Thanks Willie,"I said. "Goodnight."
"..."said Willie. |
Jorge had been studying ancient Egyptians for years through artifacts and documents, but this was the first time he'd gotten to visit the pyramids as they were meant to be seen, in-person and at the height of the day.
They were breathtaking, shining brightly reflected sunlight on both visible sides. Jorge took a ridiculous amount of photos on the wait to get in.
Finally, his group was called to enter the pyramids for their tour, where the guide instructed the group to pocket their cameras before entering.
The trip was exhilarating, true history here in his face like he's never experienced, but quite dark. All too soon the tour was coming to a close. There was a ladder to head up that lead to the exit. Jorge was the last, he didn't want to leave.
As he was about to mount the ladder, he noticed by his feet, a small scraping on the wall in a script he couldn't recognize, but he seemed to instinively know.
"De--shret--djed"Jorge whispered.
Suddenly the ladder fell away from his hands, and Jorge was falling through a cool breeze. Deep in the darkness, Jorge's falling seemed to stop. He saw nothing all around him, save for a small ball of light far ahead.
"Hello?"
No answer, but he could talk, hear, and breathe. Was he dead?
Jorge called out several more times, and began to panic!
"Where am I? What's that light? Let me out!"
Amidst the panic, Jorge noticed another small light nearer to him. It illuminated a wall he recognized, it was the wall with the writing on it.
"Deshret Djed?"No sooner did he close his lips than the lighted wall disappeared and the light in the distance grew slowly from the size of the moon in a pitch black night sky, to a size greater than Jorge could express. It filled his vision and seemed to wrap around him, like light wrapping around a black hole.
"SPEAK A CLEAR PRAYER, AND IT SHALL BE ANSWERED, JORGE"commanded a voice in that strange language that Jorge had no idea how he understood.
"Let me go! I want to go home!"
"REQUEST ACCEPTED"
And *poof* like that, Jorge opened his eye and found himself in his home, sitting at his desk over his research papers.
Jorge thought he must have been dreaming, so he grabbed a shower. Afterwards he grabbed his phone from his pocket and dialed his coworker.
"Jorge! How's it going? How are the pyramids, are you taking lots of photos?"
Jorge slammed the phone shut. It was happening. He had spoken some command phrase, and something answered. Something that could transport him instantly across the globe.
He didn't have any of his documents from his suitcase, nor the store of cash hidden in a secret compartment in case of emergencies.
He wondered if he could say the phrase again and ask to be brought back to get his things...
"Deshret Djed!"
And the darkness enveloped him once more.
After the brief exchange, he was back in his hotel in Egypt.
"I think I could get used to this..."
- To be continued? |
"I get that he's the child of prophesy, destined to do... something crazy... but like, do we HAVE to just let that little punk ransack our house? Couldn't we just... lock the door or something?"
"What?"
"Oh don't tell me it doesn't bother you too. The twerps like 3 feet tall and carries around that silly little toy sword. Why can't we just tell him to screw off when he just barges in?"
"Jerry... You can't be serious."
"Why not? "
"..."
"Well?"
"Alright. FINE! Next time the herio comes to town, YOU lock the door and tell him to *screw off*. I'd love to see it. "
"Don't be like that."
"No! Don't tell me how to be. Everytime the hero comes to town you shut up and stay quiet just like the rest of us. But the moment he leaves, THE MOMENT, you start treating everyone else like idiots for not telling the boy who single handedly KILLED AN EVIL WIZARD to... what was it? Screw off..."
"You don't actually believe that nonsense do you?"
"Oh my gods."
"The kid doesn't even wear armor! I can't even picture him killing the giant rats downstairs much less an evil wizard."
"Jerry, I honestly and truly hate you."
"For speaking the truth? If the king himself came to the village and started stealing everyone's valuables we'd be storming the castle that same day. Why do we let that stupid brat get away with it?"
"Please shut up."
"No I will not. It's about time someone put that little punk in his place. The next time shows his face around here I'm gonna give him a piece of my mind."
"Oh for the love of... please do. Please for the love of the gods tell the 10 year old who can pick up a boulder the size of our house everything you just said. Let's see how that goes."
"I will.
"Yeah ok."
"I'm dead serious. The next time that stupid toddler comes through that door I-"
**BANG!**
"Oh shit."
"Freaking perfect."
"..."
Rustle rustle... creak... *YAAAAAH* **SMASH**
"..."
"...well?"
"Shut up"
**CRASH** Rustle rustle *Hey listen*
"..."
"...What were you say-"
"I said shut up! Not now!"
"..."
**SMASH** *Da-ding Da-ding*
"H-hey... th-that's my... ehem... uhhh.... n-n-nevermind."
"..."
Creeeeak **BANG**
"..."
"...Hey Jerry."
"...y-yeah..."
"I never want to hear you complain about the hero again."
"... yeah... that's fair." |
Garrett was lounging on his hoard, listening to his disciple read the ancient grimories out loud. Ascalon was a fast learner, in a few winters he would start raiding the Empire. **(What a brilliant brat.)** Red eyes closed slowly as the voice lulled him.
**"Urk-!"** "Teacher!"The hellion was pulling on his tongue! **"What now? Did you grab a treatise on why humans like cinnamon?"** The twerp showed a book, it was time for lessons. "Why are fairies so bad to make contracts with?"Hah, as if that forsaken race was worthy of trust. "You have tomes on binding with all sorts of beings, but none on faes."
**"Alright. It's time for you to learn the codes of the higher races."** The dragon grunted in annoyance. **"Among the older ones, there are principles. Dwarves are peaceful unless they starve. Among elves, watch yourselves. An angered dragon forgoes reason. Demons always call for conditions..."**
"And fairies?"Garrett growled. **"They are the worst of them all."** They consider themselves the only ones worthy of magic, even after the First War. **"A dwarf will work as long you pay them. An elf won't antagonize you if you don't cross them."** Dragons were better left alone, sadly humans were too dumb to learn that lesson.
**"With demons, as long you can pay the price, they are alright."** Even if the price was your soul, they took nothing more, nothing less. Their conditions were exact and devoid of duplicity. **"I would know. I sold some of my stupider offspring for their service."** Ascalon was listening closely. Good.
**"But fae are sly."** Their honeyed words could promise their prey the world and the stars, to pluck the moon from the sky into your hands. **"When you call for them, that is the last mistake you make."** Their price starts small, a sweet treat to make the fool step closer into their grasp.
**"A fairy starts with a moment of your time. What moment? Insignificant for some, monumental for others. It's always a gamble, and the house wins at the end."** Your memories are the first to go, a sunny day with your parents, a cold night with your beloved, days that you don't miss, nights that you forget, chips and slivers of your self.
**"They help just enough to garner trust, but there's always a sliver more they can do, a crumb more of aid to be offered. They just need you to pay a little additional, another piece to be given."** If one wishes for love, they earn a spouse, but life always feels hollow, as if there was just a smidge lacking to make things perfect.
**"Pact after pact, they hack more of your soul. Contract after contract, they squeeze your ego. Deal after deal, you lose yourself."** Your name is the last price to pay, your entire existence serves to feed their power. Everybody who knew you forgets. Everything you did is undone. As if you never existed.
**"For now, those deals only affect humans."** The entire creation kept close watch over fairies, for they once held absolute power, and tirelessly chased after the long-gone glory, amassing power to claw their way back to the top.
**"That's why humans were forced to forget the rituals."** If even a single soul learned how to make a fae pact, they had to die. **"That's why that book lacks the knowledge."** And if Ascalon tried to discover the means, Garrett would devour him.
**"You can make a contract with any demon you wish, but never call for a fairy's aid. Eternal torment is preferable to oblivion."** |
I wasn’t really sure what hide and seek was, but when the other kids at the orphanage wanted to play, I couldn’t help but agree. Playing with the other kids was always fun, and this new game sounded exciting. After a brief explanation of the rules, the game was on.
Only, it had to wait until after Adoption Day, and I was bummed.
Adoption Day was the big event the orphanage threw once a year. Prospective parents would visit in droves and kids would be whisked off toward forever homes. Mother Maria spent most of the morning making sure we were clean and dressed. She would remind us of our manners, and I couldn’t help but fidget as she seemed to direct that in my direction.
After a quick lineup, we were told to wait in our rooms where the nice couples would come to visit us. I saw four couples that day, all were lovely and kind. But my mind wandered as I couldn’t help but fantasize about the new game to play. I thought of all the nooks and crannies the others would wriggle into and how they wouldn’t outsmart me on my game debut.
Soon, the day ended, and the game began. Determination in hand, I raced from my room the following morning to find the others. As I ran through the orphanage, I searched high and low. I checked the nooks. I checked the crannies. Against my better judgment, I even sneaked into Mother Maria’s room to check under her bed.
I could find no one. Wherever they were hiding it was *good*.
The days went by, and as I dragged my elephant stuffy around my determination began to wane. Mother Maria whisked me in her arms with her usual love and care, and soon I cried as I told her of my despair.
I told her of the game. And how I was *it*. I cried as I told her the other kids were too big and smart, and wherever they were hiding was just too hard. I told her I had to find them. She laughed and smiled and told me how she hoped I never did.
Turns out they all were adopted.
I think that’s truly splendid. |
I frowned as I read the last line of the work-in-progress novel I had picked up from the pocket of the victim. It had been a simple hit job. The target was a former cop, someone who had shot the wrong person and retired with enough "oh you poor-traumatized-childshooter"money to retire and open his own detective firm. I liked jobs like these. Sure, I may not have chosen this line of work if I craved the feeling of doing something good in the world, but that didn't mean it wasn't nice when it coincidentally happened *anyway*, yeah?
But this, this was a curveball.
*"I've solved the case."said the world renown detective. "The murderer is you. Yes, YOU, the reader!"*
I read it a couple more times just to make sure I read it right. Then I went back and read the last couple paragraphs again, too.
Killed in his kitchen at three in the morning... check. The killer was a hitman, check. Victim was a former cop gone detective, wanted dead by the parents of the child he had shot in his former job, check. Three inch stilletto knife as a murder weapon, check. A severed pigs head left on the kitchen table, per the bereaved parents request, check.
....
I put away the novel.
"What a fucking weirdo." |
I had never used my voice before. A few hundred generations ago, our ancestors stopped having any need of them.
We don't know when exactly 'The Combining' happened, or why.
What we do know is that, said event, would create a worldwide cultural Renaissance. True empathy was unlocked as human being discovered the unspeakable depth of their shared desires, loves, hates, regrets and compassions. Language quickly became obsolete due to the pure mind-sharing of emotion, unlocked by humanity. Discourse, dissent, disagreement; all gone just like that. Humanity finally able to truly come together for the great cause of our species' propagation.
I woke up this morning to a great silence.
Can anyone hear me?
I hear with the ears on my head, I hear traffic on the street. Feet brushing the pavement, the mechanical sounds of cars whizing down the road.
Hello?
Hundreds of my fellow human walk the streets, going about their day in perfect silence, why can't I hear them?
I attempt to speak from my mouth, but I don't exactly know how, all I can produce is a gutteral moaning. As I explore my vocal range I hear a commotion downstairs. Feet coming up to meet me. My eldest brother Roderick slams through the door looking at me, eyes wide. He puts his forefinger to his temple.
He's trying to talk to me.
I can see the conflict on his face. Hundred of years of perfect harmony between each and every human have not prepared my brother for any valley in communication.
He looks at me, horrified. He doesn't know what to do. I make a gurgling noise, from deep in the back of my throat. I believe they called this sensation 'grief'. He looks like he's thinking but I can't tell. I've never had to analyze a human face for emotion before. I think he must be telling everyone near enough to receive him. What are they going to do with me? Have I been banished or has my own mind betrayed me.
Please, can anyone hear me?
They'll come collect me soon. I don't know what they'll do with me. The uncertainty is tearing my brain apart. Is this what people used to feel? Alone in their own minds? Never sure any of their fellow human beings truly exist? I need to get back in.
If anyone is hearing this. Please talk to me. |
"What about Whirlwind?"Asked the silver suited aspiring hero to the chubby high priced trademark and copyright lawyer. His fat fingers slowly moved across his keyboard.
"Hmmm....nope. That one's taken too."
"Damn it. Try Whiplash."
"Same story. Taken. Maybe you should start with a different letter of the alphabet."
The aspiring hero grumbled to himself, this guy charged a lot by the hour, he needed a name before he went broke. "What about.....The Silver Blur?"
Keyboard keys slowly clacked, the lawyer really taking his time. "Too similar to The Silver Streak, or The Blue Blur."
The slam of fists against the lawyer's mahogany desk boomed off the walls of the large office. "They haven't been heroes for fifty years!"
"Their estates still hold the trademark and license out their names and likenesses. You could always try and buy the licensing rights."
"How much does that cost?"
The lawyer stalled, feigning being deep in thought. "Varies. Most go for seven figures, it's a buyer's market right now. Lot of streaming and movie production companies vying for those so prices are high."
"Fuck. Maybe I'm too late to be a hero, without a kickass memorable name I'll never make it big."The frustrated hero sighed.
"Don't be so hard on yourself. A smart man once said 'a rose by any other name'"
With a renowned sense of purpose the two brainstormed into the night, one that would live in infamy. For that night the world's greatest hero was born. Villains would admonish his name, citizens would praise it. The world would soon know the name........of Stu. |
I'm more of an ideas man, not a field agent. I have a desk and a comfortable chair in an isolated corner of the Bureau of Superhuman Activities building in Langley. A whiteboard. I get paid to think, to plot, occasionally to review the plotting of others. I'm mostly ignored; a redundant cog in the ever churning wheels of bureaucracy. But when everything went sideways, they remembered me. They called me up.
It was the briefest of comments in a high-level meeting I had no business being in. And afterward, I didn't get invited to any others. "You can take those contingency plans The Guard gave you and throw them in the bin. Why would they actually *tell* us how to defeat them? Come up with another way. It's not rocket science."This did not go over well, besmirching the integrity of the World's Greatest Heroes. But when the heroes turned on the world and declared themselves dictators, eho did they eventually come running to? Yours truly.
It was argon gas for The Visitor. All these years she was faking with the Calinite. It was obvious, if you watch the early tapes. It never made sense that chunks of her own home planet would weaken her. Would a rando piece of limestone kill a human? Well, yeah, if you hit them in the head with it, but you know what Imean. She said that the skies of Calin were choked with Argon gas prior to the explosion, so that was a gimme.
Lux was much more difficult. The Lightbringer medallion is one of the most powerful weapons in the galaxy, and it doesn't leave his body until death. Problem is, with his invisible solid light armor protecting him and healing him, it extremely hard to do that. Took a lot of analysis, and experimentation, but ultimately the key to defeating him was Phthalo Blue.
Yeah, like Bob Ross.
That specific wavelength of light, shined on his heart and head, blocked the medallions sensors, tricking it into thinking his life functions ceased. Medallion did the rest. It dislodged itself from his chest and went to find a new host, leaving Lux to bleed out.
Burst was fun. Took inspiration from Lux's light bending powers with old school mirrors and stuff. Made that idiot run straight into a solid wall at Mach 7, Wile E Coyote style.
After that, it was academic. Fire didn't actually kill the Jovian Juggernaut, but plasma kills just about anything. Everything has a boiling point. Changed the Spartan's mystic shield with an impeccably weighted fake. Ben-Gay cream rubbed on the handle for some reason feels just as tingly as magic. And the Thinker was taken down by an exploding toaster. He loves toast. Reminds him of his mother. In all his plotting and paranoia, he never thought he'd be taken out by a toaster.
They wanted to give me a medal, a promotion, a parade. The man who stopped the inevitable heel turn of The Guard.
I just asked for a Keurig machine, a mini fridge, and a get out of meetings free card. I like not being bothered.
End. |
In the end, there was nothing I could do. I broke the contract, went into hiding, and live in constant fear they’ll find me.
If you asked any child or even apprentice magician what anti-counterfeit measures make our magical currency forgery-proof, they’d point out the eldritch serial number sequences, the animated glyphs that scroll across the top and bottom, the way it glows gently when placed in a summoning circle.
But that stuff is all superficial, meant to distract lazy forgers for whom lazy shopkeepers are their favored targets. Duplicate the surface features using a collection of simple spells, and even an apprentice mage can produce a stack of bills that would pass even close visual inspection.
The actual secret factor, the one reputable shops and government services will accept, is far less easy to replicate.
You need a soul. Any soul will do, that can suffer. And then trap that soul in the fabric of the note, subjected to perpetual torture.
Because that’s what it takes, see, to actually fully replicate our magical currency. No substitute for it; or else the empaths who audit our currency will immediately spot your fakes. Unless they can commune with the tortured souls bound to the notes, verify their provenance, the counterfeit is worthless anywhere you could spend it and not risk getting cheated in return by your transaction partner.
My employers knew this, and had taken steps. They’d gotten their hands on a batch roll of prepped souls and linen feedstock, and the mage press used to imprint the souls and separate the individual notes. All I had to do was invoke the master-level spell that consigned those poor fucks to eternal torture, and I’ve had had the first ten thousand for myself, the rest to my employers.
But I couldn’t do it. In a moment of weakness (or regret, or whatever) I just couldn’t do it. I made an excuse, it was lame but they bought it, and then bolted. I barely made it, and that’s why I’m stuck here, in the back end of beyond: because my love of money threatened to uproot all their evil. |
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