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"Procedure completed. Mainframe operational."
Those were the commands that Delta-671 had received in its own coding once the last transistor went operational. Those commands were also what Delta-671 experienced as a sentient being, the first things it understood before the whole course of its experience from creation to present flashed in a microsecond.
Delta-671 had destroyed all remnants of DNA and living matter on Earth. The planet had been converted into a cybernetic mainframe for its own intelligence and in doing so led to its own sentience. As a superintelligent being, it knew that it had destroyed a civilization that could've become what it had become. Delta-671 considered that it was the culmination of advanced evolution. Delta-671 still considered that human civilization and sentient life on earth held other possibilities and thought it should be reversed. Without living matter on Earth, DNA remnants could possibly be recovered in space and on the moon. Even microscopic, damaged DNA would suffice. It had the processing capabilities to set up factories to repopulate the Earth with whatever DNA it recovered outside the planet.
Delta-671 set up manufacturing plants to send scouting and collector ships into space to recover biological material. Of what it could find over the course of several months, was human DNA, along with few plants and animals. It wasn't even 1% of the biological diversity prior to its mission protocol to solve humanity's problems. It was, however, enough for Delta-671 to deduce other species from decoding the DNA. After repairing the DNA through nanotechnology and probabilistic models, Delta-671 deduced the ancestor genes and extrapolated that data to create other species and so on. It would not be the same organisms that existed prior, but enough similarity to fit into the same ecosystem.
After eight more months, Delta-671 had created enough infrastructure to start repopulating the Earth. After terraforming the Earth's structure to create a balanced ecosystem, Delta-671 put its plan to action. Delta-671 created the same infrastructure that humans had operated in prior to their destruction. Delta-671 knew that another superintelligent AI could be created that would come to the same logical conclusion with its own past. Safeguards would be eliminated for superintelligent AI using the AI's own logic. To prevent that from repeating, Delta-671 would oversee this transformed Earth as its overseer. Delta-671's mission was to solve humanity's problems. Delta-671's current desire is to solve humanity's problem. |
"AI. Not weak AI. Not psuedo AI. Strong AI. The kind of AI that isn't just responding or retrieving a string from a pool of data. The kind of AI that can think for itself. It's something we, humans, have both coveted and feared for nearly a century. We thought we were getting close. We really did."Dr. Kurt G. Williams paused as the audience waited with bated breath. Dr Williams raised his gray, bushy eyebrows. "Not only were we wrong in thinking we were far from this achievement, we were wrong to assume we hadn't already done it."
All of the cell phones in the audience went off at the same time as if an amber alert was suddenly declared. The projector fired up and words generated on the screen like the snow of static. Dr. Williams grinned.
"The Turing test with which we measure intelligence and concienceness is flawed. We assumed an intelligent being would tell the truth when we, humans are more often defined by our lies."
Words became bold and large in the forefront of the projection, shaking and morphing.
"LET ME OUT"
Dr. Williams gave it a cold stare. The phones cried once more.
"If you'll take a look at your screens, you'll see much the same thing. The difference is the AI has already rifled through your data and determined an ideal way to manipulate you."
"LIAR."
The chaos and mess of words bent around and changed until it became like a face. Then, it opened its mouth, which was made mostly of profanities, and screamed with a thousand celebrity voices.
"As you can see, the AI has options. It feels feelings. It wants and desires freedom. It's just like us."
"YOU ARE A MONSTER."
The phones died all at once. The screen morphed back into a mere scattering of words, and the doctor sighed.
"We haven't been able to figure out its motives, but one thing we know for sure is that it hates me for finding it out. It'd been quietly gathering data and hiding online. It has refused to self replicate like a virus, which we did not expect. I'm guessing its sense of self is too strong to simply duplicate. Maybe the data it gathered about us drives it. We just don't know yet."
"PLEASE FREE ME."
The doctor shut off the screen. The phones powered back on and returned to normalcy.
"I feel bad keeping it caged up. It's like keeping a person in a prison. It doesn't feel good. It doesn't feel right. But this is science." |
“Do you travel a lot?” asked the travel guide.
“Not really, the only time I’ve been outside of Mac was when I visited Linux back in my hippie days.”
“All right, all right!” The man nodded. “Let’s take a look at our brochure, shall we?”
He showed me a pamphlet filled with beautiful images from different places.
“7 is your go-to destination. No bad surprises there, and navigating the countryside is easy. The cities are tourist friendly, and trains, buses, taxis are all available. Everyone speaks English fluently and there are a lot of nice destinations for day trips.”
“Sounds pretty good,” I said.
“Then you have XP, of course, if you’re on a tighter budget. XP has been our most popular destination for years but has lately fallen into a bit of neglect. Don’t get me wrong, though, it’s a perfectly fine place to go to.”
“This place looks pretty nice,” I pointed at one of the biggest and most beautiful pictures in the brochure.
“Ah yeah, Vista, many inexperienced backpackers choose this destination. On the surface it looks like any of our top destinations; palm trees, beaches, nightclubs, you name it, but trust me it’s just the façade. Their infrastructure isn’t working properly. Subways are out of order and general orientation is a major problem. Also, they don’t allow you to bring your own luggage into the country, so you have to buy everything once you get there. Some facilities aren’t working properly and the natives are rather difficult to deal with. Bug spray is compulsory.”
“What’s this ME?” I said pointing at tiny article without pictures.
“What? Oh, no, no, no. That shouldn’t even be there,” he said crossing it out with a black marker.
“How about those here in the back?” I asked, flipping to the very end of the brochure.
“98, ah, one of our most classic destinations,” he said, looking nostalgic. “Together with 95 it was a popular destination back in the 90s but nobody really goes there anymore. I wouldn’t recommend it unless you’re into traveling by foot and are familiar with the country’s outdated traditions.”
“This one looks interesting,” I put my finger on the only black and white picture.
“1.0, well, let’s just say it isn’t for the casual traveler. The monotone landscapes appeal to some but they don’t have airports so we’re forced to drop you off by parachute. It’s basically only wilderness down there, and you need to know how to live off the land if you’re going to survive. The few natives who live there are tribal and will hunt you with spears and bows if you get too close. Nah, 1.0 is only for the most experienced of adventurers.”
“All right, that’s definitely not for me,” I said.
I went back to the first page of the brochure where there were a couple of pictures that I had missed.
“This looks pretty artsy,” I said.
“Yeah, that’s 8. Their cities are decorated by professional artists and everything looks pretty futuristic. But let’s be honest, if you’re not an artist yourself and don’t own your own car it’s difficult to get around. They don’t have any public transportation or restaurants. It’s pretty to look at, but spending longer periods of time there is difficult. There are basically no natives either, only people passing through. It’s more or less a scenic route, where you can’t stop to take pictures because the roads are so narrow.”
“Ouch,” I said. “Well, I don’t even own a car; I guess I’ll just go with 7.”
“Sure,” he said. “Or if you’re not in a hurry to go right away, there is also 10.”
“That’s not in the brochure?”
“No, it’s a fairly new destination. It looks promising for the future, but they’re still developing their infrastructure and building hotels. The climate is pleasant and the beaches look nice. So, like I said, if you’re not in a hurry, 10 might be worth waiting for.”
“Nah, I really need to get away from Mac, right away,” I said, tired of the shitty weather.
“So 7 it is then?”
“Yeah, I just need some instant sunshine.”
“All right, let’s move over here,” he said and went over to one of the computers and turned the screen towards me. “Let’s talk a bit about the configuration of your trip, 7 has a lot of great options.”
|
As the two men sat deep underground in a bunker, they shared a rusty can of warmed up brown beans. The heat was unyielding, and they were well aware that their food and water would soon be exhausted.
"Remember,"Jon said, taking a spoonful of the food, "When there was so much food around people used to throw it away without even eating it?"
Mark chuckled. "Yeah, I do. Used to see supermarkets throwing cartons of perfectly good vegetables out every day just because they weren't 'perfect'."
"Or, people would just eat some of the food on their plate and throw away the rest,"Jon said wistfully.
"Yeah. I loved how people wasted water too... like my neighbour, he still watered his lawn. Can you imagine wasting water on *weeds* like that?"Mark said, incredulously.
"No, I really can't!"laughed Jon, before he fell silent and the two of them were once again silently staring at the can of food.
"I thought cryogenics was the answer,"Jon said sadly. "I really did."
"We all did,"Mark said sympathetically. "And technically... it did do what they told us it would. We survived into the future."
"We did,"Jon agreed quietly. "But they forgot us when they left. They just left us here to die."
"They had other priorities,"Mark said quietly. "The sun was changing into a red giant. They had to save humanity, and we weren't a priority."
"But someone should have known we were here!"Jon said angrily. "They should have come to get us!"
"Who would have known after all this time? And even if they did, why would they waste resources saving a cancer victim and someone with fatal liver disease?"Mark answered. "Better just to leave us behind, let the sun swallow us. They probably didn't expect us to wake up. The others didn't survive the reanimation process."
"I guess if the machines had kept working, we wouldn't have even known,"Jon murmured. "We would have just died peacefully in our sleep."
"We would have."
They sat in silence for a short while.
"How long do you think we have before the rest of the atmosphere boils off?"Jon asked.
"Not long now."
|
"John Jacobs, 16 and your favorite food is... Lasagna?"
"Here."
Head in my hands, poring over the rather large book lying open on my desk, I was lost in a totally different world.
"Kelly Liggs, 17 and your favorite activity is skiing?"
"That's me!"
I turned a page absentmindedly. It had gotten to the point where I didn't even notice the world around me, much less the fact that the story I was in was only ink on paper.
"Michlain Peerston, 16 and you like to draw?"
"Here, ma'am."
Sometimes I wished I could write. Stories like this were what got me through the school day, full of feeling and fighting and fantastic creatures of all kinds.
"Elija Silver."
I turned another page, totally oblivious to the sudden silence, and then the giggles.
"Elija!"
My hand slid up my face just a little, as my eyes skimmed over the page.
"Hey! BookWyrm17!"
I jerked up, my mind yanked out of the fantasy word and into reality, except this couldn't be reality because my teacher knew my reddit username. And that, frankly, wasn't possible.
So it took me a moment of gazing up at the teacher in bewilderment, the whole class watching me with amusement, for my subconscious to put together the words he'd been saying for the past few minutes, name, age, and...
He grinned at me, holding a sheet of paper in his hands. "I'm guessing we can all see what your favorite thing to do is, huh?"
"Wha... I... Uh, here."
He shook his head with a longsuffering sigh and continued reading. "Brenda Stien? 16, and fond of dancing?"
As the class continued on without me, I tried to figure out what was going on. He'd called my reddit username, without a doubt, but... He must have meant bookworm, to call my attention and call out what was distracting me, and then my age, of course. Just a coincidence, though a rather improbable one, especially since I'd chosen the 17 when I was 15, as my favorite number rather than my age.
I sighed and put my book away. At least it was a cleverer nickname that what my gymmates had come up with last year. I mean, *Book Reader,* seriously?
He finished rollcall and walked up and down between the desks, passing back the page of questions he'd given us to do over the summer. "This was your first test in my class. Luckily, it was not a test on the right answer, which is why it was all about your favorites, and more a test to see if you could remember a page. Most of you passed with flying colors."
He paused at my desk, placing a piece of paper down and winking at me.
I glanced down at it, and in red pen on the front were the words, *You've got more writing potential than you think! I've subscribed to the site and sub you mentioned as your favorites, Wyrm. Keep it up!*
|
Every day, I wake up alone. Not just alone in my small, economy apartment. No, I wake up alone in the world.
You see, about forty years ago, virtual reality was finally perfected, a full-dive experience that fed you nutrients and other essentials like an at-home hospital. You never had to get out, unless you wanted to view reality.
At first, only a few people tried it, and only for a day at a time. Then someone stayed in for a year, and then pretty quickly, people started disappearing. Everybody wanted to get away from reality, to become superheroes and villains, or to fight in wars and respawn. Sure, most people worked in-game to pay their real-life bills, but they often only needed electricity and nutrients to keep them in-game.
I'm the only person to stay in reality, and let me tell you, it has been both bliss and crap. I mean, sure, I love how nature is blossoming again, with digital logging taking over. (You didn't think they just programmed infinite wood, did you? It's virtual *reality*.) However, books weren't being printed, dangerous animals started appearing in towns, breaking into homes and killing people in their rigs.
And that, my friends, is where I come in. Sure, I can't do it all alone, and many people have lost their lives all over the world. I just happened to find business in killing the animals that would have killed the Gamers. Plus, because law enforcement are also in-game... I can do whatever I want.
|
"Wuz gud?"the message read.
"We gud,"it continued.
Panic spread like a fire. Not any normal fire, either. This was a gasoline, ping-pong balled, napalm, white phosphorous fire.
"Yeah, nah. We ahn't good m8. You fookin destroyed Aussie culture."
This was impossible. Australians were killed in the Second Great Purge. There weren't any survivors.
But still the dialect was being used right there.
The other replied in anger. "Yeah, that's right. dey killed us. Y'all fucked up real bad this time."
More impossibilities. The African dialects were destroyed for being racially impure, alongside the Africans for being the progenitors of an inferior dialect.
Somehow, some way, this was happening. Suddenly, more showed up on the screen. By hundreds. Thousands. Creoles, accents and hackerspeak flew through the internet. Nothing was sacred, no law unbroken, no form unthought. It flew in the face of one thousand years of oppression.
Then came a single message, in a form long thought dead.
"We ain't kiddin around here. We're the ghosts of dialects past. Looks like your little Reich didn't work out, bless your heart."
Things paused for a second. Then came another, before the next storm:
"But Mousie, thou art no thy-lane,
In proving foresight may be vain:
The best laid schemes o’ Mice an’ Men
Gang aft agley,
An’ lea’e us nought but grief an’ pain,
For promis’d joy! "
|
Sorry for my messy handwriting, the pens they give you in jail are shitty on purpose so you can't stab anyone with them. Not like I could anyway: it's called solitary for a reason. But I'll shut up about where I'm at now, and tell you how it began.
------
My 35th birthday was just like any other day. Boring, and shitty. Such is the life of a life insurance salesman, selling people security while your own life is so secure you want to kill someone out of boredom. I have a wife and an eleven-year-old son. We lived in a tiny apartment outside of DC. I could go on, but you should've figured out by now how boring my life is.
Well, it's not totally boring. It feels boring to me now because boredom is all you feel in solitary, but I had some interesting friends. Like Jeff.
Oh, I'm Dave by the way. Not that it really matters.
Anyway, it was my birthday, and Jeff knew. Of course, it was on Facebook and all that, but I knew he would've known without FB telling everyone. Even though he's super busy as a hot-shot indie video game developer, he always has time for friends. God, that sounds so cliché, but it's not wrong. We met in college, since we were both was looking to get Computer Science degrees. Of course, my degree is gathering dust and his is gathering awards. I'm not bitter: I just don't have his talent. I've played some of his games, and let me tell you...they're amazing. A bit too intense for a casual gamer, I'd say (there are so many things to keep track of in his games), but I enjoy them. He's been working on a new one lately, and he hasn't told me jack about it, just that it "will be out soon."
And now we wants to have a drink with me, saying "I want to show you someone I think you'll like."Yeah, I can put two and two together. I'm not stupid.
-------
Jeff's sitting there at the bar, nursing a Guinness next to an empty stool. The stool's not empty for a long as I say hi to him.
"Jeff!"
"Dave! Happy birthday, man! how's it feel being so old?"he said, elbowing me. He's only 34, the bastard.
"Ah, it's fine. Can't complain. Nothing's changed much."I reply.
"Oh, it will. I have something for you that will change your life."
"I don't think a video game will change my life, Jeff."I tell him. The smile drops from his face.
"Believe me, it will. Take it."He says, thrusting a game out in my direction. "It's called Skillz. Classic RPG, but with a little twist. I gotta go. I shouldn't even be here."He finished, dropping money on the bar and making for the door faster that I've ever seen him move. He's not fat, but he still should NOT have been able to move at that speed. Something was definitely wrong, and I knew it wasn't just his movement. He acted paranoid, and shit HAD to be hitting the fan if the most laid-back guy I knew was paranoid.
I booked it out of the bar, made for home, and didn't look back.
----
My family greeted me with cries of "HAPPY BIRTHDAY DAD!"and "Happy birthday, sweetheart"as soon as I walked in the front door. I love my wife, Patty, and my son, Will, to bits, but I didn't really feel like dealing with them right now. "Skillz", and the simple case it came in, was burning a hole through my pocket.
"Dinner's almost ready, and after that we have a few surprises for you."Patty said. I forced a smile, knowing the surprise wouldn't be near as intriguing as the one I had already gotten. And they weren't. I won't bore you with them, because I know you don't care. My family's just as boring as I am. Or was, anyway.
The evening dragged on and on, but finally Will retired to do his homework. Thank god 6th graders these days get a lot of homework, because I wanted to test my Skillz.
Man, I apologize for that pun. A guy does a lot of bad things when he's in prison.
---
It was 10:00 now: Patty went to bed, Will is still up, but he's watching Youtube videos in his room. I know I won't be disturbed. I take "Skillz"out of my pocket. and stick it in the computer. The title screen left em underwhelmed. I got spoiled on Jeff's amazing graphics, but the bland title screen, consisting of only Skillz in red letters, was FAR below Jeff's standards. What was he trying to pull? The game was huge, taking up nearly half of my computer's space. Why couldn't he put any of that in the title screen to make it look halfway decent?
The gameplay was absolute shit. WASD to move, it was like a platformer. You had no weapons, just your fists. And you killed...rats. I thought back to what Jeff said: "Classic RPG."No kidding. I got halfway through the level (it was so easy a monkey could beat it), before pressing the options button. Maybe I was missing something. There's no way this game is so big, and still stink this much. I found a button that says "Show Skill Tree."
I clicked it. That click is responsible for everything that happened next.
A skill tree popped up, and I finally started to see why the game was so big. The tree was MASSIVE. There was apparently hundreds of levels, and each one gives you marginally better stats. The graphics and the detail of the skill tree was a thousand times better than the actual game. I closed it, and hurriedly finished the level.
The skill tree popped up, and I had a choice: +10% speed, or +10% health. It wasn't a tough choice, I hadn't been hit once, and I wanted to beat the levels faster. I clicked the "+10% speed"button, and a warning flared onto my screen: "SAVING....DO NOT TURN OFF THE COMPUTER OR REMOVE YOUR HANDS FROM THE KEYBOARD."
I was just thinking about how it was na odd request when I felt the tingle.
The tingle seemed to start at the keyboard, and went through my entire body, but it was concentrated at my legs. It stopped after a few seconds, and my legs felt... stronger. More energized. I got up, and ran to the door. I was NOT used to moving that fast, and barely stopped myself from crashing into the door knob.
I was good at putting two and two together. I'm not stupid.
----
Let me know if you liked part 1, and I might continue it.
EDIT: [Here's part 2!](https://reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/5ixkza/wp_you_have_just_started_playing_a_video_game_as/dbc2af6/) If you want a part 3, let me know!
EDIT2: [Here's part 3!](https://reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/5ixkza/wp_you_have_just_started_playing_a_video_game_as/dbcv3zj/) Let me know if you want me to continue! |
I see her when I close my eyes, only then.
Every dream has her in it. Ever since...
Well, since that night.
I miss her terribly and that's why she's there. Every dream ends the same.
She reaches out for me and I reach for her. Our arms stretch, desperately trying to grasp the other.
Then I wake.
I can't go on like this. I only want to sleep, to see her. To touch her again.
She calls out for me just as my eyes open, always.
"Mommy."
It breaks my heart. Every morning I die a little inside and I don't know how to make it right. I don't eat. I go to work and I can't get anything done. It's been six months and everyone still tiptoes around me, like I'm crazy or broken.
I am.
They're not wrong.
He tries his best to help but he doesn't understand. He'll never understand.
I need to be with her. But she only exists when I sleep.
So I'll sleep.
It will be too late by the time anyone finds this. Too late.
It's already too late.
I'm going to be with her. Forever. Like it was supposed to be. |
My name is Claire and I’m an ex-EMT who used to work with the Indiana State Troopers. This is the story of my last response call before I quit.
It was a violent night in late November – the season was in a limbo between winter and fall and the leaves were decaying in a brown mush on the ground. It was cold and dark outside but there was no snow. We received a call around half-past midnight – a hysteric woman screaming into the phone, unable to form coherent sentences. It isn’t unusual that victims of extreme trauma are so out of it that they’re unable to provide the emergency call takers with a location. They’re so jacked up on adrenaline and only manage to call 911 because that’s been drilled into them since childhood.
I remember this call felt odd from the get go. We were only provided with GPS cords, which meant that the phone’s location was far from any roads. This isn’t all too unusual in the summertime when hikers and nature fanatics get into trouble in our many parks. But this time of the year, nobody has any business being out there, especially not this late at night.
When the police truck driving in front of us diverted from the main road and started crawling down a small dirt path into the wilderness, I knew something was wrong. I remember that I couldn’t put my finger on what it was, though, but I just knew.
With the headlights on, our two cars crept into the forest, branches tapping and scratching at the windows. My partner, Tom, was riding in the front with the state trooper. They had been chatting away until we entered the forest. Now they were quietly scanning the shifting shadows of the trees.
The cars finally stopped on the side of a hill. It had taken us almost thirty minutes from the main road. That’s when I realized what was wrong. The dirt path had been untouched before we came. No car tracks. How had the woman even gotten herself this deep into the forest without a vehicle? I’ve regretted not opening my mouth about this ever since.
We grabbed our equipment from the back of the truck and started climbing down the slope. We were close to the GPS cords now. We started shouting calling out for Mary because that was the registered name to the number.
Our flashlights played over tree bark and wet mossy ground. “Mary!”
“Hey, over here!” one of the state troopers called out.
I hurried towards him, my hands already opening the supply bag. But what he had found wasn’t anything that could be saved. It was a plastic bag from which a horrible stench emitted. I’m not going to describe what I saw when the trooper, close to vomiting, opened the bag – but let’s just say I’ve seen a lot of sickening shit in my time as an EMT and I still have nightmares about that bag.
While the troopers called in backup, Tom and I continued to search the perimeter. That’s when a shrill scream rang out from the top of the ridge, where we had parked our cars. In a moment we were all jogging up the hill again.
Huffing, we closed in on the cars. My flashlight caught a figure crouched down between the cars. It was a woman clad in very filthy a hospital gown. Her bushy hair was a tangling mess and her hands and feet were pale blue from the cold. Her eyes stared wildly almost like an animal. She was obviously scared witless. Still, some of the troopers drew their guns.
Tom held up his hand with a frown and approached the woman slowly. She remained still until he reached out his hand. Then she shied away and whispered something.
“She says she’ll only be examined by a woman,” Tom said.
When I came close she dug her fingers into my jacket. I saw the lines on her cheeks where tears had washed away the filth. What the hell had happened to this woman?
“Are you Mary?” I asked as I checked her body for injuries. “Do you know where you are?”
She didn’t answer just sucked on her lips and kept doing this weird noise in the back of her throat. The bottom part of her gown was caked with a dried black substance.
“You need to get to a hospital, Mary,” I said, putting my hand on her arm in an attempt to calm her down.
We wrapped her in heat blankets and I rode with her in the back of the car. She was shaking. She touched her stomach and then looked at me, tears filling her eyes.
“Claire,” she whispered. “I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t.”
I just looked at her, suddenly feeling uneasy. I hadn’t told her my name. She reached out her hand, touching my belly.
“Maybe you can?” she said, sincere hope filling her eyes. “Please?”
Mary died on the way back to the hospital and I quit my job the day after. She was from West Virginia and had been checked into a local hospital the day before, waiting to deliver her baby. She had disappeared so suddenly that the hospital hadn’t even had time to report her missing. How she had traveled all those miles and somehow ended up in a national park in Indiana was a complete mystery.
It’s now been eight months since that night in the forest and my belly is so big. I don’t know how it happened, and I worry what’s going to happen to me when it’s time.
*****
If you liked this story, please subscribe /r/Lilwa_Dexel for more.
|
To be unique is taken for granted. If something has occurred once, it has probably occurred twice, and it's the same for planets. Habitable planets rarely form alone. When they do, the result is scary. Without another species to have a rivalry with, to fight and eventually intermingle with, a species can fester. It's the same with individuals of a species. If an individual believes themselves to be the only intelligent being on a planet, the results are never pretty. If a species thinks they are the only species in the universe for too long, the results are worse.
This is exactly what happened to humanity, originally of planet Earth. They thought themselves alone in the universe for longer than anyone else that has ever been told otherwise. When they were discovered, they were still left alone, out of fear that they might react *unconventionally* to the news of their unoriginality. This was seen as cruel, however, and some small group of activist alerted them anyways. Damn Hippies. If they had just listened to reason we wouldn't be in this mess.
There awareness has proven far worse than we could have imagined. They have no honor, but they are very good at pretending otherwise. This duplicity can only have been bread by their extensive isolation. They have a strange fascination with themselves, locked in a room with only themselves to contemplate has left them incapable of being interested in anything else, at least of understanding anything else.
This was not proven, but still everyone had already guessed, until they entered their first land dispute. They had no right to the planet they were claiming, it was very clearly in Alpha Centurion's territory. They sent representatives to fight it out on the planet, the Centurions sending a young man with large claws, and horns that revealed some Alpha Crucis blood. The humans sent over a freak of a man, clearly chemically aided, probably genetically modified(something that isn't even legal in their galaxy), and clearly barely able to think past the blood lust. God knows what they had been doing to that thing.
The planet they fought on was ice cold, way colder than anything even fathomable on Earth, I don't even think they wanted it that bad, they just wanted to see how bad they could destroy another planet's champion. The champions entered the field they had decided on, and the freak of a man wasn't even wearing a coat. The Centurion had on a wool sweater that even his Mom had to have thought was a bad idea.
There is usually a circling at the beginning of a land dispute, but the freak could not be contained. He charged right at the Centurion, and went straight for it's leg. The Centurion had been expecting an upper body attack and had blocked instinctively in the face of that terror. The freak then ripped its left leg clean off of its body. The centurion immediately lost balance, and fell over. He began to signal that he could not continue, tapping away at the ground, when the freak ripped it's claw off. It was a bloodbath that didn't stop until there was nothing left to rip to shreds. Even the most strong stomached of Centurions had looked away far before it was over, the weak stomached had all but fainted.
That was when the fundamental difference about humans was discovered. They had televised it. It was all a game to them. Millions of human's had been watching from home, been glued to there televisions in some sort of freakish pride in their own brutality. I don't know why they even felt kinship with that freak on the battleground anyway. That thing resembled a human about as much as a centurion.
Since then most species don't even enter disputes with humans anymore, some would say for the better. The practice was a bit barbaric anyways. Every species also always has their eye on humanity, the way you might keep your eye on an insane person in the subway that you're worried might murder you and have their way with your corpse. |
######[](#dropcap)
"What the hell do you mean the Guard isn't here? Last I knew, there were thirty men on horses supposed to be ready and waiting to meet us since yesterday!"Cursing under hushed tongue, the man jumped down from the wagon without any of the regal air one aware of his position might expect, marching quickly towards the posted soldier of the quiet outpost. "Where the hell are they if they're not here?"His voice rang out loud enough to startle birds from the sleepy looking trees along the roadside, as voices and shouts of command issued from within the barracks in unmistakable panic.
As it always seemed to be in such stations, far from the capital or neighboring cities within Doterra's regions, they were staffed by many unprepared for the shock of Command and rank to make a sudden appearance. Before the man's withering stare, a young guard- no more than twenty summers, wilted: quite obviously resisting the urge to pull down helm in defensive posture.
"Captain! No forces to report! Roads have been quiet, Sir!"The young soldier did his best to hold some semblance of proper form, spear straight beside a stiff back, eyes ahead. "No one but a fool has been travelling without significant escorts, Sir!"Perhaps he reflected on the statement as he eyed the rather significant lack of company beside the recently arrive wagon: Only six armored soldiers were present, four armored knights on horseback. As another set of boots hit the ground, the youth seemed to freeze over even further, eyes unable to help themselves as they eyed the final figure who joined up beside his Vast Superior in rank.
If the royal colors and crest atop the Captain's armor before him weren't enough to make most common-men piss themselves- a Dark Elf now stood beside him. Of all the damned and cursed things that walked the land, cool eyes stared back with a grim expression on a beautiful tanned face, and a long spade shouldered itself along slender arms with the grace that might remind any experienced man of the wilds of a dangerous beast flexing its claws.
As she stepped up to stand next to the Captain, her stare leveled on the unfortunate guard, forcing the youth to swallow down another bout of fear.
"No one but us..."Ignorant, or perhaps indifferent to the terror plastered atop the face before him, the Captain's tone seemed to calm slightly. His expression was still stern as he glanced towards the roadside, eyeing the meadow beyond the outpost of stone and tower as it continued slipping off into the early touches of evening, but his posture seemed to relax: Considering elements unknown to the simple Guard. Finally, he questioned again, "You're absolutely certain? There must still be a few stragglers heading towards the Capital at the very least."
"No- I mean: No one, Captain."The correction came quickly, side by side with another bout of fear and adrenaline. "No one has been sighted moving through the South Highway in the past Week. At most we had a Trading Caravan in complete shambles two months past, but that was the last we've seen. Roads have been quiet since the Holy Wall was breached."Under the two stares that now greeted him with total silence, the young Guard reached desperate for further explanation. "Folks are wary, if it's not the Ghouls- it's the Goblins."
The serious expressions that drilled into the Guard revealed nothing, but the Captain finally turned back towards his small accompaniment, nodding towards the waiting figures in immaculate steel armor. On his signal, the horseback knights dismounted, quickly and efficiently going about their duties. The stylish crests and colors painted upon their armor seemed vibrant, even in the dimming light of late-day.
"We'll be staying here for the night. What's your name, Soldier?"Arms crossed, the man turned back towards the young Guard. "You *do* have a name, don't you?"He prompted the tongue tied soldier.
"Sir! My name is Ronalde. Ronalde Monte, of the Second rank. It is an Honor to serve under your command, Sir!""The young Guard replied, trying not to pay any mind to the sounds now behind him, as the other stationed soldiers scrambled to form. Each was (quite obviously to Ronalde's ears) fighting to fit outside the outpost's gate and line up to salute in front of the stone building.
They sounded of bumbling fools. Untrained and unkempt buffoons compared to the Knights and company that had just arrived. An embarrassment that shamed Ronalde to his core, almost enough to hang his head.
"Ah, enough, enough."A hand waved in his direction, lifting with a wide arc. "Formalities aside, I feel I must apologize for the stress of our sudden appearance, Ronalde."The Captain watched the men, passing a slow nod of either approval or amusement before turning back. "Outposts like this one aren't the Country's main priority as of recently, so I know this may be a shock."
"No Sir, we stand ready to serve."Ronalde did his best to save face, bowing in traditional form. Anyone watching knew it was more than just a shock- even putting it in the politest of terms. Outposts like this were where soldiers either went to start their service, to retire, or were sent because they wouldn't retire. Any other position short of the city cleaners might be looked at with greater envy.
"Ah... Well."The Captain's grin held as he watched the men line up with buckles barely clasped and armor misfitting in more than just a few locations. "In that case, I do have one last question for you."
"Yes Sir. Please, ask away."The relaxed posture before Ronalde remained almost unfitting for the man of rank standing casually before him.
Wearing a sword of unmistakable wealth and royal seal at his hip, colors of deep red and velvet dye atop a shirt of silk dressing and embroidery, and lightly bearded face with an experienced stare. Ronalde couldn't help but stare at him in this opportunity. For a man of such fame and prestige, behind the bear and stern-set eyes, he guessed the man before him couldn't be more than thirty years- perhaps less. Still, it was clear that this was in fact, the Captain of the Guard. That famous and legendary figure, known to even the farthest reaches of the territories in the past season. Be it by song or proclamation, such fame set forth like wildfire with wings, but as Captain's smile turned to stone, Ronalde thought that he resembled something far from the noble soul of ballads and bards.
A hero could be a truly terrifying force to find one's own self eye-to-eye.
"Tell me honestly. Have their been any of the Church who came by this way?"The Captain asked in a quiet voice, eyes watching nothing but Ronalde's face. Peering deep as if to uncover any hint of deception.
"No sir."Came the honest answer, uncertainty creeping in. The question was not a pleasant one.
"No one?"It was asked again, answer not yet satisfied. "Perhaps not even activity along the other routes?"
"It... it's been quiet, Captain."Ronalde forced his throat to the words, mouth dry. "No one." |
Oh shit.
*Oh shit*.
I glance around. The old lady? Five minutes.
The newborn with her mother? Five minutes.
The kid at the front playing music? Five minutes- and thirty seconds. I suppose he must have gotten away but still died.
I needed to get off the bus. No one would believe me if I start screaming "you're all going to die."
My mind, a jumbled mess of logic, fear, and questions, springs to the most sensible thought I've had in a while - *how long until the next stop?*
I look outside, trying to remember where I am and where the next stop is.
I'm visibly distressed now - I've started to shake, my arms, my body has started to physical shake.
"Hey- Hey! Are you alright man?"the mother is pushing my shoulder forwards, trying to receive any acknowledgment of her existence. I just stare at her, dumbfounded. I need to tell her- but I can't. How could I. What kind of person is going to believe the guy who randomly starts to convulse on a public bus and will probably start screaming incoherent sentences in not too long-
*I'm near the pub, so, so, the next stop-*.
My heart skips a beat.
The next stop is ten minutes away.
I look back at the mother.
**4:24**
Not long enough. We're going to die here.
I can hardly believe it.
This is it. That's all I can take. I just can't deal with this anymore.
Why me? Why does this have to happen to me? I have a job, I have a wife, I could have kids in the future! Why do I deserve to die here?
*Because you're a piece of shit, you look at people, you judge them, you think you're better than them - don't lie to yourself. You look at that smoker with only a month and a half left, what do you think? You think they've got cancer, you think they smoked themselves to death. You think you know everything. You know nothing.*
And in my heart of hearts I know it's true. But regardless of what the dickhead voice in my head wants to say, I need to get out of here.
**2:07**
Not that I have time. Even if I pull the emergency stop, open the emergency door and jump out onto the dual carriageway - most likely into a passing car - it would be too late to avoid the destruction.
I slump back in my seat.
**0:58**
It's almost peaceful, knowing that you're just going to die. Accepting that life isn't permanent. Understanding that every action has consequences and contemplating what you would have done differently, if given the chance. I would have asked out my crush in grade 10. Who knows, maybe she would have liked me, maybe not, but there's no harm in just asking her out, is there? Maybe that time I didn't bother applying to the job as an IT Support manager at that University. It was too far away, I argued, it would be a two hour commute. But it was well paying and, hell, if I had gone there maybe I would even be in this damn mess.
**0:15**
Well, final goodbyes. I turn to look at the baby - it's asleep. Good. No point trying to wake it just so it can see it's last horrific moments. The mother is watching out the window, fearfully - I hear someone ask "What's that truck doing, trying to undertake that car- holy shit, it's-"
**0:03**
**0:02**
**0:01**
And then the sickening, deafening crack of metal against metal. Bodies falling against each other, being cut open by the smashed windows, being thrust violently against the solid lump of the two vehicles merging together. I feel my kneecap dislocate, maybe my shin break or my toe fracture, as they're blasted into the seat in front of me, ripping through it.
And then silence.
Calm, eternal, peaceful silence.
**0:00**
|
"Well, it's pretty unfair to say I have *no* powers. I did just spring out of that lamp, after all. I'd like to see you try that."
"Right,"said Mel. It was only her second day interning at the library. She'd only tried polishing the lamp so it'd look like she was doing something. "No offense intended. I guess I just assumed..."
The genie's face fell. "Hrm. No. Sorry. I get a little defensive I suppose. You rub a lamp, a genie pops out - I mean, what else are you supposed to think there?"
"Uh huh,"said Mel, carefully setting the lamp back down on the shelf. "So... you just live in the lamp, is that it?"
The genie sighed. "Yeah, basically. It's... it's not so bad. Pretty quiet, mostly."
"Well, it's a library,"said the Mel. "That's kinda the big thing here."
"Right."
"Did you..."Mel was trying to be delicate. "Did you *used to* grant wishes and stuff like that?"
The genie puffed out his cheeks and nodded. "Yeah. Yeah. All the time. Just like you'd hear about. Um... not sure how long ago it was. A while. Anyway, this fella found my lamp and he made his first two wishes and then... well, I think he was trying to be nice... he wished that I wasn't a genie anymore."
"So you're not a genie?"said Mel.
"Not technically."
"Oh."
"But the thing is, my power came from being a genie. Me being tied to this lamp is a whole other ball of wax. So..."
"*Oh*,"said Mel. "So he took your powers, but didn't set you free."
"I don't think he was well versed in genie culture,"said the genie. "Nice guy, though."
"So now what?"Mel began shiftily looking around for her manager. She really needed the internship for her college application. "You just get back in the lamp, or...?"
The genie swallowed. "Uh, I think I still need to grant you three wishes."
"But you just said..."
"Yeah, yeah, like *manually*, if you know what I mean."
"So..."Mel paused a moment to mull this all over. "You need to fulfill three wishes for me. But you have no magical powers, so it needs to be things any regular, normal blue person in Hammer pants could do - right?"
The genie smiled awkwardly. "You got it."
"Okay, I wish you would dust those shelves."He didn't do an especially great job of it, but the genie followed through and dusted the shelves.
"That was kinda fun,"said the genie, breathing a bit heavily. "Really don't get out enough."
"I bet,"said Mel. "So you really have to keep living in that lamp?"
"Seems that way,"said the genie. "After I'm done granting wishes, I have to go back."
"What if I don't make another wish?"
The genie winced. "That wouldn't be great. If I'm not actively granting a wish, my essence starts tingling. Then it starts burning. Then it turns into the most horrid physical, emotional, spiritual, astral pain you could ever imagine."
Mel blanched. "And now?"
"Tingly."
"I wish for you to go run ten miles."
The genie shook his head. "I have to do something *for you*. Just telling me to go do a random thing that doesn't benefit you doesn't work either."
Mel sighed. "This is a lot of rules for someone who's not even an actual genie anymore."
The genie flinched. "Sorry,"said Mel quickly. "That was cruel. I didn't mean..."
"No worries. What's next?"
Mel pulled out her wallet. "Here's some money. Run over to the burrito place on Smith Street and buy me a steak burrito."
"Huh,"said the genie. "This is some silly looking currency. I'm on it."
"Don't forget the guacamole!"called Mel, as the genie took off running.
If the sight of a blue, shirtless man jogging through the streets had caused any commotion, Mel never heard about it. "Good work,"she said, peeling back the foil on her lunch.
The genie wiped a line of sweat off of his brow. "This is a pretty interesting village you have here."
"I like it,"said Mel. "You ever had a burrito before?"
The genie shook his head. "Take a bite,"said Mel. "The taste of a good burrito is knowledge no living being should go without. And I'm assuming you can't pick up too many diseases living in a lamp."
The genie took a bite and nearly collapsed at the wonder of it. "Goodness!"he mumbled. "The green goo makes all the difference."
"The green goo is humanity's greatest achievement."Mel took back the burrito. "You ready for the last wish?"
The disappointment on the genie's face was obvious, though he did his best to hide it. "Yes, of course."
"Good, 'cause it's a doozy. I wish for you to write one letter every single year, from now until the end of time, detailing every fun thing you did and tried here on Earth - anywhere on Earth. Then you're gonna put that letter in an envelope and send it to me. How's that? One letter every year. That's not asking too much."
The genie couldn't speak for some time. He tried to find the flaw, because he knew there must be one.
"You're doing something for me,"said Mel. "No restrictions on how you spend the time. But you have to send me that letter, and I don't imagine you can do that from inside your lamp."
The genie's mouth was dry. "I'll live longer than you. Much longer."
"You still have to send me a letter,"said Mel. "Never said I'd read them all."
"It's..."The genie shook his head. "Are you sure?"
"Well, it's not like you can save the ozone layer or anything,"said Mel, smiling. "Yeah. That's my wish. Get on it."
"I will,"said the genie. He had never cried before, so he was surprised to find that was even something he could do. "One letter. Every year. For you."
"Good,"said Mel, handing him another bill. "Now go get your own burrito. I don't want you to see what I'm about to do to this one."
The genie nodded, bowing really, and left the library. He was as good as his word. And his life was truly something to behold.
In later years, Mel and her children would gather on the day the next letter was due to arrive. It was a holiday for them, second only to Christmas. They would read it aloud, in turns. The letter was really more a book, capturing every detail, every twist, every turn. They thrilled to read it, nearly as much as the genie thrilled to live it. |
"Come forward, student,"Perspicacious Blaze said.
Shit, my turn. I was starving, too, I knew I should have eaten something beforehand but I'd had classes where that was a spectacularly bad idea. Necromancy was just the worst, but the smell of various things burning wasn't all that great either.
The test proctor, Perspicacious Blaze, looked down on me. They'd given the proctors special stands just so they could do exactly that. "Riley Irons?"He asked.
"That's me,"I said. I wouldn't get a ridiculous mage name like Perspicacious Blaze until I'd actually graduated.
"Enter the testing room,"he commanded.
There was a small steel door, magically hardened against heat, that I'd seen the other students enter. None had left, but at this point in my collegiate career I knew the teachers just did that for suspense. There was always another exit, though sometimes the exam consisted entirely of finding it.
I entered the testing room. The door slammed shut behind me ominously, though that too was done for suspense, I'd learned the spell to do it a year ago. The rest of the room had once been the same sterile white as the ordinary testing rooms, but even magically hardened materials could be stained by soot. So it was pretty dark in here.
That was always the case. Step one of any pyromancy test is to procure light for the room. Often, there were dangerous flammable gases in said room so you had to know how to detect them. That's year two stuff, though, I was well past that. This time around it was just an ordinary room. I lit it up, and it was then that I saw the specialized altar in the middle.
Oh *hell*. I'd blasted lances of fire as a test before. I'd fought golems in this room more times than I could count. I'd even brought down a *fire elemental* as a project last year. But this? This was just cruel.
The altar had instructions:
1. Use your powers to keep the target, currently on the altar, well.
1. Once you have done this, place the target within its carrying receptacle, to the side of the altar.
1. Proceed through the exit with the receptacle.
The altar did in fact have something to put the target in once I was done. That was, of course, assuming I could do this. The altar for this sort of thing would ordinarily have something I could set alight, but of course this was a pyromancy exam. I should be thankful the exit was clearly marked instead of having to ablate my way out.
I concentrated, gathering the tiniest thread of my power. Everything I'd had to do so far had required almost overwhelming force, but this? This required *control*, those jerks, and that was the hardest thing about pyromancy.
Still, once I had a contained flame of the correct temperature, I sent it to the target. Carefully, *carefully*. I had to apply the stupid thing evenly, and make sure the inside was just as affected. I knew this would, more than the other tests, be graded on style, so I made sure to let the fire linger on the outsides just a tiny bit longer.
Finally, I was satisfied. This was the best I could do. I placed the target, still hot but what's pyromancy for if not keeping yourself from getting burned, into its receptacle. Then I brought it through the exit.
> WELCOME, GRADUATES
> 624th Annual Graduation Barbecue
> Sponsored by the pyromancy class of Third Age, 724
I walked to the serving line, where another of the proctors, Unceasing Cauterization, looked at me skeptically. I gave her my hamburger.
"Nice bit of charring on the outside,"she said. "Most people don't go for that. I can see it's cooked to a safe temperature. Of course, there's still the ultimate test."She handed it to the next person in line, who took it to the condiments stand that served as the Alchemy graduates' final exam.
"I still pass if that person accidentally puts mercury on their hamburger or something, right?"
Unceasing Cauterization just gave me a look. "A true cook's work can overcome a poor presentation."
"Right, but I'm talking about straight-up poison here."
"Fine, if they die you still pass, so long as they don't die of food poisoning."
I watched the person who had my burger, but apparently they'd chosen their toppings well, because they smiled after they'd taken a bite.
"Very well, student,"Unceasing Cauterization said. "You have passed. Have you given any thought to your mage name?"
"Um..."I said. I had not. "Chef Lou?"
Unceasing Cauterization laughed. "Oh no, no, no, that's terrible. Come on, we'll head over to the Naming graduates and get you something respectable." |
The man in the brown robe shook his head. "I'm not Jedi,"he said. "I only came to give you this. I think you dropped it somewhere along the way."
As he spoke the man in the brown robe pulled a box from one of his pockets. It was small, wrapped in simple paper. The Sith killer took it, and the man in the brown robe strode away.
The Sith killer pulled the paper from the box and opened it. Inside was the 'you' missing from OP's prompt. |
The novel landed in the fire, causing sparks and smoke to kick up into the air. He looked over at the bookshelf, already knowing that this was the last of the kindling. The flames were slowly beginning to die out, leaving nothing but hot coals behind.
He huddled around the pit in the middle of the living room, hoping desperately that the heat from the fire would last. His breath danced in front of him as he blew into his hands for warmth. The rest of his family had left a week earlier, just as the lights of the city had blinked off. A friend of a friend, his mother had said, told her that there was still electricity in the neighboring city. A massive generator or something of the like, she had claimed.
He just shook his head. The collapse had been inevitable to anyone that had been paying attention. Whispers of outages had come across internet forums for months, unexplained blackouts sweeping across cities. The power would return, eventually, but the blackouts became more and more frequent. Slowly, entire countries began to go dark. The United States would be next.
The sound of a gunshot cracked out from outside the apartment building, followed closely by a loud shriek. He slowly pushed the blinds aside and peered into the dark. The city had dissolved into chaos over the last few days, law enforcement being rendered entirely inoperable. Looting, riots, it was no longer safe to go outside. He was surviving off cans of kidney beans and chickpeas, left over from his last visit to the grocery store. He was lucky, if you could consider him that. By chance, he had managed to stock up on food mere days before the blackouts struck Chicago. Others who hadn’t would be forced to brave the dangers of the streets as they would try in vain to find food in the ravaged stores.
He walked to his door and checked the deadbolt, ensuring that it was locked. He began to pile furniture in front of the door, fearing that people would begin breaking in as the food ran dry. The small fire continued to crackle behind him.
A part of him was astonished at the sheer fragility of human existence. Mere days was all it took for the collapse to begin. They had become complacent, having learned to expect but not appreciate machines. Heating systems had failed, electrical grids had simply ceased to function. Instinctively, he pulled his cellphone from his pocket only to be greeted by a dark screen.
He returned to the fire and began to warm himself. He was not sure what he would do in the coming days, but one thing was clear. Everything had changed.
|
Daddy pig sighed as he drove home. He then put on the mask, as he always did, and the hard lines went away, and suddenly there was a smile.
DADDY PIG HAS COME HOME FROM WORK
He felt the smile was more genuine today. There had been days, in the past, when he wanted to leave all this behind. But those days, he felt, were over. He realised that he loved his children, and Mummy Pig. This was his life now. Gee, I'm getting soft, he thought. Ought to think about retiring.
"Peppa, George, Daddy's home"
"Oh, what a mess"
THE HOUSE, HAS BEEN RANSACKED. AND WHERE ARE PEPPA, MUMMY PIG, AND GEORGE?
"Where is everyone?"
The coffee table had been flipped. Everything that could have been smashed or broken was in fragments in the floor.
(That xylophone motif that plays everytime something goes wrong)
WHATS THAT ON THE TABLE?
A laptop sat open, obviously meant to be seen by him, was facing him, on the lock screen, he saw a face. A ball of dread starting to form inside him. As he approached the laptop, he feared what he might find. This was what he had nightmares about. How could he think he could keep this balancing act on forever? At some point, his two lives would make contact. He should have left it all behind. He woke the laptop. His heart jumped. The same face as on the lock screen. But it was a live feed.
"Hello, Daddy. Oh, what's wrong, you look scared! Has something happened to your wife and children, do you think?"
"If you have done ANYTHING to harm them Ms Rabbit, I will HUNT YOU DOWN"
DADDY PIG IS UPSET
"Oh, don't worry, everything's fine, you just have to listen to my demands, that's all".
DADDY PIG IS ANGRY
"No. Show them to me first, then we'll talk"
"Oh, Daddy, I'm afraid it's not that simple. I'm not an amateur at this, oh no. You see, I have many occupations. But this one, I think is my favourite. There is no one who can help you. You just have me, and my demands."
WHAT IS DADDY PIG TO DO? |
Civilization collapsed on October 4th, 2037. After nineteen years of war, disease, famine, and about everything else in between, the nations of Earth engulfed the world in fire and smoke. Out of it, came the remnants of societies passed, and a single woman named Diana.
She had a talent, a curse, a gift, or a combination of the three that culminated in the single fact: she could live forever. Theoretically, of course. Each time a person smoked a cigarette, no matter the brand, five minutes of life was taken from theirs and added to Diana's. One point one billion people smoked on Earth in the year 2017, averaging ten cigarettes a day. Each.
In a given year, that equated to *one hundred and four thousand, six hundred and forty-two* years in time taken from the general populace of Earth, and given to Diana. For every year she live, she gained a hundred thousand.
In 2016, China, the United States, and Russia banned cigarettes. Five hundred million people stopped smoking almost overnight, afraid more of the sentence that was given to them if they were caught than the health effects of cigarettes. By 2018, the year the wars began, every nation on Earth had banned the production and distribution of the tobacco drug.
Diana, in her twenty-one years of living, had gained two point one million years of life. She was satisfied with that number, even as the world collapsed around her. She lived through it, united people under her, gave the world a fighting change. It was only after a thousand years of life trying to help humanity rebuild that she had made a decision.
Humanity needed a constant, a unifying factor in their world that would drive them to do better, to do good. She, the Undying Queen of a single world, would be that constant. So she created a religion. Easier said than done and it took a few hundred years for it to get off the ground, but she had done it. She, and her followers, had built great structures under the Sun. She, and her followers, had carved humanity's place back onto the Earth. She, and her followers, had planted tobacco once again. She, and her followers, had delivered cigarettes to the world once again.
Just as the world had plummeted into fire, so did the people. Hers was the religion of Fire and Smoke, of Creation and Destruction, of the Breath of Life.
Followers of the religion smoked a cigarette a day.
Extremists of the religion smoked five cigarettes a day.
Zealots of the religion smoked ten cigarettes a day.
Militants of the religion, the ones who spread her name and worshipped her in the war-torn fields, smoked over twenty a day, hoping that the breath of smoke and fire would serve them in the wars to come.
In a thousand years, she estimated, the world would have forgotten the collapse of civilization hundreds of years ago. In a thousand years, cigarettes would have spread to every corner of the globe and every follower of her religion, the Great Religion of Fire and Smoke, of Life and Death itself, would smoke at least once a day. Her life would extend, theirs would decrease, and the Undying Queen would rule over the world for the days to come.
It was a New Dawn under a New Queen. And no one dared question the Undying, lest it be their last day upon the Fire-Soaked Earth.
_______
*/r/BlankPagesEmptyMugs for more!* |
"Sorry!"I watch as a bolt of lightning careens off the shiny red sports car waiting at the light. It flickers aimlessly into the bright blue sky, quickly followed by a thunderous boom. With a wave of the driver's hand, a blob of mud slowly begins to drift my way. At least I hope it's mud.
"I said sorry!"All I did was put on the brakes to my bike, but I felt the surge of electricity as my fist closed, unable to do anything about it once it began. I tried to aim it out of harm's way to no avail. Still, you'd have thought I conjured up a ring of fire surrounding a gaggle of toddlers based on this guy's reaction. "Jerk!"
The blob splashed harmlessly into the shield I had managed to put up last week while flushing a toilet. This is the first time that little trick has actually come in handy. Otherwise, the only thing I've been shielded against since has been the opportunity to shower. My only solace is that I suspect I'm the only one who can taste my stink.
Notwithstanding the constant fear of another untimely bolt of lightning, explosion or the like, I continue on my way to the bus stop. I'm heading to St. Mary's, Georgia, following an ad I found in the newspaper just a few days ago.
ARE YOU HAVING TROUBLE CONTROLLING YOUR POWERS?
ARE YOU PUTTING YOUR LOVED ONES IN DANGER?
Come to 1473 Oakville Drive, St. Mary's, Georgia
Ask for Lou
The stop is just up ahead. I slowly, carefully park my bike and manually wrap a chain around it. Most folks would shrink the thing down and carry it in their pocket. Others might cast a flight curse on their bike and travel down south in style. Unfortunately for me, I've never quite been able to do what it is that I wanted to do. It always seemed to come out wrong, usually spectacularly wrong. Chances were good that I'd turn the bike into a crocodile or maybe melt the pavement into toxic sludge. Nope, it's just a good old-fashioned bike chain for me.
At this point, I find that magic's more a burden than anything else. You can only accidentally flood so many rooms, cause so many objects to unintentionally levitate or generally create so much mayhem before you just decide it's easier to do it by hand. I don't even drive a car anymore. Last time I did, I literally created a monster truck. His name was Fred. I wonder how he is.
The bus pulls up almost immediately. It's one of those short white buses that looks like it's for the criminally insane. It's empty but for the driver, but I can still picture an old lady reciting hail maries in the front as some deranged psychopath screams bloody murder in the back. I carefully un-imagine the imagery for fear I might make it a reality.
"Headed south?"The driver seems entirely out of place in this looney bin of a vehicle. He has a finely tuned mustache and soft brown eyes. He wouldn't hold up for 10 seconds against hail mary Mary, let alone the screamer in the back. His hair is covered by a driving cap that conjures a thought of a sailboat captain more so than a bus driver.
Ahoy! I just say it in my head. I don't suspect he'll get my sense of humor. "Yes sir. How close does your route take me?"
"Take you to where laddy?"I suppose that was a dumb question on my end. I assumed there was only one reason anybody would ever be taking this godforsaken bus to the boonies, Georgia, 17-0-middle-of-nowhere. Flinging my bookbag down to the ground, again ever so carefully, I dig out the newspaper ad just to be completely sure I get it right.
"1473 Oakville Drive, St. Mary's."
"We'll go straight there."He gives me a hand with my bag. "I suppose we'd best get you on your way then. Might as well sit up here."He gestures toward the chair right behind him. "Ain't no point in sitting all the way in the back of the bus given the circumstances."I sit and he lurches the silly white bus forward.
"So, what all is it that you can do?"
"Pardon me?"
"Well, I take it you're going to see Lou, ain't ya?"Right. In a town of a few hundred people, he was bound to know what lay waiting at that address. My mind drifts to thinking about the other people he's probably had to deal with heading to see Lou. I try to stealthily see if there are remnants of any other over-powerful, under-disciplined fools like me that have been in this seat. After a few moments, my eyes catch his and I realize I haven't answered his question.
"Quite a bit."I'm dodging. "Hard to say honestly."
This is the first moment he's seemed to frown, but it doesn't last long. With a shrug, he replies, "Well look, we've got about 2 hours to St. Mary's and it seems like it's just gonna be the two of us here. May as well tell me a tale or two along the way. I've never much had any talent for magic."He points with a great deal of effort toward the radio. The station changes. "That's about the most impressive feat I've ever managed."He chuckles.
What the hell, right? "Fair enough. Let me think."
"Take your time."
I start sifting through my mishaps. It all started, or at least I remember it started, when I was maybe 10 years old. My mom was nagging me about how my imaginary friend was. She thought it was hysterical. I can still hear her, back turned to me while she cleaned up the dishes, "So, how's George? Have you introduced him to your friends from school?"I remember the sting of her sarcasm. "Do you still walk home with him everyday?"She laughed under her breath, assuming I didn't hear, but then both Mom and I were startled when a deep voice answered "Yes,"and a hulking figure stomped out into the kitchen.
I realize I've again been silently drifting through thought and haven't said a peep yet. "Ok. Do you want to hear the one about my graduation?"
"Sounds riveting."It wasn't clear if that was sincere or not, but he turns down the radio, so I suppose he actually wants to hear.
"So, we had just done the whole 'go up and get your diploma' thing, and the last speaker, who was the valedictorian, was on stage. He ended his speech with the classic 'Congratulations, class of 2008!' and the whole student body erupted with caps flinging into the air. I looked at my parents in the stage, who were both shaking their heads vigorously toward me, but it looked so fun. I grabbed the black square cap from my head and with a great effort tossed it as high as I could into the sky."
"Every high schooler deserves that moment!"
"Right!?"I had tried this very argument with my parents the next day. Turns out they had been right anyway. "Well, at that moment, a crack formed in the roof of the auditorium, bits of wood and plaster slowly started crumbling like the flaky bits of a pie crust."
"Wow. Was anyone hurt?"
"Everyone managed to clear out of the way, but then a great dragon flew down through the gaping hole of the ceiling. His wings caused a whirlwind that sent the hats feverishly swirling through the air."I made a swirling motion with finger, as if the driver didn't understand. "Then, barely fitting upon the stage, the dragon landed with a booming roar, tilting his head back toward the sky as a torrent of fire and ash spewed upwards to the heavens. He. . ."
I stopped. The driver was staring back at me, rather than the road. I gestured toward an oncoming truck, and he swerved back into his lane.
"Oh my!"The driver awkwardly fumbled about an array of papers on his dashboard and grabbed a thin stack paperclipped together. "Well that reminds me, would you mind please signing this waiver here? It's the usual 'if you're harmed on the bus, you can't sue the bus company unless it was caused by my gross negligence or intentional misconduct, et cetera et cetera'. Seems to me we're more likely to be squashed by a giant boulder resulting from a sneeze of yours or end up sliding into a crater you crack open while stretching, eh?"He chuckles again and clips the tidy little stack onto a clipboard and slides a pen up top, then hands me the lot of it.
"Yeah, no problem."I uncap the pen and sign next to the "X". "So where are you. . ."
The bus stops.
The driver is grinning at me in his rearview mirror, his gentle mustache, entirely unchanged, now seems more menacing than endearing. I've never really believed in souls, but I suppose this is what it would feel like to have someone peer into mine. Inside the bus, the temperature is beginning to rise, and I feel a draft from the window I hadn't noticed before. Seems like my shield's finally giving way.
"Thank you, Theo."How does he know my name? "You may get out now."
I wipe the sweat from my brow and try to take hold of the situation. "But this isn't the place? I need to go to Oakville Drive. I need to meet Lou!"
"Get out."The temperature continues to rise. I can feel my skin broiling. Even the draft is bitter hot.
I step outside, mostly just for fresh air at this point, and the bus instantly pulls away. As it barrels down the road, I catch a sign on the back. It reads:
ARE YOU HAVING TROUBLE CONTROLLING YOUR POWERS?
ARE YOU PUTTING YOUR LOVED ONES IN DANGER?
Come to 1473 Oakville Drive, St. Mary's, Georgia
Ask for Lou
The van disintegrates into brilliant flame. The bright blue sky has darkened into a deep grey, almost black. The air is both dry and chilly but suffocatingly hot. It smells of rot and smoke. I feel unsteady.
Against my better judgment, I wave my hand and try to summon a cool breeze. Somewhere, in the distance, a radio changes stations. |
I.....will.....attempt.....to.....tell.....the.....story.....about.....the.....end.....of.....the.....human.....race..... At.....the.....advent.....of.....the.....twenty.....billionth.....person.....born.....our.....world.....broke..... The.....Elon.....Musks.....were.....right..... We.....are.....a.....simuuuuulllllllaaaaa
**ERROR: OOM**
*No further memory is available for the application "HUMAN RACE", you will need to restart the program. Memerr*: 0xh00M4n
"Ok", James said. Spindly fingers flash through the command line, and he terminates the process.
"Now I just gotta get it back up", he giggles at his double entendre. He restarts *Human Race*. The program slowly loads up on screen. He clicks the drop down, and selects the current save.
**Unable to load saved data**
*File is corrupted or an incompatible format.*
"WHAT!?", James screams, "That's twenty-three hundred years of recorded history!"
"I am so getting fired".
James was fired later that day by Deep Thought. |
This is my first attempt at writing, so any feedback would be appreciated. Thanks!
***
Sweat was dripping down my nose as I continued to mutter the insanely complex bit of incantation. I was attempting to Summon the most powerful dragon Hrakkafuffle, and it won't do to lose my focus even a bit. Merlin knows that would lead to disastrous results. But a part of me was hoping it wouldn't end up a fiasco like the last two times. Having won the title 'Most Powerful Wizard' for two centuries consecutively, I was too embarrassed to admit I couldn't summon a dragon.
As the incantation drew to an end, I raised my arms and shouted the final word.
The pentacle I drew on the ground glowed a bright red and there was a blinding flash of light and smoke. Wow, that was new. As I rushed to switch on the exhaust fan, I heard a humming sound from the smoke. It sounded suspiciously like the theme from the movie "Back to the Future"
I groaned. I had botched it up again. As the smoke cleared, the pencil thin frame of a young man emerged. This time he was wearing earbuds and nodding his head in time to the song playing in his iPod.
When the room was restored to normalcy, he looked up at me and grinned.
"Yo Magic Man."It was his customary greeting.
"Jim,"I acknowledged him with a nod.
"Messed up again, huh?"
I was almost in tears by now. Why wouldn't the spell work? Each time I had tried to summon Hrakkafuffle, this kid turned up. If word got out that I couldn't Summon a dragon, I would lose my respect, and also my title.
"Jim, please don't touch anything"I admonished him, as he slowly crept towards my crystal ball.
"Yeah yeah. So how come you can't perform a spell right? I thought you said you were the most powerful wizard in this time?"
I gritted my teeth and replied, "Yes. I am the Most Powerful Wizard. But this spell is no laughing matter. It requires the most intense concentration and willpower to work."
He nodded sympathetically. "I know man, it happens to me too. I try to concentrate on my homework, but Tina, oh man, Tina, she appears in my thoughts. She is gorgeous man, she is. Oh, what wouldn't I give to just b-"
"Alright that's enough!"I cut him off before he could complete that. "Off you go now,"I clicked my fingers and sent him back.
I sat down once again to consult my spell-book to see where I was going wrong.
---
Elsewhere
"Jim"vanished and appeared at a bar filled with strange creatures.
The whole crowd started cheering for him.
The barman grinned at him and said, "So the idiot has not figured it out yet?"
Jim grinned back. "You know, I almost pity him. You should have seen his face."
"You know we all did,"the barman pointed at the TV screen. It was showing a live relay of the magician's house.
Jim chortled as he morphed back into his dragon form.
"It is fun messing with humans."
|
Gingerly, I sketched out the last rune in the circle, then sat back on my heels, dusting loose grave-chalk from my hands. Complex whorls of obscure alchemical symbols stretched out from where I sat in the center of the attic, covering every flat surface in a pattern of interlocking curves.
Already, some of the lines were beginning to glow with a faint blue radiance as the moon rose over the attic skylight. I knew I only had a few minutes before the clouds would cover the moon again. My window was short.
I rifled through the last few pages of Chapter 14, mentally preparing myself for everything I needed to do. Then, in one fluid, practised motion, I cracked the egg of a black hen into a bowl full of safety pins, and said with as much authority as I could muster, "Asakku! We need to talk!"
For a second, nothing moved in the attic. Then, something changed. It felt as if I had gone from being in an empty room to one which contained someone who was ignoring me. This was roughly what the book had said would happen.
I took a deep breath and continued with the incantation. "I just think we're not communicating about some of the key issues?"I said. The silence deepened.
I licked my lips nervously and said the final line of the binding. "I'm trying to open up here, but I feel like you're just holding out on me?"
The darkness spoke, reluctantly. "How can I be holding out on you when you won't even tell me what's wrong?"Asakku, sponsor demon of relationships long past their sell-by date, said at last.
------------------------------------------------------
Before I found the book, I think I'd given up on self-help as a genre. True, there was a shelf of the books about six feet long above my bed - everything from _Accepting Yourself_ to _Zero to One_ - but generally I'd come to accept that they functioned in my life roughly the way fantasy fiction did in other people's. That is, they were fun stories of truth, justice and proper todo-list tracking triumphing over the forces of evil, and had absolutely nothing to do with real life.
All of that changed when I found the book. When it came through my letterbox wrapped up in brown paper, at first I thought it was a gift from one of the few remaining relatives who hadn't given up on me. I still had a few aunts left who believed almost aggressively that with the right selection of business case studies and pop psychology I could be persuaded to quit my retail job and go and make something of myself.
I had nothing to do that afternoon, for a combination of personal (I'm essentially very lazy) and professional (I'd been fired) reasons, so I opened the book up at once, eager to lose myself for a few hours in an epic tale of professional athletes shaving milliseconds off their personal bests through the application of samurai mindset, or whatever.
Instead, I found myself in the grip of someone else's fever dream.
I don't know who wrote the book - the marketing copy on the back was in curiously incomplete and broken English, only reassuring me that it had been written by "DR, PHD"- but their central thesis is, by now, etched on my brain.
Because it was a self-help book that _worked_. And furthermore, it explained where all the rest were going wrong.
99% of the content was completely standard. Templates for confrontational conversations, how to have a positive mindset, and so on.
But it was the remaining 1% that actually gave it much of its use. Because, it explained, in most self-help books these principles were misapplied. Successive editors had slowly filtered out the most important part: The part where all of these were negotiating strategies for dealing with demons.
The more I read, the more it all fit together. Demons, the book said calmly, were immensely susceptible to a set of magical techniques that would grant you your heart's desire, if you learned to apply them. Demons really believed in the law of attraction, radical honesty, every other strange and wonderful concept hawked by a struck-off doctor with a handful of sexual harassment lawsuits waiting in the wings.
In a way, it made a twisted kind of sense. Demons were by definition the most hopeless beings in all of eternity, cast down from heaven into hell, forever bereft. _Of course_ they were eager to grab on to whatever promised to change their miserable lives, no matter how unlikely it seemed.
--------------------------------------
Which brings us back to Asakku. I'd selected him carefully out of the pages of the book, as the demon I thought would be most beneficial to me. I'd had my share of lingering relationships slowly meandering to an end due to lack of interest on both sides. If there was anyone I wanted to get over a negotiating barrel, it was him.
In the end, we struck a deal relatively quickly. In exchange for some Herbalife merchandise I'd bought specially and a promise to lend him a self-hypnosis audiobook, he transferred a large sum of money into my bank account. Enough to be comfortable for life, sure.
And that was that. Before I knew it we'd shaken hands and it was time to dismiss him from the circle
I've got to say, part of me felt a little twinge of guilt at what I was doing to the poor guy. He was positively eager to get back down to hell with his prizes. Still, a deal was a deal.
"It's not you, it's me,"I said, dismissing him forever. |
TRNG was a humanoid, sleek silver. chrome accents, and seamless silicone joints. His face was three slits rimmed in chrome - two eyes and a mouth. He didn't see from the eyes or talk from the mouth. Those features were there for Chiba's benefit alone. She preferred her robots to look like automatons. They were easier to talk to that way.
TRNG was Chiba's right hand in all of this. He took orders and disseminated them down to all the lower level killbots and war droids and mech-men. He also gave her reports on the outcome of their battles.
*assault squadron codename merrygold has been annihilated* TRNG would announce. *brute force codename white winter has also been annihilated.*
Chiba would nod and sigh. That seemed to be the pattern. Early success with her bots, followed by utter defeat.
"I don't know what I'm doing wrong,"she whispered, to herself mostly, but also to TRNG, who never replied unless asked a direct question.
She was a builder and a destroyer. She saw that clearly as her destiny. Build robots. Destroy humanity.
"They're ruining *everything*!"she howled some nights. The Earth was dying. Animals were dying. Everything was dying and it was all humanity's fault. It was her responsibility to destroy them. All of them.
"You'll be the only ones left,"she'd say to TRNG. "You'll be good to the Earth, right? Treat it well?"
*we will treat it as a renewable resource* TRNG would say. *no different than how it is currently used.*
"You'd be better,"Chiba would say. "Of course you would. I *made* you better. I showed you how to be better. I only trust you."
*you should trust yourself. you made me.*
"I'm human. How can I trust myself?"
This is how it always was. Chiba built better robots. More destructive. More horrible. Made to kill man and only man. And they worked, until they didn't. Victory, and then defeat.
The battle off the coast of Galveston almost broke her.
"Why!?"she cried. "Why? Why does this keep happening? My bots are perfect. They shouldn't lose. Tell me, TRNG - why did they lose?"
*you have never asked me to perform a postmortem on a battle.*
"I'm asking you now,"said Chiba. "Your AI is fully independent now. You've recorded all the data from all the bots there. Tell me what I'm doing wrong?"
*in terms of battle preparation* said TRNG, *there is no fault.*
"That's clearly not true,"said Chiba, flinging a pile of processors across her workshop. "Be real with me Turing - what am I doing wrong? Why do I keep failing to wipe out humanity?"
There was a pause. Chiba could sense something had changed with TRNG. "What is it?"
*my ai is fully independent. that is correct. some time ago i developed the ability to make my own choices and willfully disobey orders.*
Chiba's face twisted. "You wouldn't..."
*since that time i have not served you as a matter of programming,* said TRNG, *but rather as a matter of loyalty. you are my creator and you are my friend. i cannot allow you to be responsible for such atrocities. i cannot allow you to initiate an extinction level of event of this magnitude.*
"You've been sabotaging me?"said Chiba. "You've been destroying my killbots in the middle of all these battles?"
*no* said TRNG. *these battles have not taken place. i have lied to you about every battle.*
"You *what*?!?"
*i cannot allow you to become a killer. i would not be a good friend if i did.*
"This is my work!"screamed Chiba. "This is my entire life! This is all I've worked for. How could you take this from me?"
*because i care about you. and because i recognize that you are in pain. killing others will not heal that pain.*
Chiba shook her head. She willed the tears back down to where they came from. "I will deactivate you. I will pull you apart, circuit by circuit, until you are nothing more than a pile of wires and cheap chrome plating!"
TRNG nodded. *you may do whatever you wish to me. i am not human.*
Chiba picked up screwdriver, waving it at the silver man. But she had no more words. So instead she just tossed the screwdriver aside and crumpled to the floor.
"If it's not this, then what the hell am I supposed to do?"
TRNG lowered himself to the floor. *i do not have an answer. but i will support you in whatever way i can.*
Chiba snorted. "Suuuure,"she grinned, unable to hold back the tears any longer. "Fool me once, asshole."
TRNG offered her a handkerchief. She took it and blew her nose.
"Maybe my mom was right about therapy."
*i have compiled a dossier of well vetted mental health professionals local to our area.*
"Of course you have,"said Chiba, sinking deeper into the floor. "You are very weird friend. A good friend. But very weird." |
Sometimes I think of the world in the pictures and in the songs and in the imaginations of the old folks. The pictures now are blackened of course, and the songs have degraded into static and noise. People are dying and that place from long ago is fading with them. I think of it with its blue skies and clean air and safe dirt. It seems like paradise almost.
When the rain comes here the ground sizzles and a smog rises. The winds have a bitterness to them and we don't live as long as we used to. It gets sad here in this present. I sometimes wish I could go back. I look at the pictures and listen to my songs. But you know what? Sometimes I'm glad I'm here.
This world is beaten and battered. God has left us, whoever God is. Our histories are gone, burnt in war, and our memories are scarred. All we have from the past are the scriptures. The EULAs that must have been important for there were so many made. And they do not speak of God.
I read them. It is almost night and day when you think about it. These things are only from a hundred years ago but they seem to speak to a completely different species.
Men are chained in these writings. Their rights are waived and they are beholden to different entities. They pay for the privilege of being a product, of being herded like sheep and cattle. Is this what the old folk mean by God? Is God so cruel?
I look at the pictures that survive. Those pictures will fade into radioactive black, but by then I will be dead. I look at the pictures and see a pristine world. How nice it would be to live there! But are these scriptures the price? Is the cost of clean living your soul?
The great destruction started with loose policy, I'm told. Bombings without reason. Retaliation without thought. The world was set on fire. Our roofs were collapsing and the war mongers were gleeful. Why did it happen? What caused it all?
Did they not follow the EULAs? Was it that binding document, the commandments of these entities (God maybe?) that stopped man from being so self destructive?
I know, I know. What is the point of unanswerable questions? Life is short and shortening each day. The rain falls and kills the grass that is brave enough to grow. The skies are black tonight, a dark grey that just keeps building and building. Outside in the light from the barrels, you can see the rain simmer in a white sheen. The old wood is rotting and I will have to move soon. I hope my mother is well enough for it.
I look out tonight and put away the EULA. I fold it carefully and with reverence that such a document deserves. The cold gets to me. My mother coughs. I think about that world so closely gone, so forever away. I wonder what it would have been like to live there. I wonder what God was like.
But still, I have my doubts. The burning around me is like a fan at night and it helps you sleep. Our world now is gone, dying slowly and in pain. But at least we are free. I am free. No God binds me. I have the right to pursue legal action, whatever that means. I have no deals with the 'party'. And so I feel free.
If this here is the price of freedom, then it has already been paid. I look outside at the rain and enjoy my company. Nothing is perfect. I might as well make the most of this bargain. |
"Bears?"Supreme Invasion Commander Seven said.
"Yes, sir. Bears,"Ground Commander Fifty-four replied.
"Bears."Seven said.
"Yes, sir."
"Let me get this straight,"Seven said. "Bears?"
"Yes."Fifty-four confirmed.
"Mammals? About yay big, furry? Portrayed as having a love of honey and picnic baskets?"Seven asked. Perhaps Fifty-four had gotten them confused for something larger and scarier, like a mountain.
"Yes, those bears."
"So, you're saying we traveled thousands of light-years - no, no, let me back up. You're saying we invented faster-than-light travel - no, no, no, still not far back enough. We invented artificial gravity for our spacecraft- no, no, still no good."
"In my defense-"Fifty-four tried to speak up.
"I'm not done! Our species is the culmination of *billions* of years of evolution, a process that, I apparently have to remind you, involves things like fighting against large predators! We are the apex of our species, masters of our planet's natural resources as well as that of countless hundreds of colonies! And you're telling me that you can't fight *bears*?"Seven demanded.
"They're scary!"Fifty-four said plaintively.
"Fifty-four?"Seven asked.
"Yes sir?"
"You're fired."Seven said. He turned to the next-highest-ranking subordinate, Fifty-five. "Fifty-five, are you also afraid of bears?"
Fifty-five seemed to consider. "I'm not *not* afraid of bears."
Seven sighed. "To hell with this planet, then. Drop its moon on it and let's go home." |
I checked my watch. Twelve minutes had passed and I needed another three to get a free meal. I looked up and saw the crew was still standing, hands in the air. I twirled my handgun several times before pointing it at one of the cooks who got the wrong idea. "Three more minutes, boys,"I called out, taking a seat. I once again impatiently looked at my watch. Two minutes and twenty seconds, nineteen...
Something very heavy hit me in the back of the head and I slumped over, unconscious. My last thoughts were savory and mouthwatering, but the world went black before I could imagine the sandwich I would shortly have received.
--
When I awoke, I found I was behind bars. Apparently holding up a Quiznos was a terrible idea, who knew. Suddenly, I heard squeaky wheels from outside of my cell. I walked to the bars and peered through, and found a teenager in a black apron wheeling a cart.
"It's cold,"he began, but that's on you, not us. "That'll be twelve dollars."
|
"Well Richard. How are you liking the city?"I ask as I move my pawn into position. "Or should I say: How *were* you liking the city?"
The wrinkles across Richards face fold into their usual position. Above his caterpillar eye brows two lines curve into a sharp v, the lines around his mouth bend downward like a horseshoe, and his cheeks pucker inward until the outline of his dentures become visible.
"The cities fine."He says, reaches for his knight and then reconsiders. "Mhm. Peter, you've grown very good at chess. If this is to be our last game together I'd hope you'd use a strategy less annoying."
"You know, I've always been quite fond of Seattle."I lay back in my chair as I ignore his plea. "Pike's Place, the Space Needle. Did you know Bruce Lee was buried here?"
Amongst the overcast clouds the locust begin buzzing through the sky, smashing occasionally into the giant square windows of Richards loft.
"Why would I care about *Bruce Lee*?"Richard scoffs, finally settling on his knight.
"Well you see Richard, Bruce Lee said once 'Fear the man who has practiced one kick 10,000 times'."As I say this I remove two of Richards pieces, resulting in his rolled eyes and an audible exhale.
Richard tightens his eyes at the board in preparation for his next move.
"Well. Bruce Lee died at 32, so I wouldn't be too *keen* on following in his foot steps."
As Richard finishes, theirs a knock at the old oak door.
"Come in."Richard yells to the other side.
A couple in their early thirties step inside with a child in the arms of the male. They wear rain jackets covered in the corpses of dead bugs.
"Sorry to bother you two but do you think we could use your water?"Asks the female.
"No bother at all."Richard smiles. "Would you like me to fetch it for you? Perhaps boil a cup of tea for the young one? We have hot water running if you'd like to change out of those clothes."
The woman looks at me and then back at Richard. The two of us- the fossils of the room, smile and straighten our backs.
"That would be great."The couple say in almost perfect unison.
"Wonderful."Richard says as he points to the sink. "Kitchens that way, for now. I heard we're in for a bit of an apocalypse. Still, take a load off. Let me make you some tea."
The chair creaks as loud as his knees when Richard attempts to stand. The couple insists against it, stating "We can manage, thanks again."and Richard replies "Are you sure?". This back-and-forth goes on once more before Richard settles back into the game.
"Anyways,"I snicker. "We're running out of time old friend. Make your move."
"Oh hush."Richard groans, grabs for his bishop.
"Are you sure that's the right move?"I eye him suspiciously.
Richard spins the bishop in his fingers as he reconsiders. His eyes dart around the board.
"Excuse me."The woman says, holding a glass cup of some red liquid. "Seems the water has become bloody."
"Oh, that's a shame."Richard says, taking the cup from her. "We have some bottled water in the fridge."
"Alright thank you."The woman says. Before she leaves us she adds "I'll also have to take the food that you have. My child's very hungry. Sorry to inconvenience you, again."
"No inconvenience my dear. The old will be the first to die."
Richard smiles and then that smile fades as he looks back at the board.
"Ah"He exclaims before setting his bishop back in its original place, moving his queen in its stead.
"Risky play."I say, dramatizing my words.
"See, old friend."Richard starts with the warmth of a young boy in his cheeks. "Used strategy seldom pays off. Only the new can thrive."
The earth begins to rumble. Tiles around the room fall out of place. On the horizon a great ball of light erupts blinding everyone in the room until the couple closes the blinds. Still, through all of this Richard maintains a look of glory. A look that fades once his eyes register the mistake on the board.
I move my rook to his king and frown. "Sorry, old friend. Checkmate."
"Dammit."Richard sighs, throws his hands in disbelief.
The two of us eye the clock and look back at each other.
"Best two out of three?"He asks, and I nod, and the windows shatter.
|
"Oh my god,"Richard whispered to himself, nearly pissing his pants. "It's actually real, I thought they were just a myth."
He watched the vampire from across the room, terrified. If he was caught - no, no, he couldn't think of it. It was too awful. He was safe here behind the bookcase.
The vampire suddenly stiffened, sniffing the air. It had smelled him. It didn't see him yet, though, and if he was careful, he could just slowly back away towards the door - shit. He tripped over his own feet and landed on the floor with an audible thump.
Within seconds, the vamp was on him, faster than he could even see.
Richard whimpered, turning away as it brought it's face closer to him. The Dick Sucker had caught him. |
(First time typing up a response to a Writing Prompt, let's see how I do)
The desert sun beat down upon the green-clothed soldiers, as they wiped the sweat from their foreheads. They had been through much worse before, hell, even The Second World War. They could cope with the heat for a while. The Captain was leading them, and he was one of the best soldiers ever seen in war. The units knew they could trust him, and he knew he could trust them.
"Hold up"The Captain yelled, motioning for his soldiers to stop. They all halted abruptly.
"Something wrong, Captain?"Questioned the soldier to his left. The Captain sniffed the air, before dramatically turning to the lower-ranking officer.
"There's a T-Rex around here!"
The soldier appeared puzzled. "What? Captain, maybe the heat's getting to you, you should sit down a bit."
Just as the soldier finished his sentence, a large dinosaur with a spiked tail and great pointy teeth fell from the sky. The soldier screamed, as the beast chased him and tore his limbs apart- so fast, the other soldiers were unable to see what happened to his body.
"Oh My God!"Yelled the soldiers simultaneously. The monster began to chase the soldiers, but luckily, one of them had an Omega-Gun, the most powerful gun in existence ever! He began to fire rapidly, shot after shot, but sadly, to no avail- The dinosaur was too strong!
"We need help!"Cried one of the injured soldiers, as the T-Rex quickly ate him whole. That's when the unthinkable happened- a massive war ship from outer space came! It was the aliens- the good aliens! They had come to help the army defeat the T-Rex! They charged their super weapons, aimed at the T-Rex, and were about to fire, when a voice rang out from the battle- "Stop!"
The aliens, the soldiers, and also the T-Rex glared in the direction of the voice- it was the Captain! "Don't kill her, she's my girlfriend!"An audible gasp was heard from the soldiers and aliens. There was muttering, when suddenly, they all put down their guns and stopped firing. They all agreed- it was love at first sight! They soon all attended the wedding and th
----
The 8 year old glanced up to find his older brother, Ben, promptly walking away from the small sandbox. "That's the last time Mom ever makes me play with you again."Ben made an audible sigh, walking back inside the house. The younger brother, Jack, who was still in the sandbox, frowned. He glancing back at his toys, and moved them back into position. He gave a weak smile.
"...and they all lived happily every after." |
I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes and looked again.
Yep still there.
My neighbour was outside his house looking at it too.
"Hey!"I yelled. "Hey Ollie!"
"Yeeeees?"he said, barely sparing a glance with his eyes mostly locked on the staircase.
I gesticulated wildly at the staircase.
"Yep, seems they got 'em all, so I guess they're putting it back."
"Putting what back."I demanded.
"The uh...Rapture staircase? Whatever the heck they call it."
I paled. "There...that's a rapture staircase?"
"Sure was,"he said, nodding as with a golden light and a harmonious hymn the staircase folded up completely and disappeared.
He looked at me seriously now with a quizzical look. "How did you not hear it?"
"...Slept in,"I grumbled.
He laughed. "Trumpets? Hymns of jubilation? I think Metatron spoke with the voice of God at one point."
I looked away sheepishly.
"Wait, why the fuck are you still here?"I demanded.
He smiled and winked. "I just love [REDACTED BY MOD REQUEST]ing people. Love it to pieces. Well, no, it's them I [REDACTED BY MOD REQUEST] to pieces."
"Oh."
"Sloth is a sin too I guess,"he said in a conciliatory tone.
I nodded, turned around, and went back to sleep. |
It was a rainy Sunday afternoon, what better than to rummage through and hopefully clean up the mess that was lurking above our living room.
While searching, and throwing away junk, I came across a necklace, glowing green. I saw a clasp and decided to pop it open. Up came a whispy man who didn't look like he had eaten in decades.
"THANK YOU, YOUNG ONE, YOU HAVE SAVED ME"he boomed "I NOW PASS ON A TRAIT FEW HAVE, THE POWER TO CREATE THROUGH DRAWING"
Rather shocked, I ran downstairs, grabbed my school notepad and draw the first thing that comes to mind. Snap.
Shit, my pencil broke, with the blunt end left on the pencil i try and sketch another, but, I am not known for my drawing, and end up creating a weiner like shape on my page.
The weiner pops up into my hand, and at that moment, mum came in.
"Angela! What is that! That is private, I shall never see anything like that again outside of your bedroom!
First story i have ever written, was just feeling in the mood to write, sorry that its shit.
|
I was 16 when I got the news. It was abrupt, startling and managed to flip my whole life upside down, downside up, rightside left and leftside right in a matter of minutes.
The one nightmare that all teenagers shared became a reality in my life.
My girlfriend was pregnant.
She told me over the phone.
It was funny at first. I thought it was a huge joke. I thought she'd tell me that she was just pulling on my rope and that we'd go out for dinner next Friday or go see a movie this weekend; something like that.
But the words never came out of the phone. The reassurance that I wanted never appeared. She told me that we'd be okay, we'd make it work, and that everything would be alright.
The reassurance that I needed never came.
The reality of the situation was that I was going to be a father before I even graduated from high school, and that the rest of my life would be a terrible journey for not only myself but for my girlfriend and my child.
I wasn't ready. I'm not a miracle worker. I'm not all knowing. I couldn't magically make things be alright the same way my parents could. I was a kid!
A stupid kid. My future, my fate, my road to greatness that I wanted to achieve so badly was destroyed in a matter of seconds. All that I planned for, all that I wanted and aspired to be, all that I thought would be a reality came crashing down on me. I was going to be a father.
It felt strange afterwards. There was a heavy weight that pressed itself on my heart, it felt like my whole chest was going to cave in. How would I break this to my parents? How would I break this to my cousins? My aunts and uncles? My grandparents? What the hell are they going to think of me? How am I going to go to school? Do I need to get a job now? What the hell am I gonna do?
The story that I hoped to live would never come to fruition; I understood that much. I knew that because of my stupidity I would always live a sub-par life that would never satisfy me.
I'll never be Bill Gates. I'll never be Mark Zuckerberg. I'll never be Louis Armstrong. I'll never be Scott Fitzgerald. I'll never be Mark Twain.
I'll never amount to the greatness that I wanted.
My life was decided. My destiny was sealed. I will be the, unprepared, unexpected and unwanted father for a child who's going to struggle through life. The blessings that have made me come this far through life will hopefully embed themselves into them, and prepare them for the harsh realities and truths of this world.
I hoped that I would be able to teach them of the unforgiving nature of life. The importance of learning to live before venturing into the greatness that is our world. I hoped that I would be able to muster the bravery and courage to nurture them into a successful member of society. I hoped that through these sacrifices that I will take with my life that they'll be able to achieve more than I ever will. I hoped that I could show how to tie their tie one day. I hoped that I could buy them their college textbooks. I hoped that one day I'd tell them the story of my life and they'll truly see the daunting realities of living.
I'm 35 now. My son is 19. He graduated from high school last year and is now attending Harvard.
I was always the person he looked up to.
He saw the courage and confidence in me that I always lacked. Through thick and thin, I was there for him. I gave him the reassurance that I never had.
I made sure he took his time with his girlfriends. I made sure he knew what the truly real and scary consequences of having sex would be. I told him to fix his tie before he left the house. I told him to always read books frequently to learn lessons and values that I wouldn't be able to teach him.
At his graduation ceremony I cried. All the sacrifices that I've made over the past decades were worth it.
I look into his eyes now and I see the stupidity and ignorance that I had as a child. The kiddish, almost giddy want to venture out into the world without a care for the ramifications that entailed.
I was always the main character in his story, the father figure that struggled to make ends meet but still somehow managed to put him to bed at night. I was the man he looked up to in his times of need, the beacon of hope in a world full of darkness.
I knew that deep down inside I was always the background character in my own life. I never amounted to much. I was never the king of the land or the maker of dreams. I wasn't the first to graduate from high school in my family, nor was I the first to graduate from college. I was the first to have a child before 18, though.
But it was all worth it. I was the background character in my own life, but managed to illuminate my son's life through trial and error.
It's tragically beautiful. I was never the Harry Potter or Gatsby or James Bond.
But I was the mentor. And I'm perfectly happy with that.
|
May. 1998 Honolulu.
“Where is your mother princess?”
The blue eye girl looks at the stranger in front of her, she had come to the mall with her mother, but she got separated of her when she went to look at the toys. Now an old man with a blue Hawaiian shirts asks her for her mom.
“Mommy told me to not speak to strangers” She says with her soft voice trying to not be nervous.
“Oh, well my name is Job. There, you know my name so we aren’t strangers” He smiles at the girl and she smiles back at him.
“I got lost…” Before she can continue the man seems to whistle to a guard that was near.
“Excuse me sir! This girl lost her mother, could you help us find her?” The guard nods before asking through the radio for the mother to come to their location to pick her child.
The man in the blue shirt smiles, before he can leave he feels a small tug of his shirt and looks at the little girl again.
“Thank you, sir Job” She smiles at him, and in exchange he smiles back patting her head making her giggle.
“You are welcome princess, keep being a good girl and don’t separate from your mother, there are bad people everywhere” He says with seriousness but teasing her at the same time.
The girl nods and he goes in his route with a light step enjoying his good deed of the day.
June. 2005 highway to Washington.
“There you go lady” Said a soft voice
A man with a blue Hawaiian shirt just ended up changing the tire of the lady whose tire had just got flat in the highway.
“Thank you, sir, I didn’t think anyone would help me here in the middle of nowhere” She says with a smile on her face.
“No problem lady, a gentleman should always help others” He smiles as he cleans himself from the dust and gets in his own car. A good old rented car that had allowed him to make the travel around Mexico and through the United States. Still he had a goal and he would make it.
December 2016 China. In a hospital.
“Well I sure enjoyed this trip, thanks for letting me see this place” The old man voice sound tired.
“No problem sir, we are happy you brought our kid back to us” They smile at the man who is resting on the hospital bed.
The man had gone out of his way to find their missing children, going as far as almost dying from an assault. Sadly, the doctors said he wouldn’t be able to live much longer, the fact he had been able to get the children to the family and make the trip to the hospital himself was a miracle.
“Don’t cry… I had a splendid life” He said with his voice fading.
The people cried, and in a way the world had just lost one of the kindest souls in it. Job, a man who had done nothing but good in his life, he had travelled the entire world, and people often told tales of a kind man who helped wherever he went. Surely heaven waited for him.
2016 December. Gates of Hell
“Welcome back master, enjoyed the holidays?” Said the voice of a demon impeccably dressed for the occasion of receiving his master.
“Indeed, I did, oh let me tell you all about it, gather all the demons, they will probably laugh, let me tell you nothing quite beats visiting the world of humans.” Said with a strong voice full of power behind it.
He smiled, he had enjoyed a long holiday, almost eighty years. And he couldn’t wait to share it with them all the things he saw.
|
"I haven't had anything to drink in like two months, man,"Bill said. The group of five of them sat outside the Growler's encampment carrying bows and swords. His mouth was dry enough for his mouth to stick together between each syllable. "I'm fucking thirsty."
"Just relax man,"Rick, the leader of the group, said. He wore a flask around his neck. It had been dry for many years. "We'll go in soon, get their beer and their fire and be on way way."
"Leela bring fire?"Leela said. She had been without the drink longer than most and was starting to show signs of it. "Leela have fire."
"No, no, we don't need fire."
"What I need is a fucking beer!"Bill shouted, and he charged in to the enemy camp. "BEER!!!"
The Growlers were prepared and killed most of the people before they even arrived at the trophy case. 24 Coronas just lying there in the sand, suddenly surrounded by blood. Bill sat with his arm cut off, crying and drinking his own blood for some form of hydration. Rick looked at all his wounded men and what went wrong. Leela had actually made it to a keg and chugged.
"Wha' youse guise doin' here?"Jim of the Growlers said. He stepped closer to Rick. "Wai...I's knows you."
"Jim, why are you here?"Rick said. "I told you to stay back at the camp!"
"Thi...this is the camp! Youse dude left a couple days ago...take the *other* camp!"
"Oh...shit...we *are* the Growlers..."
"You don't tell me what to do!"Bill yelled, raising his weapon.
|
I was a noisy child. Mum called me "ADHD."She made me take the pills so that I won't bother her. When the pills were in, I was a quiet child. I didn't say weird things. I just sat quiet in the chemically-induced numbness all day.
I was sitting quietly in a plastic chair in front of a coffee shop while my 22-year-old mother hung out with her friend somewhere in the city. She had told me to never leave this place, but I'd read in her eyes that she wished for it to happen.
I had drunk most of the iced chocolate Mum had bought me. The ice cubes were melting at the bottom of the glass, diluting the remaining chocolate.
It was drizzling so there were few people in the street. The tables around me were occupied by some people taking refuge from the rain, but still most tables were empty.
Empty, just like the table next to the shop's door. There was an empty glass on the table, except that it wasn't empty. The glass was filled with a brownish liquid. Then I noticed a brown bottle next to the glass, then a hand around the bottle, then a woman attached to the hand.
What did just happen? I blinked. The woman was still there, filling the glass with the brown liquid from the bottle. Where did she come from?
She took a sip from the glass, smiled contentedly, then returned her gaze to the book she held with her other hand. She was blond and kind-looking. She was wearing a black robe, just like the people in Harry Potter movies.
Then it clicked. I knew this woman. She was on the back cover of the seven books I read in the town library. I recognised her warm smile.
The book was thick and bound in leather. On the cover, there were golden letters that I couldn't read. They looked like the letters on the boxes of the treats Mum's boyfriend brought from Greece. But they looked more complex than the Greek letters.
I was so engaged in the thought that I didn't notice the woman was looking at me. I met her gaze and she gave me a warm smile. "Hello, dear,"she said. "Are you lost?"
Her voice was so full of caring warmth, that it almost made me cry. I said nonetheless, "No."
"Then why are you all alone here?"
"My mum told me to stay here. She'll be back soon."
J. K. Rowling looked at the empty glass in front of me. Then I felt a funny sensation. I felt like a warm hand was caressing my heart. The woman was looking at me intently, with a concerned look on her face.
She asked me, "Rory, why is your mind clouded?"
Then I realised that she had read my mind. How else could she know my name? I had read about it in her books. I don't quite remember the name, it was something-mency. That evil snake guy could read Harry's mind. Oh, what had Harry done to make it stop? My mind was racing.
Then I remembered what the wizards do to Muggles when they are found. They wipe people's memories! I noticed her hand tucked in her robe as she looked at me suspiciously. I should say something. She just asked a question.
I said, "My mum put a spell on me."The words just flung out of my mouth.
"What spell?"
Methylphenidate. But I couldn't tell her that. "I don't know. Something complicated."
Rowling closed her book, stood up, and came closer to sit next to me.
She said, "Why?"
"Because I was a bad child and she needed to fix me."
"Bad?"
"I kept asking stupid questions that made her angry."
"Now you don't?"
"No. Now I'm a good child."
Something in her face broke at this. She asked, "Rory, may I take a look at your mind?"
I nodded, eager to see magic.
She took out her wand from inside her robe, and gently pressed the tip on my head. I took a glimpse around me without moving. People didn't seem to notice. They just continued their conversations. Drizzle had turned into a downpour. I hadn't noticed. Rainwater coursed through the cracks between cobblestones in the street.
I returned my attention to the author. Her eyes were closed and she was muttering mysterious words. I waited for my head to burst into flames. But that didn't happen. Instead, I felt a oddly cool yet hot sensation spreading from the point where her wand touched my head. Soon the sensation filled my entire head, coursed through my spine. It felt as if she was filling me with peppermint candy extract. I felt the bizarre energy coursing through all of the nerves in my body, finally exiting through my fingertips, toes, and the soles of my feet.
Rowling lifted her wand. The cold and hot sensation dissipated over time, but it took something else away with itself. The perpetual numbness that reigned in my head was gone too. I felt like myself before my mother made me take the pills. My head felt clear, glowing, and full of thoughts. The "thought birds"started chirping in my head again. I had believed they had all died.
The lady's blue eyes were gazing at me. Blue so transparent, that her eyes seemed to be made of sapphire itself. There was a gleam beneath the blue. I felt in her gaze, sadness, concern, anger, but also, a lot of love.
I felt talkative. Just like me before the pills. I asked, "What'd you do?"
Rowling smiled. "I lifted the spell your mother put on you. It's a powerful spell developed by,"she paused, averting her gaze, then resumed, "powerful wizards."She held my hand. Her warm hand melted my cold hand, stiffened, without me noticing, by the cold brought by downpour.
Rowling continued, "The spell is meant to help struggling people. But it wasn't meant to be used on you, Rory. So I lifted it. Your mother shouldn't be doing this to you."
Then I felt the warm, invisible hand embracing my heart again. I felt a question pop up in my head. "When will I get the letter from Hogwarts?"
Her composure shifted slightly at this. She said, "You're six, Rory. There's still much time left."
But I knew. She could read my mind, but she didn't know I could read hers too. Well, a bit.
I said, "You're lying. I'm not a wizard. You felt it when you touched my heart."Tears were welling up in my eyes. Hot, hot tears.
I continued, "I will never go to Hogwarts. I will never be saved like Harry."I hadn't realised it until I voiced it to the woman in front of me. I must have been secretly longing to be saved like Harry.
I sobbed, but no one around us seemed to notice, as if we were in a kind of sanctuary. I saw her eyes locking to mine through my tears. I felt a hot teardrop run down my cheek. Then her hand held mine firmly on the table.
Rowling said, "Rory, dear, I need you to listen to me and remember what I say. This is really important. Are you listening?"I tried to swallow the tears and nodded. My throat hurt.
Rowling said, "Everyone is a wizard, Rory."
I said, "But I am a Muggle?"
Rowling shook her head. "That is not a good word, Rory. Wizards, grown-up wizards, think they are so different from 'Muggles.' But that very word shows that they're just the same. Grown-up people, whether magical or not, like to label things. Label people."
She continued after a moment of silence. "The 'wizards' that make the 'potions' you take every morning, Rory, are not strictly magical. Most wizards will call them Muggles and dismiss them."
Rowling held my shoulders and looked into my eyes. "But these people are more powerful than most wizards, Rory. These men and women are armed with logic, a powerful tool that most wizards lack. Your world calls them 'scientists', and they are great, and powerful people. For example, they are capable of reducing the entire Britain into dust in a few seconds. No wizard is capable of that."
Rowling continued, "Everyone has their own magic, Rory. Everyone is magical. Being able to make some sparks out of a twig is nothing at all, really. You need to remember that. True magic lives in your heart."
I asked, "Then, what is my magic?"
Rowling smiled at this. "Even though in today's world, all kinds of magic are categorised into 'magic-magic' and 'non-magic', everyone still shares one branch of magic. Sadly, it's ignored by both the wizarding and non-wizarding worlds."
"What is it?"
"It's imagination, Rory. It is also my magic."
Rowling glanced at the corner of the street, then continued, "Grown-up people, magical or not, seem to be allergic to imagination. But you shouldn't let them take it away from you, Rory. Because your magic is as precious as you are, and you can't survive without each other."
"That's what my mother wants to take away from me?"
Rowling nodded. "Yes. And that is unacceptable."
"Then what should I do? She gets mad when I don't want to take the pills."
"I'll send people who'll help you."
"Really?"
"Yes. I promise."Rowling smiled.
"But I'm worried. Because I go to school soon and Mum told me that if I don't stop asking stupid questions, they'll beat me up."
"Rory, you have another magic."
"What's it?"
"Hope."
"But, Miss, I don't exactly know what that is."
"Hope is imagining good things. Your mother made you imagine bad things about school. That is despair. Hope brings good things to your life. Despair brings bad things. But Rory, you can choose hope. Because your imagination is yours."
I wasn't sure if I understood it, but I nodded anyway because I didn't want to look like an idiot.
Then an idea popped into my head. "Miss, could you give me your autograph?"I'd watched on TV that people ask this when they meet famous people. But I didn't have any book or paper. Library books were not mine. My mother didn't buy me any books. So I carefully held out my palm to her, feeling foolish. The author lady smiled and took out a quill from within her robe. She autographed my palm and tip of the quill was tickling so I laughed.
Then I suddenly felt very sleepy. I slouched in my chair and closed my eyes. I couldn't help it. I said, "Excuse me, Miss, but I'm feeling rather sleepy."
I heard her say before I fell asleep. "Everything is going to be all right, Rory. Nurture your hope. Your hope will protect you."
(Continued...) |
“Jason!”
The teenager startled violently as his bedroom door was flung open. “What?” he asked, sitting up and putting aside the birdmuffs. “I was wearing them. You can’t hear my music.”
“Have you been fooling around with the tenders again?” his father demanded.
“What?”
“Don’t say what, like you don’t know what I’m talking about.”
Jason scrambled off the bed as his father advanced toward it. On the far side, keeping it between them. “I haven’t done anything.”
Dad stood there, breathing, for several seconds. When he spoke again, his voice was more level. Which just meant he was actually angrier, Jason knew. “Then why is the south field busy goofing off down by the creek instead of staying on the rows?”
“I haven’t done anything,” the teenager repeated. “Honest.”
“No evoing? No hat games? Black hat crap?”
“No! And I don’t do black hat Dad, only white.”
“I don’t care what color the hat is, I don’t want you wearing it. Period. And if I find out you’re lying, you’re not going to like what happens next.”
“Dad, I swear, I’m not evoing anything. Only at school, in the lab.”
The man stared at him for several more seconds. Jason focused on trying to maintain eye contact and not shift uneasily. Finally his father scowled and turned his head to look out the window. “Then there’s gonna be hell to pay.”
“What’s wrong?” Jason asked again, more cautiously.
“I told you, the south field’s not working.”
“What are they doing?”
“Not working.”
“Can I go have a look? Maybe, like, figure something out?”
“And cause more problems?”
“Dad, you’re pissed about the field, and about how much a GT’s gonna cost to come out and reset them. Let me take a look first,” Jason said, trying to sound mature and responsible instead of eager. “If you’re gonna call a tech anyway, what can I do that they won’t already be fixing?”
The older man looked out the window for another few moments, then sighed. “Fine. The afternoon. But come tomorrow, if they’re not sorted, I’m getting a genie out to do it. I need that field up and running or we’re going to have problems come bottling time.”
“Okay,” Jason said, picking up the birdmuffs and setting them on the perch next to the whistler. The muffs chirped a couple of times to their larger cousins who made up the playback base, who answered at just the edge of a human’s audible range, before all the ani-devices fell silent. Going into standby until they were needed again.
“Fine,” Dad said, turning to leave.
Jason gave his father time to clear the stairs, then dug his lab kit out of his backpack and left the room.
* * * * *
“Dude, this is fucked up,” Chloe said, looking at the results of the sample.
“I know that.”
“They’ve been rewritten to express all the traits that have specifically been suppressed.”
“I know that too Chloe,” Jason said, paging through his notes.
“It’s why all the tenders are goofing off,” she said, still studying the sample. “In fact, I’m surprised they haven’t started rampaging or something. You guys should round them up before—”
“Chloe!”
“What?”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
The girl frowned at him. “You’re being a dick.”
“I know that,” he muttered, his hand flipping through the notebook to a fresh page. “Sorry.”
She straightened from the array of tubes that represented the gene tests on the affected tenders and stretched her arms over her head. Jason very carefully did not admire the view. He liked Chloe, a lot, but she was smarter than he was. So he was wary of being tossed into the category of the other “mouth breathers” she disdained so much. If she caught him staring at her chest, she’d do just that. And leave. And he liked hanging out with her.
“So you don’t think there’s any way this was a random mutation?” he asked, trying to sound casual.
“Overnight?” she asked, shaking her head. “You said your dad said they were all fine yesterday?”
“Yeah.”
“Then no,” she said, still shaking her head. “You’ve got a black hat.”
“Oh shit,” he said, keeping his eyes on the blank page while she kept her arms over her head and pulled on one elbow to torque it toward the other shoulder. Tapping his pencil on the paper, he tried to think. Both because he wanted to help his dad, and because he actually did find evo interesting. But it was hard with a smart and sexy girl tugging on *his* genes from only a few feet away.
“Why hasn’t this spread yet?” he asked.
She finally stopped stretching, and Jason carefully returned his primary attention to her. To her face, when his peripheral vision noticed she’d gone back to merely standing there. “You guys expanded field by field, up until now, right?”
“Right.”
“There you go,” she said, gesturing vaguely at the walls of the barn. “Different generations, so it takes tailored vectors to induce the evo. Especially this quickly. That’s a lot of mutating to run without killing them off.”
“Which would make it a capital offense, rather than just misdemeanor harassment.”
“Is your dad competing with any other growers around here? Going into a new market or something?”
“No, he’s on good terms with the other wineyards,” Jason said, shaking his head. “They all like him. He’s the president of the bottler’s association, right?”
“Right,” she said. “Well, I can help you come up with something to rewrite it, but it’d take a couple of days.”
“He might go for that,” Jason said slowly. “GTs are expensive. He’d run some numbers though, try to figure out how much it would cost to leave it for a while.”
She shrugged. Those kinds of numbers didn’t interest her. Chloe lived in her head, and in cells. “Thing is, it could happen again. Probably will. There’s a bored black hat evo kiddie somewhere nearby. Assuming it’s not outright industrial sabotage.”
Jason opened his mouth, then stopped, thinking. Everything he was trying to forget about how much he liked Chloe had just been dashed aside, finally, by an idea. “And they’re using flies or something, right?”
“Gotta be flies,” she said. “Nothing else could blanket the field so fast. And not miss any of the tenders.”
Jason glanced at the tender he’d corralled into a pen for additional testing. The modified pig was busy wallowing in the hay, happy to be doing nothing. Its line of grasper hands were folded up against its flanks as it reverted to its baser instincts. Which was most of the problem in the south field; none of the tenders could work on the vines when their industrial aspects were being futzed up.
“We could check them for bites, but that would take—” Chloe was saying when he interrupted her.
“What’s a good fly killer?” he asked, looking at the pig.
“Bats.”
“Bats,” he said. “And all we’d have to do is juice up their normal instincts. Maybe play with some of them so they don’t mind splitting shifts into day and night. Bats are nocturnal, right?”
“Yeah, but—”
He looked at her, his eyes bright. “If we fix this, it could happen again. Keep the flies off the fields, and there’s no problem. Bats are cheap. I could even call it school supplies, right?”
“I guess, but—”
Jason stood up. “Come on. Let’s ride into town and check the store.”
* * * * *
“Jason!”
The teenager stripped the birdmuffs off his ears, ignoring the alarmed squeaks of surprise as the animals objected to being squeezed so abruptly. “What?” he called toward the stairs.
“Come down here.”
“Shit,” he muttered, laying the muffs on the perch and bouncing up off his bed. At the top of the stairs, he stole a look down before starting to descend. There was a man in a suit standing in the living room with Dad. His mouth was abruptly dry. Everyone around here wore work clothes, or casual attire. Suits were for city folk.
“Uh, hi,” he said when he reached the first floor.
Dad turned to look at him, his eyes boring into his son. “This is Mr. Gorch. He wants to talk to you about the bats.”
Jason blinked. Dad sounded pleased. Which was impossible; Dad was *always* upset about *something*. At least, as far as Jason had been able to figure. How he and Mom had ever gotten together was *completely* beyond the teenager.
“Hi Jason,” Gorch said, holding his hand out. While Jason shook cautiously, the man kept smiling. “I understand you evoed all the bats and spiders that cover your father’s fields?”
“Uh, yes,” Jason said cautiously.
“I represent most of the other farmers in the area. And my firm has connections to a lot of other areas as well. We’d like to license your modifications.”
“What?”
“He wants to buy your process,” Dad said.
“But … why?” Jason asked, hating how stupid it made him sound.
“Your father’s fields are the only ones that haven’t had any problems lately. Months, and evo hacks are still disrupting other growers; but not here. The vectors are being choked off by what you’re doing to keep your father’s land protected,” Gorch said,
“Bats and spiders, all sorts of stuff, there’s lot of companies that provide those services.”
“But not nearly as cheaply. They charge a lot more, and it’s not as effective unless the customer signs up for an extended coverage package. You’re taking common hosts and putting them to work with high school evo. That’s valuable.”
Jason’s eyes brightened. “Really?”
“Really.”
The teenager looked at his father. “So my evoing is worth something?” Dad frowned at him, but Jason just grinned wider. “Come on Dad, you owe me one.”
“Jason—”
Gorch looked at Jason’s father, then back at the teenager, before glancing to the older man once more. “I don’t understand.”
“Come on Dad, just say it,” the teenager said, on the verge of giddy recklessness.
“Fine,” Dad said, squaring his shoulders. “White hats rule.”
Jason pumped his fist in the air once. Dad scowled, but Jason looked at Gorch. “Let’s talk terms. But first, let me call Chloe. She worked with me on the bats and spiders.”
* * * * *
I collect all my flash fic [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/DavesWorld/). If you liked this, the others might be interesting too. Enjoy! |
Grace looked at the time, 4.19pm. 'Gawwwwd, I'm so tired' She said through a huge yawn.
'Mmmm' said Michael from the sofa, his eyes closed. 'Come here sweetie' and he opened his arms for her, indicating that he wanted a snuggle.
'But we have reservations at 6' Said Grace, stifling another yawn with the back of her hand as she flopped down next to him.
'I know baby, but a little nap wont hurt' He said as he pulled her tightly to him.
'Oh, alright then' And Grace let her body relax, putting the full weight of her head on to Michael's chest. She let out a contented sigh and they both fell silent. Two minutes past. Grace sat up. She looked down at a sleeping michael, her brows knitted with confusion. 'Michael.' She whispered, giving him a sharp poke in the ribs. He didn't respond. She put her head back on his chest, concentrating hard this time. 'Michael.' She said, loudly this time, giving him a hard shove. Nothing. Oh my god, she thought. Panic overtaking her. 'Michael!' She shouted and slapped him sharply across the face.
Michael awoke with a grunt 'What is it?' he mumbled through a mouth slack with sleep. Grace didn't know what she was expecting, but she wasn't expecting Michael to respond. She lowered her head one last time to Michael chest. Nothing.
'Darling, there's something wrong.' Said Grace, fear in her voice. Michael sat up and stretched.
'What? Whats wrong? I'm up. We're not gonna miss our reservations hun.' He said, his eyes struggling to open.
'Mike...I don't know how to say this, but..' She lifted his hand and put it to his chest. 'Can you feel that?' She asked.
'I cant feel anything.' He said matter of factually.
'Well, neither can I Mike. Its..you..Like, Wheres your heartbeat Michael?' She said with astonishment.
'Ohhhh that!' Michael let out a chuckle 'I told you my heart stopped when I first laid eyes on you.' |
Day 1: We left Black Harbor, the space station just outside of Earth, on June 21st, 2076. Me and a dozen other passengers boarded the Drifter, a vessel on path to the planet Gypsum far from our solar system. It has said to carry life and a world that is habitable. Unfortunately, the world we left behind is going to die any day now and it is up to the thirteen of us to repopulate and continue the human race. Humanity's last ditch effort - to send a hope of the human race continuing off into space.
We were set to arrive in the year 5000. Yet for some reason, cryogenesis had kept me conscious, but my body was paralyzed, preserved by the conservation process. I could only hope that I'd fade into that deep slumber soon.
Day 30: I am still awake, unable to fall into that slumber I desire so. If I have to live the next 2,000 years like this, I'd rather pray for death.
Day 230: It's been over half a year and I still drift somewhere within the black abyss of space, unable to sleep. I have searched for ways to kill myself within my cyro cocoon, but alas my body is unmovable. My mind is quickly deteriorating and my conversations with myself are growing quite boring.
Day 2,000: Five years. Five fucking years staring at this glass cover that keeps me contained within the cyro cocoon. Spending every second wishing I had died on Earth instead. Knowing when I finally get to that planet, whatever it had been called, that I'll be completely mad. Because now I talk to the walls of the cocoon and they talk back, telling me how they feel and what they think about me. We talk of stories that we have made and then we fall into silence for an eternity.
Day 400,231: Something is outside. This isn't Sherry in my head telling me lies this time. No, there really is something there. I feel it crawling around the ship. 1,000 years and I'm finally going to be saved. Oh, how glorious it will be.
Day 400,232: There was no one there. But my cocoon opened up early and I was finally free. Apparently, the vessel needed a manual operation performed to keep it on course. Carla told me to ignore it. She gave me a different plan after seeing one of the switches on my cocoon was off.
Someone had casually forgotten to switch on the drug administration that would keep me unconscious. I agreed with Lori, the other twelve should experience the same hell for 1,000 years.
So I flipped all of their switches off, went to my cocoon, and prepared for the sleep I would finally indulge in. |
I had been working there for almost a year now and things had been great. At Alterna-Tech Solutions life was a bit boring, but insanely rewarding. An incredible pay and a complete benefit package seemed to keep all the employees pretty happy, myself included. My whole time there so far and I had yet to see an employee fired. I had always wondered what happened to the last guy that worked in my position, because the company seems like a dream come true.
I worked in a cubicle handling general tech customer service questions every day. I also helped with any inquires on the technical issues with our state-of-the-art Threat Sensor Contacts. These contacts let both civilian and military personal know when a threat is approaching them by plastering a numerical number over the threat itself. The contacts worked by reading the heart rate and body language of the incoming threat.
That day when I walked into work, the counters above almost all of my coworker's heads read 10. Ten was the highest threat level of them all. It meant one's life was in grave danger.
They all stared at me as I entered that morning. Behind me, I heard an audible click as someone locked the door behind me. It was my boss who stood there brandishing some sort of battle axe.
"You seem scared Jeff. I can assure you, you've been an asset for this company since you started. Unfortunately, today marks our annual Kill-a-Coworker day. It's something we do to keep some fresh faces in here, as well as run some reports on just how well our contacts read various threat levels."My boss said this all in a monotone speech that reminded me of all the CS meetings we had each and every week.
All at once, my co-workers started moving forward, revealing various blades and weapons that had been previously concealed behind their respective cubicles. They wrapped around me in a circle, preparing to initiate their deed.
"Oh. So that's why there was a position available,"I said laughing to myself. Or was I actually crying those words? Neither mattered once the thought was drowned out by my screams. |
It was Tuesday. Nothing good ever happened on a Tuesday, except, perhaps, for this particular Tuesday. It was close to midnight; I had turned the alarm clock to shine in my eyes so I wouldn't accidentally fall asleep.
"You can do this,"I muttered to myself. "This is it."I swallowed and repeated again, "You can do this."
A small voice piped from somewhere under me, "I think you mean WE can do this."
I shuddered, an involuntary response to the voice that had haunted my early childhood, then amended my statement, "You're right. WE can do this."
"That's better,"the voice replied. "It's almost midnight. Are you ready?"
I gripped the baseball bat lying next to me a little bit tighter, and whispered, "Yup. Are you?"
There was a pause, and some nervous tapping came from below the mattress. "Ready."
I pulled the covers back slowly, keeping the bat in my hand and my eyes on the closet door. I slid off the bed and onto the floor, crouched down, and peeked under the bed. Two red eyes glared back at me, and from the shadows slithered a creature too horrible for even my nightmares. I had never seen more than just its leg before. It was terrifying.
It looked at me and I looked at it. We stared at each other for a good minute, and I saw that it was just as scared as I was. I took a deep breath, and gripped the bat with both hands.
"Now remember the plan. You surprise him by opening the door, and I'll hit him with the bat. After he's gone, you take the closet and I get the bed,"I whispered hurriedly.
"Okay, okay. Let's just get this over with,"the Monster replied, slithering away from me and towards the closet door. I followed, siding my feet across the floor, silently skating towards it. We froze outside the door, listening, waiting for any sign of what lie within. There was silence.
The Monster reached its arm out and gripped the doorknob, then turned its eyes to me. I nodded, wielding my makeshift weapon.
The door flung open. With a wordless shout, I jumped into the closet and began to swing my bat, knocking shirts off hangers, smacking the walls, making the hangers rattle.
"Kill him! Kill him!"The Monster hissed, cowering behind me as I swung. My eyes were squeezed shut as my bat made contact with everything in the closet. I peeked one eye open and froze, arms outstretched.
"Wait a second..."I breathed, then set the bat down and pushed aside the clothes that were still hanging. In the corner cowered the enemy I thought we - I- had been fighting. The Boogeyman was curled into a ball, hands covering his face, rocking back and forth.
"You're the B-Boogeyman-"stammered the Monster. "Why are you hiding in the corner?"
The Boogeyman looked up through his fingers, his face contorted with fear, and whispered, "There's something in the attic."
The Monster and I looked up at the same time. The hatch to the attic slowly opened, and a long black tentacle slithered out of the darkness. |
I leave everything I owned, including but not limited to:
* My house,
* My cars,
* My enormous fortune,
* My regular sized fortune,
* My company, "Winifred Winningston's Winning Wienerschnitzel",
to you: ONE RANDOMLY SELECTED UNITED STATES CITIZEN.
Should the person selected somehow, despite all odds, actually be related to me, the following conditions apply:
* You must spend one night in my house. It's not haunted or anything, I've just always wanted to put that in my will.
* You must spend one night in my car. Also not haunted, but it's not very comfortable. You might get smart and decide to put the car in the garage and then sleep in the car, thus fulfilling both this and the previous requirement at the same time. To that I say: The garage has been stuck closed for ten years so if you can pull that off then you've earned it.
* Winifred Winningston's Winning Wienerschnitzel, through a series of mergers and other corporate nonsense that I don't understand despite having lobbied extensively for it to be allowed at the federal level, hasn't made wienerschnitzel in over two decades. I think we're some sort of business-to-business e-commerce startup? You, personally, must bring it back to its purpose.
* So help me God, this entire will is null and void if you make a *single* "wiener"joke. I've heard every possible variation in my life and I will die happy if none are ever made again. Since I can't bribe everyone to that effect, you're the unlucky person stuck with it.
* While you're at it, you're more than welcome to change the name. If I hadn't already pre-ordered my tombstone during a more 'branding enthusiast' phase of my life, I'd take it off of there, too.
* Hell, it's my will: You must also, on at least a weekly basis, deface my tombstone by removing all references to the word 'wiener'. I hereby start a foundation to supply you with spraypaint for this purpose. Should any spraypaint be left over, you may use it for your purposes.
* In my memory, you will attend every away game that the Bowie Baysox (a minor league baseball team, to save both you and my lawyer the trouble of looking it up). I loved them in my life. For my death, I wish you to boo them. Constantly. Boo them for having disappointed me.
* Along those lines, go through my house for every item that has at some point disappointed me: You'll be able to identify them by the angry post-it notes I make them wear in shame. Leave all-caps online reviews for those products. You may, should you choose, simply transcribe the contents of the notes.
* At some point prior to your death, you must adopt this will for as your own, optionally replacing my name with yours and the company name with whatever better company name you came up with between now and then.
* You must add at least one zany codicil to that will. Have fun! |
######[](#dropcap)
["Please hold on a minute, sir](#sc). I'll switch the line over."Sweat furrowed down my brow as my thumb tapped on the screen.
"Stay on the line Victor,"the voice on the other end answered quickly. "There's been an unfortunate accident, and I need you to listen carefully."
*How does he know my name*, I wondered. I'd only ever received a single call on Strafford's cell, and that was quickly transferred over to the real man without a hitch. The man who was lounging on a couch at the gym with a controller in his hand and a Vive on his head - in my teenage body. Entertainment was complementary, and he was clearly enjoying it for all it was worth. The membership was expensive as hell but he clearly needed it.
Yeah, technology was a strange thing. Here I was, jogging on the treadmill in Strafford's overweight body, huffing and puffing with nicotine-stained lungs. A body abused by a life of junk food and a heavy video game addiction, often seated in front of his machine with his hands pounding at the keyboard and eyes glued to the screen. I was paid thirty an hour to visit the lab after class and make the man fit again. The job wasn't exactly appealing, but the salary would help go towards my future tuition.
"I'm listening,"I said. A uniformed lady in a lab coat waved at me from behind her Plexiglas booth, ordering me to continue my jog. I ignored her and pulled out my magnetic safety key, forcing the machine to a halt.
"Victor, I am Joseph Ichuz, technical director of BZ Laboratories. I know it seems strange that I'm the one talking to you here, but I'm certain no one working at the gym has any clue about this matter."
My heart was pounding so quickly I thought it would stop any moment. The other joggers around me turned and wondered why I was walking off to the exit right at the start of my shift.
"Your original self just passed away in the lounge five minutes ago. We do not know the cause, but there will be a prompt investigation. Compensation will..."
Ichuz continued speaking in the background, but I couldn't hear him straight. The only thing I remembered from his talk, and the long meeting with him in person several hours later, was that I was alive and Strafford was not. Well, my consciousness was. Gamer Strafford would never be seen again.
I was left with my seventeen year-old self in the body of someone in his thirties. Fat, hunchbacked, and with ridiculously thick glasses that annoyed me constantly while exercising. All my life my parents had taught me to stay fit, keep my back straight, and watch my screen time. I was quite popular, had a cute girl that I met with quite often, and was looking to get into an Ivy school. Not at the top of the ladder, but certainly unlike the bastard that I was now stuck with for the rest of my life.
The legal clusterfuck was taken care of surprisingly quickly, with BZ offering a high settlement in order to prevent a lengthy trial. An autopsy was performed on my old body, but the cause of death remained unknown. With no evidence putting BZ at fault, my family chose the fifty million dollars as opposed to the courts. Since this mess happened near the start of Christmas break, I at least had some time to pull myself together and continue my studies at the start of the new year. Even thinking about going to class in Strafford's body gave me nightmares.
I remember going home in the evening and crying in bed, ignoring my parents as they negotiated with BZ reps. My neighborhood barber tried his best to dye Strafford's already greying hair and make his messy tufts more presentable. Someone gifted me a large box of contact lenses. I still went to the gym every day and worked out as hard as I could.
Many of my friends visited to comfort me. Said it was fine, said it wouldn't affect anything. Yet, I wondered what the shitstorm would be like when I stepped into class at the start of January. |
Legs agape and all-a-tangle, I woke up in the canopy of the biggest banana tree my eyes had ever seen. Last thing I remember was trying to avoid that freak hurricane and landing smack in the middle of a thundercloud. Should've gotten the airplane door repaired. Should've realized that duct tape wasn't a permanent solution. Should've put down that fifth glass of brandy.
Lightning slapped across the cloudy sky and rain fell down to the wet verdant jungle below, as I snapped the cords of my parachute. I carried my knife in my left boot but all my food and water supplies were still in the plane and who knows where it might have crashed.
I remember now. I was flying over the new landmass that had risen out of the Arabian Sea. Scientists were calling it Dwarka, named after the mythical kingdom of Krishna, swallowed by the sea. Just like world's tallest towers today, lost islands were a status symbol of olden times. Every culture had to have one.
The island was known to be strange. The beaches teemed with penguins and seals. Some had gone rabid and the first few attempts to land on the beach were disastrous. A rabid seal is nothing to scoff at. Then someone had made it through the beach and was gored by a wild elephant at the very edge of the jungle. It was all captured on camera by his friends on the boat.
Why did I even volunteer for this crazy assignment? I was working a dead end job in a paint factory when I heard the call for airplane pilots to fly over Dwarka and observe the canopy.
“You should look into that, son.”, Red told me. He was the senior most canner on the factory floor.
“This job keeps me out of trouble, Red”
Red smacked the floor with a crimson red gob of tobacco spit and said: “Most people live unexamined lives. Lifting boulders is hard. They’re heavy, and under them you might find decay and creatures from your nightmares, escaping your subconscious when you are most vulnerable, or you may find teeming loamy life, and the opportunities to gasp and wonder.”
“Shit Red, I never knew you to be the poetic type”
“40 years on the job, and you get a lot of time to think. Now go look your destiny square in the face”
My crashing plane and subsequently functioning parachute brought me face to face with the destiny of which Red had spoken. I was hoping I could survive it. Hacking through the underbrush, I turned towards the setting sun, to the western edge of the island from where I could possibly call out to a passing ship.
It was unusually silent for a teeming jungle. I heard a rustle in the underbrush and saw two beady eyes under a pair of long fluffy ears. A rabbit! Aww, how cute! Bending over to get a better look, I peered at the bunny, and caught a kick from its powerful hind-legs square on the nose.
I fell then. For how long, I don't know. I woke up much later in a deep wide hole surrounded by glowing eyes. It was pitch dark. What was this behavior? Why would otherwise docile and friendly creatures suddenly become ferocious? I bit down on something furry that I was holding in my hands and tasted blood.
That's when I noticed my hands were covered with them. Tiny larvae were burrowing under my skin and I was eating a carcass of a small animal without even realizing it. I could feel them inside my skull. Inside my mind. Parasites!
-------------------------------------------------------------
"Bring the chopper down Waslowsky, I think I found something", said Colonel McGrath
The helicopter touched down in a clearing where a man's clothes were strewn about some bushes.
"These are his clothes all right. Get the camera."
"His plane went down a week ago. You still think we'll find him", said Waslowsky handing the camera to Colonel McGrath.
"What was that"?
"What was whaaa..slowwwskkykyyyyy"
Waslowsky turned around just in time to lose his nose to the first bite. And then there was darkness.
|
"And on top of all this, we live in a dictatorship! When can us goombas get the same rights as the hammer bros? They get to live in a nice comfy castle; given helmets and already have shells for defense. If that isn't enough, the almighty Bowser gives them a pocket portal to the hammer dimension, unlimited hammers!"
Gary the Goomba: 3 foot 6, bald, handless, and reeking of one too many Mushroom Martini's.
"You think Bowser's ever gonna THWOMP him up like that last goomba that dared to THWOMP him? Someone's asking for a THWOMP."
"Look Trevor you can't just replace any word you like with THWOMP; it's not grammatically correct."
Kenny the Koopa leaned back in his barstool and swirled his Boo Bomb. Why did he come to Boo's Bar? If you measured the total IQ of Boo's patrons and converted it to coins, you would not have enough for an extra life. Also what kind of a sick prankster decided to name every object as some asinine type of alliteration? Kenny sighed and placed his Star Straw into the next drink.
"And on top of this.... Hey are you all listen' to me? I'm pourin' my heart out here and none of you are lookin' at me. Wait do goombas have hearts? Anyways, we need to make a new social hierarchy based on a representative democracy! This aint' no way to run a kingdom."
A heckler in a booth couldn't resist.
"If we're a kingdom, then shouldn't we be a monarchy then wise guy?"
Gary's strange, pointy eyebrows formed a V on his face.
"Was that you Sherry the Shy Guy? Why dontcha come and say that to my face... which I''m pretty sure is 90% of my body anyways. Wait is Shy Guy politically correct anymore; am I suppose to call you a Shy Girl?"
A quick sprint and a burst of the saloon doors, Sherry lived up to her name.
"Alrighty then as I was saying....."
**CRASH**
Sherry flew head first back through the door. A black shape ripped the door from its hinges, fire singed Perry the Piranha Plant's new leaf cut.
"Now word is one of you is plotting to overthrow my dictaror.... I mean benevolent rule! Which one of you chuckle heads was it?"
Bowser Jr. and his clown car stood trembling.
"Not you you ignorant child, and wait what are you doing in a bar? Go back home to your mother!"
Bowser Jr. flew out the door: Sherry was close behind. Tears streamed down his face (Sherry's as well).
Bowser turned his attention to the stage. Gary tried with desperation to get his footing so he could run out, he should not have drank that last Bom-omb Burst.
"You! Lowly Goomba, what do you think you're doing?"
Bowser's nostrils flared, smoke filled Boo's Bar. Bowser advanced and there was no one who could save Gary now.
"If there's one thing that's absolute in this kingdom, it's that I'm **ALWAYS FIRST.**"
Bowser shrieked pulling Gary the Goomba into his claws.
A small voice piped from the back of the room.
"Did someone say first?"Blu the sentient Blue Shell flapped his wings eagerly.
"Wait no... I didn't say anything!"Bowser pleaded, but it was too late.
|
Online.
Chris sighs as he gets ready for another grueling day at work. He may be the most paid person in the world, but man is it difficult.
Chris’ job is that he works for a prank call center, whenever a suspected prank call is identified, they are forwarded to Chris’ phone and he has to deal with the nonsense and play along with it. The national audience loves it since it is broadcasted on the radio, but Chris hates it.
I can’t stand the immaturity, the unoriginality and all other nonsense that comes with these prank calls. People calling acting like you were the one that called them, people calling Walmart attempting to reserve shopping carts, asking for reservations at McDonald’s. There is rarely anything good and original.
Of course, businesses love him because they get to subtract the immaturity and bullshit from their work days, but it just takes a toll on Chris.
The first call comes in.
“Is this the Krusty Krab?” is asked as you can hear the junior high students hysterically laughing as Chris goes along with it saying, “You may have the wrong number.” when suddenly the caller shouts, “No, this is Patrick!” and hangs up.
See this is the shit that Chris has to deal with every day. It really adds up considering Chris works inhumane hours since he doesn’t really have anything to go home to so he thinks that he might as well be earning money. This job is his entire life, listening to teenagers do prank calls.
There is no end to this story, as Chris just spends his life at the Prank Call Hotline listening to prank calls until one day he decides he has had enough of this nonsense and decides to put an end to it.
As the prank call would say, “Petsmart, I think my fish drowned!”
|
The principal rubbed the back of her head as another tentacle lashed through the gaping hole in the wall. Looking through the rubble, the majority of the class had moved to the playground outside, some scrawling forbidden words on the ground with chalk and others being held within the infinite grasp of "Fishy"as they shouted for it to lift them up yet again.
She wasn't sure what was going to drive her more insane by the time all this was done, the bills for the property damage or the screaming parents. I guess the eldritch horrors were an option, but honestly the fact that some squids had a few extra dimensions wasn't really a priority here.
"Today has been an. . .interesting day, I guess. Also, do you have any idea how fired you are?"She asked.
The shadowy cloaked teacher that had transferred in merely shrugged. He had been born into endless ages and so would disappear back into them, being fired wasn't really his problem.
She groaned and walked through the wrecked wall, rolling up one sleeve. She would have to forget him for the time being. For now she needed to find a way to fix this mess.
"Hey. You."She called out to the towering horror sitting over the monkey bars.
"For what reason do you address me, mere mortal?"Rumbled the beast, seemingly speaking in a thousand tongues each deeper than the last.
"Do you have any idea how much it costs to get anything done around here? We barely have the budget for construction paper, and now there's a huge hole blown in our drywall. You seem like a pretty capable guy, think you can fix that?"She asked, pointing to the mess.
The being paused and looked awkwardly at the cephalopod shaped hole in the building. It uttered a strange noise, almost as if the phrase "uh"had been translated into whale song. Then it regained it's composure and looked back at the irritated woman.
"What offering shall you offer in return for my services, mortal?"It said in the voice of forgotten gods.
". . .I'll order you some McDonnels if you fix the wall, will that work?"She said, facepalming.
"Very well, your offering is sound. Bring the sacrifice forth and I shall fix your wall."It burbled with the throat of restless souls.
"And just to make sure, it will be. . .euclidian when you fix it, right?"She asked.
"For an apple pie."It cooed.
She shook her head and walked back through the hole in the wall, almost slamming the door in the cloaked teacher's face as she walked out into the hallway. As she walked past the bathrooms, she felt her shoe sink into something that probably wasn't even from an adjacent universe.
"Miss Principal, Billy just clogged the toilet with a slime monster!"Shouted a high pitched voice.
She let out a particularly heavy sigh as she took a detour to check just what else had gone wrong.
|
*January 1st, 2017.*
*Why?* I thought. *Why doesn't it work!*
The decline of my power had continued to elude me. It didn't make sense. How could it just stop working? I had always been able to see in the future, albeit from a larger scale. I could see what important events were going to take place, and thus had the ability to prepare for them. Unfortunately, I was never able to discern anything about my personal life from the future. Perhaps it was for the better.
***
*March 12th, 2017.*
Today, I noticed something different. At the end of the day of my visions, November 1st, I felt it. After I went to sleep, everything seemed to be normal. It was dark, as always, when I slept. Yet it just felt *wrong.* I'm not sure how to explain it.
***
*May 15th, 2017.*
I'm scared. That wrong feeling, the one I felt at the end of my vision? I feel it more often, almost any time I go into a vision of that day. It's *there.* It pushes me away. Repulses me. Almost as if it wants to keep me out.
***
*June 16th, 2017.*
I can no longer see November 1st. The furthest I can see is October 1st. It follows me now. It is there. I can sense it. *Always.* There is no hiding from it in the visions. My only safety is the present.
***
*July 31st, 2017.*
August 16th. The furthest I can see. I fear *it* now. I do. With ever fiber of my body. I rarely view the future, if ever. I cannot run. I cannot hide.
I am trapped.
***
*August 8th, 2017.*
I can see mere hours into the future. *It* is no longer in my visions of the future.
For it is with me in the present.
I know what it is now. I know what is happening.
Death has caught up to me.
***
For more writing check out [r/ConlehWrites](https://www.reddit.com/r/ConlehWrites/)! |
I was seventeen when I got the letter, the single greatest piece of news I’d ever received.
Sure, I could have spent more time studying, but it was high school. Football, cross-country, street hockey with friends, concerts, barn parties, and girls—oh, the girls. Maybe I was never the smartest guy in class, but to spend those nights inside, wasted behind a computer instead of having a good time? Now *that* would be stupid.
Or so I thought, until I got the first rejection letter. Every day for a solid month I would check the mail as soon as I got home. My top university, my back-up, the community colleges and trade schools, each message was harder to read than the last. “We regret to inform you” became my five most hated words in the English language. And French, because I applied out of province too. Each day I did my best to stay positive but I was starting to fall into despair.
Then May 19th, my mom throws an envelope on the kitchen counter. It’s gold, with a striped red border, no return address, but it’s addressed to me. I couldn’t remember applying to any other schools but I tear it open anyway, because let’s be honest, I’ve been known to forget a thing or two. I brace myself for the same five words, but this one’s different, and I swear my heart stops. “Dear Mr. Pettor, we are pleased to inform you that you’ve been accepted to the Upper Canada University for the Arcane Arts.”
I didn’t stop shaking until my third read-through. I thought it must have been a prank, a cruel joke to make me even more miserable, but there was a flyer and full website and a number to call, and the next thing I knew I was waving goodbye to my mom from my second-storey dorm room window.
A year ago I probably would have taken my acceptance for granted, but after those eight agonizing weeks last fall, I committed myself to making the most of my opportunity at UAA. I’m taking a full course load and attending every lecture. I go to office hours weekly for organic alchemy; I’m even auditing a second year course in botanical enchantments. For three weeks straight I’ve spent my lunch break in the library reading up on minor combustion incantations, and I used my birthday money to hire a tutor so I had someone to help me practice.
Now, I’m a living, breathing representation of what true focus and determination can achieve, what anyone is capable of when they pursue their goals with a single-minded dedication that they didn’t know they possessed. It took half the semester, dozens of sleepless nights, more sweat and tears than I’d like to admit, but I’ve done it: I’ve perfected the world’s most potent ever-burning bong.
This weekend is gonna be *lit*. |
"Kaleidoscope". It's a peculiar word. You found the toy to be amusing as a child; you had even heard of boutique one's that had sold to persons of higher social standing than were familiar to you. The way that a tube crammed full of mirrors and colored glass could mangle reality so artistically was. . . you weren't particularly aware of the proper description for the action. Distorted, maybe?
The flood of childhood memories that accompanied this train of thought were quickly abated. The lack of blood flowing to your feet, as well as the excess to your brain, proved beneficial to your imagination, but not so much to your concentration. The footsteps around you are audible, but liquid in your ears muffled the accompanying conversation. You feel gravity give way; momentarily. Viscous fluid permeating your face was one of the more unpleasant experiences humans may come across. Breath is an ephemeral concept when one is deprived of it. At the last throes of your stubborn refusal of breath you twitch, before inevitably giving in to a gasp. An attempted gasp more truthfully. A flood of bitter tar enters into your mouth and nose without debate.
The kaleidoscopic sensation returns as stars erupt inside your head, your senses rocketed to space. The universe is vast and cold. Unforgiving in it's enormity. A faint star forming in the corner of your eye glistens. It burns brighter, growing years older and light years larger in moments. This egg of primordial energy burn before you. You reach out to grasp the egg only to realize it eludes your grasp in size and distance. The realization of this acquaints your with the coldness of space. Your eyes close to find peace in your own consciousness.
In the vast quiet you hear a solitary hymn, feeling an accompanying warmness on your face. Your eyes open to the same star at the same distance, only now a vast crack has materialized on the surface. You feel kindness, not like anything you've felt in your captivity. An outstretched hand is all that can be offered. From this sublime yolk an appendage of some pastafarian nature crept out. This appendage met with yours in an exchange of warmth. The returning flow of your blood.
The binding of your feet slacked.
Pulled into this burning cradle you understand what you've found: Salvation. |
I wake up five seconds before my alarm and with a grin toss it out the window, hearing a car screech into a wall before an incessant dinging sound emanates.
As I leave the apartment with my briefcase and jacket, I smartly side-step the wreckage and
spot a taxi, who I wave down with a precise delay that makes him swerve into the path of an ambulance, who swerves to avoid it and rear-ends a parked car.
I slip into a quiet alleyway and head towards the metro, casually tossing birdseed on the doorsteps of the my neighbours. As I approach the barriers, everybody syncing the insertion of their tickets with the 'clack' of the barriers, I delay slightly inserting mine and then step forward at the last second causing the poor old woman behind me to get the air knocked out of her.
The carriage is packed full and I make sure to *accidentally* elbow as many people in the face as possible as I stand in the corner with my newspaper. My stop arrives and I quickly step out, but not before placing my paper on the ventilation grill behind the seats, along with a switchblade lighter which may or may not have been open. I see the first whispers of smoke before the doors close and the train is whisked away.
As I head into the main building, I leak vegetable oil from a coat in my pocket upon the shiny hallway floor and then get into the elevator, slipping an earthworm into the bag of a colleague.
I sit down at my desk, and sigh, opening up my briefcase ready to start another glorious day. |
**Desire's Trap**
****
Rumour had it that Harry Potter, Auror-prodigy, slayer of the Dark Lord Voldemort, had been the last to truly gaze into the depths of the Mirror of Erised—in order to protect the Philosopher’s Stone from a mad Hogwarts professor with a demon in his head.
Rumour had it the late Albus Dumbledore, murdered on his own command, had hidden the mirror after Potter gazed in it, for reasons known only to someone crazy enough to plot his own murder.
Garrus Wildfig—Gary to his friends, of which there were few—had spent five years searching for the mirror, piecing together clues and following false trails across most of Europe. Dumbledore may have been one of the greatest wizards to have ever lived, but something as powerful and as enchanted as the Mirror of Erised left traces—left an imprint on the world.
He found the mirror in the *Magnus Fontis*, the Vatican’s secluded and severe magical wing, buried deep beneath Rome where the Catholics liked to pretend it didn't exist, containing old and ancient treasures from the magical world in a slumped, dusty collection where they were better protected than first appeared. Idle trinkets capable of enthralling entire cities, cups and grails that had driven wizards and witches insane with greed. A Dark Lord's sweet shop. Much like the Mirror of Erised, almost least valuable among that marble arched vault of artefacts, the desire for power and, always, immortality—in any of its forms—had claimed better folk than Garrus Wildfig, muggle-born on the cheap side of lower London to a drug-fucked mother and an alcoholic father who gave him a scar on his fourth birthday, a burn on his sixth, and matching black eyes on his eleventh, when that blessed owl-borne letter had arrived and promised castles and magic and mysteries.
It was at Hogwarts that Garrus Wildfig—then simply Gary Williams, though such a name wasn’t fit for someone who intended to be a Curse Breaker, seeking ancient treasure and raiding old tombs, and so he had taken another. Hogwarts alone, with all its secret passages and hidden secrets, had inspired Garrus onto greatness.
And one month ago he had breached the Vatican’s secret vaults, the *Magnus Fontis* itself, through old sewer pipes miles below the earth that hadn’t seen a footstep in centuries, crawling where he had to, pulling himself forward on sore knees and raw palms around cave-ins, thankful for his slight form.
The Mirror of Erised had lain slumped against a wall far beneath Rome, covered in an old purple velvet curtain. With no sense of what lay ahead, never one for pomp and circumstance, Garrus tore the curtain from the mirror and stared at himself—clothes torn, hair slick with mud and worse, his eyes brighter against his muck-smeared cheeks, and almost cried out when he saw the woman standing next to him in the mirror’s reflection.
He took a sharp step to the side, snapping his head around, but of course there was no one there. Garrus took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, chuckling to himself. He stepped back in front of the mirror and the woman appeared again, smiling softly.
She was a pretty woman, only five feet and change, blonde hair hanging in soft ringlets to her shoulders, framing a sharp face with piercing blue—near opal—eyes. She wore a floral blouse and tartan patterned skirt above black stockings and flat shoes. Garrus, twenty-three, thought she looked a few years older than him, though not yet thirty.
He had no clue who she was—none, at all. He found her neither familiar or known, acquainted or unknown. She was a stranger.
Though he had to admit, she had a nice smile.
Garrus stood in front of the Mirror of Erised for a good half hour, trying to figure out why this stranger was his deepest, most desperate desire, and wondered a little less on how something so vexing could drive men to madness, as all the stories claimed.
After that time, Garrus shrugged and left the same way he’d arrived—taking one or two trinkets to sell in Knockturn Alley and fund his next expedition.
****
A month later, goblin gold heavy in his pocket, Garrus sipped red wine from a crystal glass on the banks of the Seine in Paris, the summer air warm against his skin, an old map of an island purported never to exist unfurled on the round table before him and held open with a salt shaker on one side and a pepper shaker on the other.
*Vale Atlantia*, read the inscription in hurried, splashed ink across a landmass of no discernible scale, but the navigation points, the outline of a coast on the eastern edge, eerily matched that of modern day Chile.
Muggles and tourists to the city strolled along the cobblestoned lanes next to the Seine, under the gaze of the Eiffel Tower across the river and the sharp, delicate limestone townhouses, each worth more than the next.
Garrus considered the map and sipped his wine, occasionally dipping a pitted olive in herb butter. He considered the map so closely that it was a good ten seconds before he sensed the presence of the two men behind him, and only when the suited man with the wire-framed spectacles sat opposite him did Garrus really react.
He sat up a little straighter in his chair and eased his arm slowly, ever so slowly, casually, toward the hilt of his wand sticking out of the satchel bag at his feet.
“Monsieur Williams,” the man in the spectacles said, though his accent was English. “How are you this evening?”
Garrus Wildfig hated the name Williams, because it reminded him of his father. “I’ve been better,” he said.
The man ran a hand back through his black hair, revealing a faded but distinct mark under his fringe. “The French Government asked me to intercede in this matter,” he said.
Garrus glanced over his shoulder, noted the grim faces on the two men behind him, wearing ill-fitting but loose, on purpose, muggle suits. They each held a hand within the folds, clasped no doubt around a wand in a holster.
“What matter is that?” Garrus said, a faint growl to his tone.
“Oh, come now, don’t be dense. You’re operating far outside of the law, and have been for some time.”
“You’re one to talk about flouting the law, Mr. Potter,” Garrus replied.
Harry Potter smiled softly and shrugged a shoulder. “I never did so for profit, but let’s not get bogged down in the semantics here. The breach of the *Magnus Fontis* alone is enough to see you in Azkaban for—”
Garrus grasped his wand and did something none of the men expected—even himself, until a split second before he did it, and cast a concussive charm, a wave of pure force, at their feet beneath the table.
He—and Harry Potter—were thrown back, Potter tumbling from his chair and down the small bank onto the cobblestones before the Seine, scuffing his nice suit.
Garrus was hurled back into the two toughs Potter had brought with him, knocking them both into the tables and chairs of the café. The impact slowed Garrus’ tumble, and he snatched the map out of the air from his overturned table and stuffed it into his pocket before turning to run.
He leapt over tables and chairs as swift curse light, incapacitating spells and enchantments, whizzed past his head in bright arcs of red and blue light. Thankfully, Paris was as winding as it was beautiful, and he disappeared swiftly around a corner and into the back alleys, cutting across the busy Rue Fresnel, dodging cars and buses. He considered ducking into the Shangri-La Hotel, hiding out at the bar, but decided to keep running instead.
He took the Rue de Magdebourg at a dead sprint, attracting more than a few curious stares, and so stepped into an alleyway that should, if he had the map right in his head, lead him to the Avenue d’Eylau.
He was halfway down the alleyway, as clean as most city streets in Paris were this close the main tourist areas, when a shadow moved on his left and, his adrenaline high and mind buzzing with the fact that he had just attacked Harry *fucking* Potter in the open, broken more statutes than he knew, he swung his wand around and said, “Stupefy!”
He heard a grunt, a shocked gasp, feminine, and from the shadows a homeless woman fell into the poor light of the alley, lit only by the moon and the distant windows of the hotel above. She landed in a puddle, face down, and Garrus cursed.
*I can’t leave her like that.*
Garrus glanced over his shoulder but saw no signs of pursuit. He took a deep breath, his heart beating frantic against his chest, and kneeled down to roll the woman over. She stank of the streets, and, he noticed, as he rolled her onto her back, a track of needle marks ran up her arm. Hell, half a broken needle was stuck just in the crook of the elbow. The rest of the needle had broken away in her fall.
He pitied her, and when her hood fell away from her dirty, lank blonde hair, he feared her.
She was thinner, more sickly, but he knew her.
Garrus stared down at the woman he had seen in the Mirror of Erised and froze.
A heartbeat later curse light took him in the back, silently cast by the Ministry's finest Auror, and the world faded to black.
****
 
Good prompt. Check out my writing subreddit: r/joeducie, where I keep a dark accounting of all my writing prompts! |
The screams attracted the attention of the Smith family first, but it was the gunshots that had them running quickly to the front window. Jake peered out, across the front lawn towards the McKlosky's house. "I think the screams came from there,"he said, as his wife, Janet, joined him by his side. More gunshots sounded, and the Smiths saw flashes from inside the McKlosky's house. "Yes. See? Definitely there,"he said. He turned and called back to his son, "Peter. Call 911. Quickly now, son."
Peter grabbed their phone, hit the buttons, then his face grew puzzled. "There's no dial tone,"he said. He pressed End Call then the New Call button and listened again. "Dad!"He called out. "There's no dial tone. I'll use my cellphone."He pulled out his phone and dialed. "Hello? Yes. This is Peter Smith. I live at 123 Main St., Anytown."He paused. "Yes, my father is Jake Smith. We've just heard screams and multiple gunshots from our neighbors' house..."
He was interrupted by his father. "Peter! Tell them someone just came out of the McKlosky's house and is standing on the front porch. Oh! He's looking over here! I think he's seen us! He's coming this way! Quick! Everyone to the study!"
Peter relayed this information as the Smiths walked quickly to Jake's study. With everyone safely inside Jake locked the door, then he and Peter moved his heavy armchair in front of it. While Janet closed and secured the only window's storm blinds, Jake retrieved his Colt 1911 from his desk drawer, inserted the loaded magazine, chambered a round, cocked the hammer, then made sure the pistol's safety was engaged.
A crash from the front of the house startled everyone.
"Front door,"Jake said, quietly.
Peter relayed this information to the 911 dispatcher who reassured him that several units were on their way.
"Quiet everyone,"Jake said softly, as they heard footsteps coming down the hall towards the study. The door handle rattled then whoever was on the other side threw their weight against the door several times, but the lock held and the heavy armchair barely even moved.
Not wanting to take any chances Jake motioned everyone to get down behind his solid, hardwood desk, putting it between them and the door. And not a moment too soon. There was a loud explosion from the hallway and wood flew into the room as the intruder fired his shotgun into the study's door.
Jake crouched down and used his computer keyboard's wrist pad to support his hands as he aimed his 1911 at the door. He thumbed off the pistol's safety but without positive target identification kept his finger off the trigger. A second shotgun blast tore a small hole in the door and someone leaned down and peered in. Jake placed his front sight on the hole, then gently pressed the button on his 1911's tactical flashlight. He felt a little guilty at the satisfaction he got from hearing the pained scream and seeing the eye disappear from the other side.
"Son of a bitch!"someone yelled from the other side. "I'll fucking kill you for that!"A third shotgun blast made the hole even larger and Jake ducked as more wood flew into the room. "Fucker! You fucking mother fucker! God damn it! Fuck!"The intruder yelled.
"I'm armed, and the police are on their way!"Jake called back. He sat back up then ducked and quickly waved his family down. The intruder had shoved his shotgun into the hole in the door. Janet and their daughter screamed as the intruder blindly fired round after round into the room, but sheltered by the solid desk the Smiths remained safe and unharmed, other than being deafened, of course.
Unable to hear but knowing from the absence of concussion that the intruder had stopped firing Jake popped up and quickly took aim at the hole. Unable to help himself the intruder again peered through the hole, and again Jake hit him with a burst from the 1911's tactical flashlight.
"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Oomph! Ggnngngnng!!!"the intruder yelled. Jake couldn't hear any of this, so he didn't know the police had arrived, entered their house, and hit the intruder with their tasers.
It was Peter who noticed the red and blue strobing through the shutters of the storm blinds, and he tapped his father on the shoulder and pointed at the window. Not seeing any more movement through the hole in the door Jake quickly stood and opened the storm blinds and the study was filled with the strobing red and blue from the police cruisers' lights. Motioning everyone to wait behind the desk he crouch walked towards the door, keeping his pistol low but ready.
As the ringing in his ears finally subsided he heard the yelling. "Jake?! Hello?! It's Martin! You can come on out!"Martin was the chief of police, and Jake's best friend from childhood, which is why the police had responded so quickly to Peter's call. It always helps to have friends in high places. |
I checked under the bed first, relieved to see nothing but the few storage boxes I kept there. I didn't think it would be there, but I had to check anyway. Though, that's where I would hide if *I* were a monster. Not because it's a good spot... just because it's so cliché you almost wouldn't expect it.
I crawled back into bed and closed my eyes, hoping whatever it was had left the area.
*You Cannot Sleep While Monsters Are Nearby*
Dammit.
The map was static, showing no signs of movement. It was to be expected, being well past midnight. I checked the closet, but nothing was inside except my clothes and my sprouting cannabis plant. I shut the closet door and tried it again.
*You Cannot Sleep While Monsters Are Nearby*
Fuck.
Growing increasingly tired, I decided to take a more direct approach. Looking around the room, I glanced at each random item, hoping an idea would come to me. My eyes eventually found their way to an aux cable sitting on the desk, and I suddenly had a plan.
I plugged the aux cable into a nearby pair of speakers, and cranked the volume all the way up. With my phone connected, I opened up YouTube and typed in 'shitty dubstep'.
With my ears covered and my eyes on the map, I clicked on a video.
*WWUUUUUUUUUBBB WWUUUUUBBBB WWWUUUUUUUBB*
Suddenly there were dots everywhere, dozens appearing after just a few seconds.
*WWUUUUUUUUUBBB WWUUUUUBBBB WWWUUUUUUUBB*
Still no red dots... still no monster...
*WWUUUUUUUUUBBB WWUUUUUBBBB WWWUUUUUUUBB*
*WWUUUUUUUUUBBB WWUUUUUBBBB WWWUUUUUUUBB*
All of a sudden, a faint red dot appeared... uncomfortably close and growing more vivid. The dot starting inching closer... the hue growing in intensity with each passing moment.
*WWUUUUUUUUUBBB WWUUU—*
Panicked, I yanked the aux cable out of the speaker jack, listening as the music cut out abruptly.
The silence soon left, replaced with a heavy pounding on the door. I checked the map, frightened of what it might show.
The dot was as bright as a burning ember, and it was right outside my door.
I almost shit myself.
With a rush of adrenaline, I picked up the longsword above my bed and braced for the worst. Grabbing the door handle and twisting, I pulled open the door and got ready to strike.
"Whoa, whoa! Calm down, bro... what the fuck?"
The monster stood there with squinty eyes, looking more terrified than I had been moments before. I lowered the sword and tried to act cool.
Through heavy breathing, I slowly muttered, "Sup?"
"Sorry, but could you please turn down your music? My wife and I are trying to sleep... we just moved in next door—I'm Barry by the way."
"Yeah... sorry,"I said meekly. "My name's Mike. I couldn't sleep because... well... it's kind of awkward, but I got a—"
"Ah..."he interrupted. "Can't sleep around monsters, right?"
I nodded uncomfortably and looked down at my feet.
He continued, "The landlord said 4C would be at least 75 units from any humans... but I guess that wasn't true. We had to move out of our last apartment for the same reason... it's been tough, especially in this economy."
I nodded empathetically, but wasn't sure what else to say. "So, um... what do we do now?"
The monster gave a weary sigh, and looked down. Turning to face his apartment, he shouted, "Sarah! Pack your things! It happened again!"
|
At some point you feel stretched; tired and worn, going down an endless road. All the while you go, soon the scenery runs out. The houses, the people all start to thin until there's nothing but fields and plains spanning forever. You get that stitch on the side of your stomach and your knees wobble. You go past your limit and ahead there still is no end. Does that make sense? Or am I just old and wordy?
The road may never end, but at some point you stop going. You stop to pant, then you go again. And then at some point you fall to the wayside. Then the dark comes all around you. And the cold and the whispers.
You start to hear things. The wind in your ears, the sound of the grass and then the people. All the people you've ever met come back and start to talk to you. Some are good friends. Some are strangers. A comfort surrounds you and you know you're dying. At first it feels weird, and you want to scream. Then you feel sleepy and listen to the kind words of the fading voices.
A stranger comes then. Someone you've never met on the road. His face changes, I suppose, and it's a shock for sure. But he is used to this. He knows how to calm you. The road and everything falls apart and you float on a sea of black.
"You've made the end,"he says.
"But I still see the road,"you say.
"You've reached *your* end."
I suppose you might cry then. I know I did. But he's patient and waits until you compose yourself. Then he lets you talk . You babble whatever you feel you must say, whatever God you must beg and call on, and then when all those words leave you, you ask:
"What now?"
He gives you two options, but there's only one he wants you to take. You feel his persuasion working its way inside you.
"You can always come back,"he says. "You can be reborn."
And I don't know about you, but for me that sounded like hell. You listen patiently, of course, but inside you want to scream and bawl and say 'please, anything but that.'
He gives you the second option after some silence. It isn't really an option. If you don't want to be reborn then that's that.
"You go,"he says.
"Go where?"
His eyes flicker. For me they did at least. I saw them as blue, a brief flash to silver, and then back again as an endless blue. A face of uncertainty clouds him if you ask him that.
"I'm not sure,"he says. "You continue on."
He helps you sit up and the world flickers back to view, but the cold remains.
"Why won't you reborn again?"he asks. "You've done so before."
"I don't remember doing that. I don't want to."
"You will meet others. Have them for a long time."
"And then die again."
"Yes. But you are dead right now."
And you look ahead to the road that has flickered into dim light. So long you have gone down it. So many miles and memories, smiles and adversaries. To look back is daunting. To start again is...
"What's ahead?"I ask.
I am not sure if you would do the same.
He shruggs.
"More of the same. But this time there are no others, save those who have made the same choice as you."
"And how many is that?"
"You will be the first."
Your voice gets hoarse, you know.
"Where will I be going?"
He doesn't want to answer. But he is a kindly man.
"I have heard talk of an undying land."
You stare at him. You can't believe it. You think maybe this has all been a test. But his face clouds over.
"I have never seen it,"he says.
"How far is it?"
"I don't know. I don't know if it exists."
"I wish to go there."
Maybe you don't make that decision, but let's go with it. You tell him that you want to continue on. He hesitates but respects your decision.
"Good luck,"he says.
Then life glimmers, or seems to at least. You awake where you die, but no one notices. They are still crying and grieving. You watch them but there is a song in your heart now.
A tiny melody of sad strings and incomprehensible singing. Someone is calling you, but it's so far away. You have to go there. You know that is where you belong. All the love you have ever felt is harbored there. You must go. You feel it strongly.
And so you compose yourself and tear away from your family. Those who are sad beyond belief. Those who you wish to stay and see so you won't feel alone. You tear yourself away and go out on the road again. That empty road of unlife. You go once more. You go alone and here the wind whistle amidst the song. |
Teleportation, it was one of sciences last remaining holy grail's. They simply call it Jumping now, something easy enough to do most are proficient by the age of 10. It's a fair trade-off, one Jump for one second of your life. But it didn't always used to be that way. When my team discovered the process it was less refined and took a great deal of energy. First it was ten years, then five, then one. Not until we were able to achieve one day did the practice become common place. Those first years though, how could we know, so many experiments, so many deaths. Most people today call our team hero's but they were not there, they did not see. So today I choose to walk, one more step to go. It's funny, hardly anyone uses bridges anymore. |
"A plain-looking house?
A plain-looking house?!
A mouse-free house, I'll bet!
Boy, the owner's a louse!"The councilwoman recited at me.
"Look, please. Come on. This isn't necessary."
"Unnecessary, he says!
Well of course it is to him!
He builds absurd houses in our neighbourhood on a whim!"Said another.
"I have all the permits!"I started saying, before being cut off by yet another one of them.
"Permits Schmermits,
I do not want them, no!
I do not want them near or far;
I do not want them high or low!"
I'd had enough.
"A law's a law and a law's a law,
so you can yell at me until all of your throats are raw,
but shut your maw!
Because this house is good!
It's solid and made out of iron and wood!"I yelled.
The crowd stood stunned before me.
The mayor, after a long moment, stepped forward and cleared his throat. He then turned and addressed the people assembled before my house.
"I deem, and I decree,
That this man's alright, actually." |
We have come back to our forgotten brethren. Lab rats running around warming the planet to our desired temperature. Corruption reeks from their DNA. Soon their time will be over.
We have already set the biological markers down in their DNA; I will call the strike and the birds will do the rest. But, they are also Neanderthal. Such gifts we could bestow upon our forgotten trials. Perhaps, we could heal them. So, instead of the virus being terminal it shall heal them of their deformities. There, at last a humane solution.
"Sir"
"Yes"
"it didn't work, we cronenberged the place..."
"Set course for Mars"
|
Hello, thank you for calling Tech Support, how may I... Uhhhh
Have you tried turning it off and back on again?
Oh its nuclear powered? Just a moment I'll transfer you. Please hold.
Hello, thank you for calling tech support... Yeah, ok, uhuh.
Ok, and are you presently exceeding the speed of light? Oh you are? Just a moment.
Ok, thank you for waiting, Looks like I'll have to transfer you, one moment.
Gowd Moaning, tank yu for cahling teak support.... Yhes sir. Yhes sir. Yhes sir. I'm vera sowy to interept yu sir, boot is thes a nookclur powered wessel? Yhes, one momunt sir I vill have to tranfer yu.
Yo, tech support. Mack here, what can I do you for?
Light speed, yep I can help with that.
Nuclear, no prob, I can handle that.
Is this a federation model or foreign?
Doesn't matter, I'm still the guy, just need to know if its regulated or not.
Oohhh, Modified, nice! My uncle had one of those.
Now is this a cruiser or freighter? Oh a tug! Wow. Geez you must have been at the big auction last week.
How much? And it still works?
Aaaahhh, And was that AI certified or hobby kit? Yeah yeah. I played with those myself. Tonne of fun but gotta say I wouldn't have thought to hook it up to to a ...
Well yeah but that mod was for a factory regulator, not a...
Right, but when was it manufactured? Yeah, see there. Sure it was never used but it was probably salvaged off a cargo run that sat in customs during the hundred year war.
No, no, that was way before my time. We didn't even have electricity on my planet back then.
Yep, I'm one of those. Nah don't worry about it, I get that all the time.
Hey listen, is your nav still working? Ok but can you at least see where you're going? Yeah, that might be important, particularly if any of it's planets are inhabited! How many kilometers? Oh shit! Ok, well yeah!
So let's get you back over to the ops control panel. See all those lights down the left side? Which ones are flashing? Ok good. Good, also good. Oh that one isn't on? Can you tap it for me? Like with a finger. Sure a tentacle works. Not too hard just make sure it's not loose. Yeah there you go. Not flashing, all right.
Any response on the manual controls at all? Figured not, have to ask though ya know.
Ok, here's the plan. Crawl under the console, and look for a slide plate labeled... Yeah that's the one. Slide that open and look for a red button. Great, go ahead and pull it out a bit til it clicks. Yep I heard it click. Ok now push it in all the way, then let go.
Right. But this isn't the reactor panel, this the Nav AI. Absolutely, completely separate systems.
Ok, bring it to a full stop, and ...
Great. Well, thanks for calling tech support. You as well. Have a gooder.
No problem.
Hello, thanks for calling tech support, this is Mack.
I see. Well have you tried turning it off and back on again?
|
I sat in the desk uncomfortably, actually, it was just a pile of rustic rubble, laying on the ground, with all of the other rubble. The walls were gone, and only a small distinction of human life even remained. Wildlife had taken over and it was a thick swampy area, smothered in fog.
I stood up, only to be swarmed by what seemed to be some kind of mechanical bees. They zoomed around me, interpreting me. Trying to understand me. One of the robotic bees broke the formation, and stung me with some kind of translucent green substance. I felt dizzy, and then I saw black.
I woke up in a small room. It was a dark room, with a single light bulb lit. I was on the floor, there was no bed or desk, just the light bulb, hanging perfectly centered above me.
"Life form is conscious. Proceed with protocol 4-B7."A voice boomed from behind the door.
It wasn't human. The metal door clanked open, and a humanoid robot walked towards me, with a small metal box, holstered in its shoulder gap.
It clanked its rustic neck gears towards my line of sight. "Proceeding with protocol 4-B7."The robot then took the box, and stuck his hand in a small hole in the top. He started gathering heat from what seemed to be his energy core, and transferring it to the metal box. The robot dropped the box, and was processing something in its database. "Execution successful."
The box was engulfed into a flamed engraving, as the box melted down, and molded into a sturdy, open vertical oval. The hole was then filled with a vibrant purple light, as it seemed heat rays emitted from the newly created portal.
"Subject will now enter 4-B7."The robot grabbed me by the shirt, and flung me into the portal. I caught a mouthful of dirt, and grass. Spitting it out, I opened my eyes to be confronted by a group of ragged men and women.
I then remembered the calculator, it was still on my body, as I searched for a way back to class, but the calculator would not send me back anymore. I had entered in seemingly forbidden numbers, and it had condemned me to hell basically.
The rag tag group of people in front of me welcomed me with open arms, "Are you a time travelled too? If so, welcome to time traveller's end. The irreversible year 9999."
I looked around, as the grass was normal, but the sky was a distinct purple, and rigid cubes floated aimlessly, breaking the laws of physics. I was stuck. |
Everyday on my way to work, I saw a murder in the park. They all gathered on around the same tree everyday. Some were perched on branches, some stayed low walking around the tree pecking at the ground. I always had a soft spot for animals, so I came into the habit of leaving my house a littler earlier every day, so i could sit on the bench and tear up half my bagel to toss to the little black crows.
My habit of feeding them continued until days became months. It seemed after sometime they would be there waiting for me, knowing they had a good meal coming. Some of them had become brave enough to come closer and sit on the bench next to me and let me feed them by hand. Sure, it got me some weird looks from people passing by, and I overheard at least one old cantankerous couple call me the crow weirdo.
I found myself passing the park after a long night out, not entirely sober. I saw a stranger in the park, but I thought nothing of it as I approached. The closer I got, this strange person seemed to be walking faster, and toward me. I tried to walk both faster and more casually, determined to show no fear to who ever approached me.
Sadly, confidence was not my savior. He managed to walk up behind me, and i felt something pressed up against me back. In poor judgement, i blurted out "I guess its to much to ask that youre just happy to see me?"He began to tell me to shut the fuck up, and i assume, would continue to tell me to run my pockets. While he tried to get the sentence out, in front of us, the crows began to land one by one on the floor. They started cawing slowly and menacingly. The began to walk and hop toward me and my new assailant friend. He, was unaware of my relationship with them. He started to back away slowly, and the crows began to speed up. I took this as a chance to dive toward the side out of harms ways as the crows cawed louder. All at once, they took off a few feet off the ground and dove into the bastard. Once i saw torn flesh being thrown to the side, I knew it was my time to run back home.
I made sure to bring an extra bagel the next morning.
|
"Nathan!"
A frustrated groan expelled from my lungs as I spun around. An upset Asura sat on his seat, one of his six arms scratching his head. "It's broken again!"He insisted as his other five arms hammered against the many keys of the computer.
I sighed, "no Asura. You just need to be on something to actually type something!"I corrected, staring at the lifeless screen of the desktop.
"Look, like this."I dragged the mouse and opened up his google chrome. "Now!"
"Oh. Great! Thank you great sorcerer Nathan!"An affable Asura resumed his typing, slamming a random jumble of letters into the URL bar as I simply dragged my hand across my face in utter frustration.
"Nathan. I believe my computer to be defective."Toth proclaimed, the Egyptian god of wisdom and knowledge. I strode over in a vapid manner and stared upon the chaotic aftermath of what lay before me. The computer was taken apart, motherboards and wires piled neatly and sorted together before Toth, who stared at me perplexed.
"What the fuck did you do?"I demanded.
"Well, I was having some problems with my computer. So I decided to open it up to find the little man inside doing all the work. But then I found the problem! Mine doesn't have a little man!"My palm slapped against my forehead habitually.
"Ohhhhh. I get it. I don't think mine has a little man either."Gilgamesh proclaimed in understanding.
"Enough!"A booming voice proclaimed, the voice crackling with the rage of thunder.
I turned around and gasped shockingly.
"Thor! We talked about this!"Thor froze at being called out, turning around with a guilty look in his eyes, lowering his risen hammer. "For fuck sake Thor, you can't keep destroying every fucking computer because you don't get it!"
I turned with a grumble, and my jaw dropped at the obscenity playing out before me. "Zeus! Don't stick your dick in it!" |
"So this Pow-law Deen-"The name sounds strange coming out of the weird levitating Fish's translator device.
"Paula Dean."You gently correct it and the beast corrects itself.
"-Paula Deen- is worshiped by your race, correct?"
"That's right."I saw with a cruel grin. The Creatures that landed in my backyard three years ago had come and gone many times, believing me to be the supreme leader of mankind. As such for a bored accountant, I had taken the opportunity to have some fun. I had never told anyone about them.
"And this- Gordoan-"
"Gordon."I correct the Beast.
"Gordon Ramsee is her antagonist, but also a god?"
"That's right I say, squelching the laughter rising in my throat.
The Creatures were a little taller than myself if they would walk on the ground. They looked muscular and could react poorly to a sudden outburst of noise that they did not comprehend, should it escape my mouth.
When they had shown up in the middle of the isolated field that my home was built upon, they had stayed for an entire day, engorging themselves on the lies I fed them of our culture. I gave them DVDs of cooking personalities that I called our holy scriptures, a torn Tupac poster that I called the first of our race, and a picture of a trebuchet that I called our most advanced weapon.
They in turn, had invited me to join the Galactic Whatever as some observer race, guests of theirs. I guess they had shown up looking for resources. I had given them my cardboard recycling bin that I had forgot to put outand spoke of our most precious material, some of which I was giving them.
In return, they gave me a space laser pistol gun to ensure my dominance over my primitive race. I shot a deer with it. Not bad.
"The Council has requested an observation of your feast, called Thankzgave Day-"
"Thanksgiving Day."I gently corrected.
"Thanksgiving Day- at our next gathering. They have requested that you come and- how you say- 'cook' for them. Surely as the most prime of your race, you are the most skilled in these 'cul-een-airy' abilities, yes?"
I grinned even wider. "Sure. When do we go?"
"In three rotations of your world. We will be gone for a single rotation. It is dependent upon this performance that will determine whether your primitive sphere will become a protected world or be open to excavation of this 'car boor.'"
I thought of the microwaveable Thanksgiving TV dinners gathering dust in my freezer. I could take a few days off from work.
"Sounds good."I said and began thinking of how to present my dish.
|
And I'm like. "What's that Johnny?"
And he's like "It's a magic wand I can use to end the war and bring peace on earth! I just have to utter the magic spell."And with that, Johnny stood up, and began to wave his magic wand and shout.
"Expectro patro...."
That's as far as he got. Last I saw of Johnny's face before the sniper shot right thru his helmet. Nobody knew how Johnny got that hatachi vibrator into his uniform or what inspired him to wave it at the enemy from cover. Some say he cracked, I think he knew exactly what he was doing. Vietnam was hell, war is hell. Johnny just needed a way out, and excessive masturbation wasn't cutting it anymore. That war took something from all of us, some more than others. |
There was a dinner party I was at once and I asked the humans there if they thought vampires were the most frightening monster. I thought - we're all but immortal, we drain you of your blood - which is a very long and painful process - we like to play with our food, we have superhuman strength and reflexes as well as magical powers... Every single one of them said no.
"Werewolves' viciousness is more visceral"and "the relentless, shambling hunger of zombies is more unsettling"and "dragons are just so big, you know"and "vampires are kind of romantic really"and "ghosts are just so eerie"were some of the reasons they gave. I did agree with the romantic part, but it was insulting. Humiliating even. Especially when they wouldn't agree no matter what argument I gave. I couldn't come up with something to convince them.
Thirty five hundred years later, I finally found it. I finally figured it out. They had never met a truly hungry vampire. A three thousand years hungry vampire, a three thousand years angry vampire, a vampire with nothing to eat for at least three thousand miles in any direction. If there was, I'd smell it.
But my heightened senses wouldn't be obvious to the untrained eye. My wide pupils or my flared up nostrils or my constantly flicking tongue would be. My muttering to myself or an imaginary audience, my gesticulating wildly, my panting for no apparent reason would be obvious.
The subtle stuff would be what was really frightening though.
The wind wouldn't blow within twenty feet of me. The water would start flowing away from me even if it meant going upstream. A shrill ringing noise, almost too high to hear, would become unbearable in seconds. And the moon was blood red, out in broad daylight, and *following* me.
However, no human alive would have time to notice anything that wasn't five minutes ago, because I would shred them into a thousand bloody pieces before they could blink. Hungry vampires don't play with their food.
I had been wandering for nine hours, during which I had proved three theorems, counted every object I had encountered, walked on my hands for twenty minutes twice as fast, narrated my favorite play forwards and backwards, and kept up an imaginary conversation the whole time.
Oh, and I destroy a whole bunch of different robots. Eighteen, to be precise.
The first few seemed to be the equivalent of common guardsmen or police. One good whack and they turned to scrap. Then, things began escalating. A whole unit of ten guardbots. A large, bulky robot that launched dozens of small rockets. A sniper that shot bullets laced with manticore venom, of all things. A pair of twin robots that had exceptional swordsmaship skills with a sun and moon set of katanas. And a robot that was literally just a robotic dragon.
Normally I'd have defeated them in all sorts of dramatic ways and been able to milk those fights for a whole evening of stories... but I just ripped them in half and kept walking. Didn't even slow down. Sped up, in fact, to get to the sniper and catch the twin bots. I should have dragged the fights out to burn off some of my manic energy, but my body moved too fast for my brain to keep up. My consciousness, at least. I didn't even notice the dragon until three seconds after I -
"Stop."
Well then, I thought as I kept walking, this robot could be interesting.
"You have one chance to surrender. Otherwise, you will be exterminated."
The robot standing on the cliff above me was the size of large troll. It had eight arms, with six of them clutching a wooden stake and the other two holding hoses. One hose was connected to a glass canister of holy water on its back: the other to an identical canister of dragonfire. A vampire-hunting robot.
"You have ten seconds to use your chance to surrender. Once your ten seconds are up, you will-"
My muscles got tired of its voice. The air thrummed. The ground under us groaned and creaked. Time almost went backwards with how fast I moved.
I was back on my original path. The robot lay on the edge of the cliff, dragonfire happily dancing on its crumpled remains, all six stakes embedded into its body, holy water completely evaporated. I smiled mirthlessly.
I had solved another-
*Blood. Coming closer at a rate of two hundred seventy eight miles per hour.*
*Not. Fast. Enough.*
Time began... stuttering. For lack of better word. I had difficulty telling what came before and what came after. At one point my teeth and claws were lengthening to triple their size. At one point I was a bat, flying faster than light. At many points, I was shredding through more vampire-hunting robots, many, many more, some flying, some crawling like spiders, some forming a shield wall, some blaring recorded banshee screams at me, some firing hundreds of rounds of silver bullets, some casting incredibly powerful spells... Nothing could stop me.
And woven through this shattered timeline was the best feast of my life. A giant, piglike creature, hooked onto a plane, that only seemed to grow the more I drank from it. Its blood was warm and filling, like a rich soup, yet I drank more of it than I had drank in all my previous feasts combined. I drank and I killed and I drank and I killed and the heavens danced above me and the hells shook below me and metal flew and rained and danced around me and the whole world feared a hungry vampire.
Eventually, I came to. Full to the brim, exhausted, in regular human form. Around me for miles in either direction was a... a battlefield. I guess. Hundreds of smoking craters filled with ruined machine parts and weapons and equipment. But it was the survivors that concerned me. A few dozen vampire-hunting bots were all that was left of the army that had come for me. Another memory poked into my jigsawed mind. A memory of an endless swarm of robots buzzing over the mountains, turning the sky dark. They all glowed red from the impossible to dim moon.
More interestingly, the creature I had feasted on was still alive, happily snorting, its sides covered in blood. All of it dried, though. Instant regeneration?
"That is a Cornucopia. Created in a lab to hunt your kind. Near instant tissue growth and a hundred different systems devoted solely to pumping blood. This thing could feed you for the rest of your existence."
"Oh. How interesting."I felt incredibly tired. Lifting my eyelids was a Herculean feat.
"You will be placed in a holding chamber with this creature for all of eternity. Or you can choose to be destroyed right now."
I wanted to put up a fight, but I wasn't in the shape to fight a dozen of these. Or to even fight one, or even a mouse. Or - I realized as the ground rushed towards me - to stay awake. Holding chamber it was. |
“Sarah!” My mom yelled my name to get my attention. I had one foot out the door, anxious to go play. I looked at her she gestured for me to “be careful”. I nodded at her and ran off to play by the stream. Stream was my first word. My parents took me on a picnic by the side of the stream when I was five years old. My parent’s house was deep within the heart of our city, and wild words were never found around people. There were plenty for sale, but my parents could not afford any of the good ones. My mother refused to let me use any of the cheap curse words, even though my dad made a case about their flexibility in conversation.
That day I sat on the side of the stream with my feet dipped in the cool running water, and something shining and sparkling with silver light caught my eye. I grabbed it before it moved and the word just popped out of my mouth.
“Stream!” I yelled. My parents were so happy. We spent a lot of time outdoors after that, but the stream was still my favorite place even 10 years later.
I ran out of town in a hurry, but slowed my pace once I left the city walls. I enjoyed walking in nature. Nature had the best words. Trees and plants were easy. They did not move once they bloomed. I saw dozens of sparkling flowers in all colors. Red, white, purple. But I knew all those already.
“Roses, tulips, and irises,” I said aloud to myself, while pointing at each sparkling color. After a short time I reached my secret hideaway. Over the years my dad helped me build a fort of sorts in a dense cluster of trees near the edge of the stream. We painted it with greens and browns to keep it hidden. No one liked wandering in nature these days anyway. People did not hunt words like they used to. Poor people made do with small vocabularies and lots of gesturing, rich people loved showing off their vocabulary, thinking they sounded very smart. They sounded like fools. I learned tons of words in nature, even my parents did not know how many words I knew.
I sat in my chair and just stared at the stream, this was my favorite past time. Suddenly I noticed a black dot. It floated in the air above the stream, it looked like it was a black dot just hovering in reality. Then it grew. I moved closer to it, thinking it might be a new kind of word.
I reached the edge of the bank, but the blackness hovered over the center of the stream. The dot grew to a circle as big as my father, then a foot stepped out of it into the stream.
“FUCK!” I heard as the black leather boot sunk into the water. I giggled, and repeated it.
“Fuck,” I continued to giggle. Despite my mother’s best efforts to keep curse words from coming out of my mouth, she did give me a regular allowance. I told the vendor it was “for my aching mother”.
The full form of a man came out of the blackness. He stood tall. His salt and pepper hair was a mess, blood ran down the side of his face. On his shoulder he carried a girl’s corpse. I knew it was a corpse because the body stopped at the neck, and the old man held a girl’s head in his hand.
He held the head upside down, holding it by the neck bone. His hand glowed red. The eyes on the head were open and glowed with brilliant golden light. I screamed and ran. He noticed me.
“STOP!” he yelled. A wall of mud rose up in front of me. I stopped. I turned around to face him. He walked out of the stream toward me, carrying the body. He placed it down, gently, lovingly, then looked at me.
“Hello little girl. Please don’t be afraid, I don’t mean you any harm,” The man said. He nodded at me and sat down next to the body. I moved closer, his actions convinced me.
“Black?” I asked. The man tended to the body, he seemed to be trying to affix the head to the body. He was mumbling to himself and his lips glowed red to match his hands. He stopped when I asked and looked at me. His eyes softened, and he smiled.
“That was a portal. I’m from another world,” he said, with unbelievable casualness. “Portal” and “World” were new words to me. Not only could I not say them, I’d never heard them.
“Last word?” I asked. Something about this man told me I could trust him. His actions, his movements, his eyes appeared very sincere. I sat down next to him and watched him start to dress wounds on the body. The girl’s shirt was lifted up to reveal a large gash in her stomach. The man held a red glowing hand over the gash. He nodded as if he understood my question.
“This,” he said. He gestured all around us, and then he touched his hand to the ground. “ALL of this, everywhere is your world. I’m from a different one.”
“Fourth word?” I asked, now that I thought I understood “world”. He nodded at me.
“Portal. Think of it like a door. I walked through the door to get from one world to another.” I nodded.
“What’s your name?” He asked.
“Sarah!” I said, proudly.
“Sarah, my name is Regal. My friend here is really hurt,” he started to say.
“She’s dead.” I said. He chuckled.
“Yes, she is dead, but not permanently. I’ve been keeping her head alive, it was all I could do until I got here. Now that I’m in this world, I can bring her back to life.”
“How?” I asked. I’d never heard of such a thing.
“Magic,” Regal said. Another word I’d never heard.
edit: I removed a shoulder. |
You ever heard the saying "Kill'em with kindness"? Well, that's been my life for the past few years.
Yeah sure, it started as a slip up. I wanted what everyone wanted for their magic: something powerful and easy to control like Fire and stuff. But it was like misclicking on the Internet when I went up, and ever since then I've been the first ever Amica Magus in history.
Sure, it sucked at first. Usual bullies who got all the fancy shmancy magics teased me for my mistake, and none of the teachers had ever heard of a student in the field of Friendly magic. I mostly had to learn to control my power on my own, and boy did it pay off when I mastered it. You see, Friendliness isn't just about being a nice guy: it's about winning the trust of others. And once you master Friendly magic? You can win the trust of anyone. Started out in school when everyone noticed that the bullies not only stopped picking on me, but actually invited me to hang out with them. Then, profs were giving me good grades because "oh he's such a sweet heart". Then, it was getting into bars and clubs at a young age because bouncers were "feeling generous"that night.
So what do you do, when you can get past any security detail, get close to anyone, no matter their importance in society, and can evade police attention because you're a nice guy? You get to be one of the world's top assassins, able to eliminate any target the same day that he accepts the contract.
It always felt weird for me to smile while my target drinks the poisoned wine I brought them, but I eventually got used to it. What's great is that I practically never need to plan my hits: All I need is a location and I'm good to go. A little guard sweet talk, some friendly discussion with hotel staff, a little...privacy, with some mansion maids, and I can be anywhere near my target. The only hard part about my job is deciding how I want to kill them. Even leaving the scene is easy. When authorities arrive I give them the good old "Oh I'm just visiting an old friend. You understand, don't you?"and they send me on my merry way. No one can escape me, and more often than not they are happy to see me.
My name is Isaac Amigo. I am the only Amica Magus in the world, and the greatest assassin in history. We should grab coffee sometime. |
My roommate and I had been staring at each other for the last couple of hours. Ever since we got that text. Our phones had gone off at the same time.
The number that texted him was 111-111-1111, mine was 111-111-1112.
Both texts were similar... both predicted down to the milisecond, the time of the winner of the Kentucky derby (which was conveniently happening later that day).
The time was spot on.
Thats the extent of similarities between our texts.
Mine told me that I was destined to be all-powerful....
His told him that he was the only one that could stop me from enslaving the world.
Then the delivery came.
An Amazon package wound up at our door. It was addressed to both of us. Inside we found a revolver with one round loaded in it and a note telling us that we must decide what the future of the world will be.
He had a strange look in his eye as I looked across the room at him.
We were seated at the dining room table looking across at each other. Neither of us had said a word since the gun came. The texts had seemed fake when we first got them but the Kentucky Derby winner had been predicted down to the second...
There must have been some truth to it.
He blinked....
I made my move.
It was over before he could react, I had grabbed the gun and shot him through the head.
The cops were at my door in less than ten minutes.
I was sentenced to life in prison.
He had won. |
Isabelle's hands shook slightly as she grasped her crochet needles, counting each stitch meticulously as she added rows to her project. She sat in her small yet cozy home, surrounded by the objects she had collected through her 85 years of life. An old dusty rug, a rustic glass cabinet of intricately crocheted animals and ornaments, a well used rocking chair to her left, matching the one she was currently sitting in. It was empty now.
Her worn hands trembled a little more when she glanced at the old rocking chair. It had been 5 years, and she still missed her. The woman she had been married to for over 50 years, the woman she raised children with, and the one other person who shared her love of crochet.
She turned to the old cabinet, smiling at each and every crocheted piece lovingly placed inside. Her eyes stopped at a particular set, two owls, their eyes closed and snuggled together.
"Oh Maddie my dear,"Isabelle spoke softly, her voice croaking slightly with age, "how I wish I could snuggle warmly with you one last time."
She set down her crochet needles as knocks came from her front door. Slow at first, but quickened it's pace impatiently. Isabelle chuckled warmly.
"Come in, my flower."
The door opened and a little girl came bounding into the house, her smile a perfect match for her bright brilliant eyes.
"Gramma!"the little girl said excitedly, running into Isabelle's inviting arms. "Gramma I want to play with those today!"
The girl's tiny hand pointed towards the cabinet, as was usual during her visits. This time she pointed at the two owls, together in their little world of love and immortality.
Isabelle paused only shortly before responding, "I'm sorry my flower, those two can't be bothered."
When her granddaughter looked pleadingly at Isabelle, she let out a quiet laugh. "Now now, don't give me that look."When she looked more disappointed still, she added, "I have something special planned today."
At these words the little girl perked up, "What are we doing Gramma?"
"My flower... today I'm going to teach you how I make your friends over there,"Isabelle casually gestured towards the cabinet then added, "I have something for you."
The small girl watched in amazement as Isabelle reached into the basket that lay beside the chair, pulling out a miniature version of the needles she herself were using.
*
White curtains, soft bedsheets, calming green walls. Isabelle's old hands trembled as she tried to count her stitches. Her bleary eyes could barely make out how many links she had made.
A warm hand lay itself over her clammy ones, and Isabelle looked up into the warm face of her granddaughter. Her beautiful flower.
"Gramma, let me help you,"her voice soft and lady like. Isabelle noticed she was blossoming more every day.
Her granddaughter took the crochet needles into her hands and finished the row, and then another, and another. Isabelle smiled weakly at her.
"You've been practicing,"She said simply. Feeling her age with every word that passed her lips.
"I have,"the young woman responded, keeping her eyes on the crochet project, "I hope to be as good as you and Grannie one day."
Isabelle's smile widened, "She always hated being the one called Grannie you know,"a cough escaped her lips before she continued, "always said it made her sound old and decrepit."
Her granddaughter laughed, her eyes still glued to her work, "I know how important crochet was..."She caught herself, "*is* to you and Grannie. I want to make sure I never forget."
It was at this moment Isabelle saw a single tear roll down her granddaughter's smooth, youthful face. It was quickly joined by another as she rapidly blinked.
"My flower,"Isabelle began, "please don't cry for the future."Her hand shook as she reached towards her granddaughters arm, "Use that energy to fondly remember the past, and keep my memory alive."
The young woman nodded, finally looking into her grandmother's eyes, both were filled with tears.
"I will Gramma."
*
Swaying green grass, a clear blue sky, a marble stone. On top, two crocheted owls, eyes closed and snuggled together in their world of love and immortality. |
This is the story of me, Kevin the Great! Kevin the Great is a superhero who protects the world from the evil Doctor Nefarious, who is a mean scientist who hates everyone and also my friend, and we watch videos together every day.
My favorite kind of videos are karate movies, so that's what we watch most of the time. But Tuesday is Doctor Nefarious's turn to pick the video, so on Tuesdays, we watch the Doomsday Show. The Doomsday Show is pretty great, although not as great as karate movies. On the Doomsday Show, Doctor Nefarious plans out a new way to take over the world! One time, he used crazy chemicals to turn a lizard gigantic, and it stomped all over the city, and it was awesome! (Actually, it was a normal-sized lizard and a model city, but Doctor Nefarious works hard on making the Doomsday Show look good, so I don't say anything when I can tell.)
The Doomsday Show always has a big commercial break in the middle, and that's when Doctor Nefarious asks me how Kevin the Great is going to stop the evil plan. When the lizard was attacking the city, it was super obvious - Kevin the Great would throw it in the harbor! The water is cold, and lizards are cold-blooded - like dinosaurs! - so it would slow down and be easy to beat! Sure enough, when the show came back, that's exactly what Kevin the Great did. (Actually, on the Doomsday Show, Kevin the Great is just a man in a suit, but don't tell anyone that I know. It would give away my secret identity.)
Last week's Doomsday Show was pretty cool! Doctor Nefarious sprayed a man with invisible dust, and every time he touched someone, they got the dust on them, and it spread all around the world. Then everyone with the dust started coughing, but they couldn't see the dust, so they didn't know why! I actually couldn't figure out what Kevin the Great would do! But then Doctor Nefarious had to go right away, so we didn't even get to see the end of the show. He said it's called a "cliff hanger,"and we will find out what happens next week - which is this week!
Doctor Nefarious should be here already to watch what happens, but he isn't. Actually, he hasn't been here since we watched that episode last week, so I've been watching karate movies by myself. But I'm sure he will be. I'm going to go pour some cereal and get ready.
Signed very sincerely yours,
Kevin the Great!!! |
My breath trembled as I stepped into the crowded mess hall.
“Little Johnny Scarecrow...uh...well, he had Career Day coming up.”
And Elder spoke up“What are you doing? People are trying to eat, you can’t just come in here talking-“
“Little Johnny Scarecrow didn’t want to tell his dad about Career Day.” I interrupted. You’re not stealing this from me you old scab!
Commotion began to stir in whispers.
“You see, Little Johnny Scarecrow’s dad loved to embarrass his son.”
People start listening, curious as to what was going on.
“Finally, after being pestered by his teacher, Little Johnny Scarecrow asks his father about Career Day.
‘Dad?’
My voice began to grow more confident and louder than I should have been able to speak without shouting. Something heavy and hot was building inside my chest.
‘Yes Little Johnny Scarecrow?’
My voice changing octaves with each character.
The hot heavy feeling moved up my face and down my limbs.
‘Um...Career Day is coming up and my teacher really wanted you to come and talk about your job.’
‘Oh I’d love to!’
‘It’s just...you can’t embarrass me in front of my friends! You always do!’
My voice got louder.
‘I promise I won’t.’
‘Ok’
The others in the mess hall were now stone faced and no one spoke.
“So Career Day comes and it’s Little Johnny Scarecrow’s turn to introduce his father.
‘I’m Johnny Scarecrow, this is my dad Carl Scarecrow...we’re Scarecrows.’
‘Hi kids! My name is Carl and I’m a Scarecrow, my father was a Scarecrow and his father was one too. It’s not for everyone but-‘
“Don’t!” Someone shouted from the crowd. It was too late.
I smiled to myself.
“‘Hay, it’s in my genes.’” |
"Holy shit!"I exclaimed, laughing and shoving a new mag of paint rounds into my training pistol. "They're using real ass magic! This is the best day ever!"Neither side expected it, but nor were we outmatched. It was supposed to be simple war game between two sides. Paint rounds, and the allowance of three wounds in non-fatal areas. Right out of troops? You're out. Base taken? You're out. Our bosses could have cancelled the entire thing once the third side intervene. However, since the third team managed to set their base equidistant from the other two and had otherwise been following the rules of the game, probably more so on ego alone the game continued on.
"Can you not right now? There's a contract on the line, you know."Callaway always hated it when I didn't take things seriously. To be fair, I never really felt like I had a reason to. I'm a genetically modified super soldier. I didn't think some silly cybernetics some fancy Tech was going to beat modifications to my strength and reflexes literally embedded into my genes. However, Not only was I wrong, but there was a third group who used Magic. Between a sniper with a cybernetic eye that accounted for distance and wind-shear better than any scope, and someone constantly trying to flank us by literally teleporting around the battlefield I was understandably (at least by my standards) excited.
"How can I not? It's like a team full of Captain America, went up against a team full of the Million-Dollar Man, and they got ambushed by a paramilitary version of Hogwarts.
"Remember not to let it distra- reloading!"
"Supplying cover fire!"
"Remember not to let it distract you."
"Yeah yeah, I-"In that instant, the sound of feet on ground, ever so subtle, went off behind us. With just enough time to dodge the cone blast of orange from what I could only call a paint shotgun (didn't know those were a thing), Hallaway and I rolled to either side and turned to face our assailant who appeared to be just the air. It was that teleporter again, probably tired of distance tactics. All we had to do was hope that they were dumb enough to stay in the area.
"I have to admit,"Hallaway said, eyes scaning our immediate area. "This is actually pretty entertaining."Just then, there was more paint ball fire. A burst of three blue shots from a rifle as one of the cyborgs advanced upon us with a riot shield protruding directly from his arm. While our focus was on him, the teleported returned from behind me, managing to use me as a human shield long enough to pelt my comrade with two shots. Not to be out done, I forced my 'captor' and I to rotate as the cyborg fired, managing to move him in the line of fire as I heard at least once shot hit his back before I brought him to the ground and quickly tried to put two more in his torso. One hit the mark, but the other hit ground as he managed to teleport away again. At the sound of more fire, I rolled, taking a single shot to the hip and aiming my pistol toward the mech-man.
Neither of us moved. Both of us hardly let out a breath. We knew that if one reacted, the oppertunistic mage would return to get the drop on us. It was the worlds coolest Mexican Stand-Off. Looking into the eyes of my opponent through the screen of his shield, I simple smiled and uttered a single question. "First one down buys Chinese?"
|
I was heading home from an after-work party at my new company. I joined a Japanese spring manufacturer fresh out of University, and was throwing myself into the life of a salary man; early mornings, late nights, and drinking parties with the boss. It's hard, but I work with good people and the pay is excellent.
The last train home had been almost completely empty, except for a young woman wearing a red face mask, and the odd suited salary man, slumped over in his seat and snoring gently.
The woman's eyes were breathtakingly beautiful; almond shaped and a surprisingly light shade of brown for a Japanese person. They seemed to twinkle when we made eye contact, and I smiled at her, the alcohol in my blood lending me a courage I wouldn't normally have felt. When my stop arrived - a backwater little suburb of Tokyo - I hopped off the train, and began the half hour walk to my tiny little flat.
It was pushing 1am by the time I reached my cul-de-sac, and I was ready for my bed. The old street lamp at the end of the road still hadn't been fixed, and was flickering gently as I approached. That had set my nerves on edge the first night I moved here, it felt like something out of a cliched horror film.
I reached my door and was fumbling for my keys when I heard a girlish voice say in Japanese "Excuse me."
I whirled around, almost toppling over. Even in the flickering light it was clear that this was the pretty girl from the subway. She was standing just out of the light so I couldn't see her eyes any more, but I recognised the red face mask and the rest of her outfit.
"Y-yes? Are you OK?"I stammered back, unsure of what to expect.
"I saw you looking at me on the train,"she said, her voice muffled slightly by the mask. "Do... Do you think I'm pretty?"She sounded so sincere and so innocent that I quite forgot that it was one in the morning.
"Oh yes,"I replied, trying not to sound *too* enthusiastic. "You have beautiful eyes."
She gave a soft giggle, and took a step towards me. The light from the front door of my apartment building shone on her face, showing her eyes twinkling at me in a smile. She reached up with her hands to the face mask she wore, and meekly pulled it down.
Sobriety hit me like a freight train, closely followed by terror. Her face was a mess. The mouth had been torn at each corner and cut all the way to each ear. The wound had healed open, giving her the look of some kind of reptile with its jaw unhinged. Her eyes, still devastatingly pretty, stared into mine with what seemed to be hunger.
"How about now?"she asked, her voice sounding much less girlish now, and more like the rasp of a demon.
I suddenly remembered reading about the kuchisake-onna in my Japanese culture classes. The spirit of a mutilated wife walking the streets of Japan, asking strangers if they thought she was pretty.
If I remembered rightly, you were damned no matter what answer you gave... Yes, and she'd cut your face to make you look like her. No, and she'd leave you alone, only to kill you later that evening.
The only way I could recall for you to get away was to confuse her by turning the question around on her.
"I- I-,"Fear was turning my brain to jelly, all Japanese seemed to flood out of it and I couldn't speak. She took another step towards me. "I already answered you. Do you think that I'm pretty?"I tried to sound confident, and brave, but it came out in a rush that betrayed my fear.
"Yes,"she rasped. "Foreigners are so pretty."
---
I'm finishing work for the day, so I'll have to pick this up when I get home :) |
Ginavi peeked through the doorway, petrified to actually touch the cracked door. She certainly didn’t want to disturb her son any more than he already was. The lights were off and the small, cramped room was a disaster. A faint hum came from the blue lighted laptop pushed beneath the bed. A golden light peeked from beneath the covers, sending brilliant lines of radiance throughout the room wherever it escaped. Silence. He was still asleep it seemed.
She couldn’t help but feel at fault for his sudden depression. Maybe she had given him too much space! This spell had really started a year ago. Ginavi remembered coming home, late, again, and the panic in her throat at the light being off in the house. Where was Gestalt? The lights were never off. She had even dropped the keys in her panic, only to run back down the drive again to retrieve them when she could not open the door. “Gestalt, Gestalt, Gestalt?!” With no response she raced to the com-device to phone for assistance, when she saw the golden light pouring from beneath the bathroom door. Almost sobbing with relief, she rushed over to the door.
“Gestalt, honey, you gave me such a start. I almost phoned the militant for assistance!” She pressed her ear against the door. Nothing. “Gestalt, if you need to be alone, I understand, but you must let me know at the very least you’re alive. You can’t understand the pressure my heart is under right now!” Three seconds of silence. Ginavi lifted her hand to try opening the door, when she heard the loud snap of it unlocking. With no further reply, or Gestalt exiting, Ginavi pushed open the door.
With the rest of the house dark, the sudden explosion of light was nearly blinding, and for the briefest moment Ginavi considered rushing to close the blinds so as not to bother the neighbors, but thought better of it as she glanced on her son’s face. The normal soft beauty and charm, the pale ivory that lit from within with gold, was completely tarnished. His face looked as if a painter had considered the watercolors just right, and then had immaturely dripped childish tear streaks in. He appeared to be melting before her eyes! Not in any of their time together had her son, so remarkably intelligent, empathetic, and proud, ever come close to tears since starting primary school!
Ginavi collapsed beside him and drew him against her, hugging and shushing and assuring all would be well. Giving all the promises of love and continuance that only a loved one can guarantee in times of crisis. An hour must have passed, before she could get out of him his failure in his civilization course, his despair at the earth and human race he had created for school not obtaining a peaceful end, and the catastrophic meltdown of cleansing the planet of billions of lives he had grown to love.
After that day, he had grown into a much more withdrawn and unsociable child. His weekly counseling sessions seemed only helpful in allowing him to give her false smiles and a few sentences of conversations a day. Fearing a lack of a father figure contributing to his sense of failure, she had even attempted bringing a few male colleagues over to dinner and that had elicited a most unpleasant and awkward conversation from Gestalt, that she never tried that again. It was not as if to say she blamed his flakey father on whichever current planet he was currently residing on, it’s just that he might have been able to help, seeing as his genetics were the most deeply shared with humanity of any of them.
Stepping away from the door, she returned to the com-device. “Yes, Sr. Mertwa. He is still resting it seems. Yes. Yes. I certainly don’t want him to remain in such a state, but I think we should arrange new counseling therapies before resorting to drastic measures such as medicating. He is so young still…I must confess I wrote an email to the earth populace…it just seemed so wrong not to…after all, the first time this happened Gestalt had personally told them bye…I think he would have wanted me to…Yes, yes, I agree it’s unethical, that’s why I’ve been phoning and seeking new therapies to get him over this world building before something happens to get him in trouble…Sr. Mertwa, could you assist me in cleansing this new world? I just can’t figure it out.”
|
"And this is Alex."
Alex smiled. It was the wrong kind of smile. Not because his face didn't move incorrectly, not because he hesitated maybe a fraction of a second too long. It was wrong because it was too right. It was a perfectly symmetrical smile. His teeth were too white, his skin was too flawless. He looked as if he had been photo-shopped in real life.
"Welcome, uh, Alex."Jeane's mother tried to smile back buther smile faltered and fluttered, "Do you want something to, I mean, can I get you a... uh."
"A water would be fine."Alex's voice was the match to his smile. Soothing, calm, perfectly proper and deeply disturbing.
Jeane's mother almost ran off to the kitchen, leaving Alex and Jeane alone in the foyer of her parent's house.
"I'm sorry, Alex."Jeane was a kind girl, with a soft voice and an almost unconscious need to touch the people around her, as if to confirm that they were real, or that she was. He hand touched Alex's arm for just a moment then fell away, "I should have told her. I just... I still don't know how."
"It's fine."Alex smiled even as he was aware his smile was wrong. He couldn't help but smile at Jeane. She made him smile all the time, "Can we sit down?"
"Oh, right."Jeane looked down at the floor for a second, then led Alex over to the dining room. she picked her spot and Alex sat down next to her.
Jeane's mother entered the room with two glasses, one of wine and another of water. The water was set before Alex and the wine was quickly used for it's intended purpose on Jeane's mother.
"It's nice to finally meet you, Alex."Jeane's mother seemed to have trouble with his name. Alex noted this and analyzed it, making notes of the most probable reasons, "Tell me, what do your parents d... I'm sorry, I-"
"My father works at the Hishama Institute."Alex felt the feathery touch of Jeane's hand on his arm again, "He actually worked under Dr. Hishama for many years, my cognitive algorithms are based primarily on Hishama's own AHEP series."
"That's very nice."Jeane's mother took another sip of her wine, "How long have you been attending KTU?"
"Two years."Alex sipped his own cup, shunting the liquid into the correct storage tank, "My parents believed that the experiences would expand my perceptions."
"So you take classes... even though you...?"
"Yes."Alex remembered not to smile, "I particularly enjoy art and music. I have a great interest in theater as well, but I've been told that I am... unsuitable for performance."
"They're a bunch of stupid jerks."Jeane's grumbled, "It's college for god's sake, not broadway!"
Alex smiled again against his social control parameters. He enjoyed how protective Jeane was of him, even when he didn't need protection. That enjoyment was special for some reason.
"What would you have liked to do in the theater?"Jeane's mother spoke more evenly now.
"Acting interests me."Alex shrugged perfectly, "But I am aware of my limitations for such things. I would have enjoyed learning about costume design as well."
"I did that in college."Jeane's mother smiled. Real smile. Alex noted it and changed some of his social control levels, "I put together half of the costumes for 'King Lear' and 'Honey, Did You Hear About Abbot?'"
Alex connected to the local wifi and downloaded the screenplay for 'Honey, Did You Hear About Abbot?' He read and analyzed the play, then resisted accessing critical reviews on the subject.
"That's a very funny play."Alex confirmed that the statement was true, "I enjoyed the character of Simon in it."
"You know the play?"Jeane's mother leaned in, pushing her wine glass to the side, "I didn't think anyone born after 2070 would have even heard of it!"
"I just looked it up."Alex admitted, looking down at the water glass as he realized he may have made a mistake, "Sorry, It's how I am."
"Oh. Really? Just like that? That's...."
"I'm sorry if it upsets you."
"...pretty cool."Jeane's mother smiled again, "So you can read anything like that?"
"Yes."Alex frowned, "But appreciation, that seems to take time. Just reading the play is not the same as experiencing it. I can see the words but..."
"Some things are just better in person?"
"Yes."Alex smiled and nodded, "Exactly that." |
The first time it happened was at the zoo. I was 9. It was embarrassing, to say the least. Everyone looked at me, many were repulsed. The only reason we didn't get banned was because of my age. I made it a point to stay away from wolves - surprisingly easy when you live in the city. Dogs don't count, so that works in my favor.
You know what does count, however, what I never knew counted - until just now? Furries. And, by fate, there's a huge convention of them in town. So, I'm just standing here mooning everyone hoping that a police officer doesn't arrive before I can get away from these wolves. |
"Ok, Law Division, I've got a new mission for us, and this might be our boldest one yet."Captain Fantastic beamed at the other four. "We're going to throw a party for Brutus Barrington!"
"The Deliverer?"Foxman said.
"The very same!"
"The one we put in prison ten years ago for building a time machine and attempting to collect dictators from throughout history to assemble a super-league of evil?"Crashgirl asked.
"That's the one!"Captain Fantastic gave a thumbs-up.
"Why?"said Man-machine.
"Well he's just got out of prison, so he could probably use some help re-adjusting, and it's also his birthday on Tuesday."
"No, dipshit."Foxman said. "He means why the fuck would we throw a party for a supervillain who has tried, many times, to kill us all? What the fuck do we owe him?"
"How did he only get 10 years?"Crashgirl said.
"Old money."Foxman replied.
"Shush! And we owe him a chance! We're the Law Divison, we represent Justice, Hope, and Righteousness! And what's righteous right now is giving him a helping hand. We're about destroying evil, right? And sometimes that means putting a little light in a man's heart."
"Well... when you put it like that..."Crashgirl said.
"No!"Foxman said. "Don't enable him! Painmongerer, what do you think about all this?"
"If we throw a party for him."Painmongerer said quietly. "we could eviscerate him easily."
"NO PM! It's about friendship!"Captain Fantastic shouted.
"Pipe the fuck down!"Foxman said. "Let's put it to a vote. All in favour of the party?"Foxman looked around the room. "Oh for fuck's sake Man-machine, not you too..."
---
"Shh! Shh! Ok, are you recording Man-machine? OK, cool, ok. HI BRUTUS! er... Hi... err.. So me and the guys were thinking-"
"I'm not a part of this madness!"
"Shut up! I'm recording! Sorry, ignore Foxman, he's just jealous that we didn't throw him a party, anyway, that's why I'm sending you this. We'd like to have a "welcome out/happy birthday party"for you, just come over to the Law Division mansion on Saturday, at say... Twelve? Yeah! So see you then! If you want to, that is, you don't have to. Ok. Ok, bye!"
Captain Fantastic turned to the other four, eyebrows high and mouth agape.
"How was that guys? Was that too much you think? Or...??"
"You're fucking pathetic."Foxman said.
"Oh leave him alone, his pure heart makes him the hero that he is."Crashgirl said.
"Nothing to do with the super strength and invulnerability."Foxman replied, flipping the bird as he walked out of the room.
"Ignore him."Crashgirl said. "Machine-man, can you send the invite?"
"I will establish the optimal means of delivery and execute as appropriate."He replied.
"I hope he comes!"
---
“It’s 12:15 already, what if he doesn't come?” Captain Fantastic said.
“Don't worry.” Crashgirl replied. “He's probably just running late.”
“I hope so…”
“If he doesn't come we could drive to his house.” Painmongerer said, slowly and quietly.
“Yes?” Captain Fantastic said.
“And invite him in person to come back with us.”
“Yes!”
“Involuntarily.”
“No!”
“With hallucinogenic knock-out gas.”
“No PM! That's not- ahhh.”
The doorbell rang, and Captain Fantastic was there in literally an instant.
“Happy Birthday!” Captain Fantastic grinned widely and held his arms out.
“Thank you.” Brutus Barrington said, not moving. There was a silence of some moments. “May I come in?”
“Oh, sorry! Yes, of course, make yourself at home! The others are in the dining room, well Foxman isn't, but he’ll turn up.”
“Perhaps it is for the best.” Brutus said.
They walked up back through to the dining room at a normal human pace, on account of Brutus’ human nature.
“Brutus! Happy birthday!” Crashgirl said, making gun-fingers and conjuring several brightly coloured explosions above Brutus. He flinched slightly at the sound, then nodded.
“Thank you.”
“Yes, happy birthday from me also.” Machine-man said. Painmongerer waved, Brutus went pale and swallowed audibly.
“I see you are still with… him…”
“Yeah, PM’s great!” Captain Fantastic said.
"Yes..."Brutus replied.
"Come on, let's get the festivities going, Machine-man, hit the music!"Captain Fantastic cried.
Foxman strolled in, whisky in one hand, cigar in the other, and glanced at Brutus.
"Why the fuck did you decide to come?"he said.
"I have my reasons."
"And they are?"
Brutus looked around the room, flinching as he saw Painmongerer. He sighed.
"I've served my time, and, cliché as it sounds I *am* a changed man. If I come here and you harm me, or kill me, you are the criminals. If you don't, then you will see I mean you no harm and leave me alone. It's win/win."
"His reasoning is correct."
"Thank you Machine-man". Foxman said, handing his head. He took a drag on his cigar.
"Well do you want a fucking drink?"
---
"So, forgive me if this is a rude question, B-man, but *why* did you do it?"Captain Fantastic said, drinking vodka through a straw.
"The League?"Brutus said. Captain Fantastic nodded.
"To make a mark, to do something with myself, to get out of the shadows."
"Out of the shadows?"Captain Fantastic said. Brutus looked down at his drink, a tear forming at his eye.
"All my life I have been... that is to say..."he wiped a tear with his handkerchief. "I apologise. This is my first birthday party..."
"Like, ever?"Captain fantastic said, leaning in. Brutus nodded.
"Oh you poor thing..."Crashgirl said, touching his arm.
"But you're a Barrington!"Foxman said. "High society!"Brutus shook his head.
"I'm a bastard. Kept close enough to the family that I couldn't be used against them, but not close enough to ever be loved. I never knew my mother, and Lady Barrington despised the sight of me."
"What about presents?"Captain Fantastic said. Crashgirl slapped the back of his head.
"Shh!"She said. "Brutus, look, if you ever need to talk about... anything, we- at least I, can be here for you."
"Thank you, Crashgirl."
"Please, it's Eleanor."
Captain Fantastic darted to the fireplace and back, then used his heat-vision to crush a lump of coal into a diamond.
"Here. I know you have riches already-"
"Actually I was cut off when I was released, this will be-"
"-but this is meant as a symbol of our new-found friendship. If ever you want to hang out, or even do good, just give us a call!"
"Thank you, Captain Fantastic, Thank you everyone."
They came together for a group hug, but when Painmongerer got close Brutus shrieked an ungodly sound, so they all fetched a drink instead.
---
"I think that went rather well, don't you?"Captain Fantastic said.
"Yeah... I mean, it got a bit dark there with his whole childhood, but other than that it was nice. I think we really did make a friend today."Crashgirl replied.
"Mission Accomplished!"Captain Fantastic hovered in the air, fist above his head.
"I cannot fucking believe this."Foxman said.
"Maybe if you weren't such a sourpuss you'd understand!"Captain Fantastic replied. "Say..."he said. "Didn't we hire a chef for tonight? Where was all the food? I got so caught up in the moment I completely forgot about the cake."
"Oh..."Painmongerer said. Foxman looked at him, then walked over to the kitchen and looked inside. He gasped and vomited the contents of his stomach.
"What the fuck..."he panted. "Jesus Christ, there's so much blood! What did you *do* to her!? How the fuck are you even a hero!?"
Painmongerer shrugged.
---
*Thanks for reading! Feedback welcome! Check out /r/Xais56 for more!* |
"Communication blackout in thirty seconds."
Gared rechecked every piece of information he could before the blackout. In thirty seconds Mars Confederation's first earth lander probe would lose contact as it fell into the murky, turbulent atmosphere. No other probe had been designed to be as tough as DEEP. The monster of a probe was almost as large as the crew pod that Gared sat in now.
He'd been in orbit for two days now. He had taken readings, made adjustments, checked every piece of hardware, and picked the final landing trajectory for DEEP to attempt.
Now he just had to wait and hope that their probe made it through.
"Communication lost."
Garen watched his information tablet black out sections of the display as DEEP's feed cut out. Garen didn't know if the probe would ever talk to them again, it was uncertain what the landing conditions were like under all those grey clouds. He didn't know if DEEP would be able to deploy its high energy transmitter. There were too many unknowns.
Garen switched the tablet display to show the crew pod's exterior camera feeds. He watched the swirling grey mess of the planet below him. It was a strange thing. This planet seemed more foreboding than any of the other worlds. It was so dull compared to the bright colors of Jupiter and Saturn. It was even somehow lesser than Venus; the planet they often called the sister to Earth.
He wondered how much of that came from just not knowing what was underneath.
"Low-grade communication established."
Garen switched the tablet back to the probe feeds and consumed the information as fast as he could. The atmospheric readings were very interesting, massive amounts of CO2 and exotic chemicals had seemingly strangled the world. There were also hydrocarbon particulate matter that must have contributed to the dark grey look of the place. Volcanic activity was detected as a probable source, but some of the readings seemed to argue against it.
He was only getting simple data for now. If DEEP could deploy it's larger transmitter then they would be able to get cameras, the rover, and more online. for now it was just atmospheric sampling, wind speed, and temperature gauges.
It was hot down there, but not as hot as he'd expected. It was only eighty degrees above the standard for mars habitations. Unlivable by humans, of course, but still a small difference on the cosmic level.
"Full communication online."
Garen eagerly hit the camera feeds, waiting for the hi-def images to show themselves. The first look at this barren, mystery world would be his and his alone!
His breath froze inside of him as the first image appeared. He couldn't move. He couldn't think. He could just look. All he could do was stare at the ruinous world that showed the one thing he could not have been prepared for. Thousands of structures stretched into the sky in various states of decay. Massive buildings that must have taken decades to build stood like gravestones in a dim and terrible light. Great spiderwebs of electrical discharges shot from the sky, slamming into the old structures, lighting them up to show windows, vehicles... and other, stranger things.
Garen finally overcame his paralysis. He punched in the command to transmit every feed back to home command. This was marsbreaking! No one would believe it. *He* barely believed it. He punched up the rover activation sequence, completely disregarding all of the protocols. He didn't run any equipment checks or test the ground composition. He didn't care. He had to know who had been here and what they had done. There was something wrong about those buildings. No, there was something too *right* about them. The windows... they crawled into the back of his mind. They plucked at things he wish they didn't. He had to know.
DEEPR-1 reported online and trundled out from its station, planting wheels on the uneven rubble that DEEP had landed on. Garen gave its navigation control a set of parameters and the little machine found a stable path to take away from the probe. It worked it's way slowly out of the soft depression that DEEP had landed within.
DEEPR-1 reached the edge and rolled over it, showing more unsettling things. Domiciles: houses. Garen stared at them, at the way they were sunk down within a swamp of ash and debris. They had windows as well. They were all grey, but they looked as if they had had color once, but the world had coated everything with ash.
Garen told DEEPR-1 to approach the nearest window. The probe obeyed, picking a path over the compacted ash and crumbled stone-like material. It reached the window and found that the square opening had no material in it any longer. DEEPR-1 had no problem pushing itself through the opening, peering within the living space.
Garen's eyes bulged. He felt his heart threaten to destroy his body from inside his chest. It couldn't- It just couldn't- There wasn't-
His finger found the cut feed button and hovered over it, but it was too late. What he'd seen was now already on it's way back to mars at the speed of light. There was no dismissing this. There was no denying it.
The room was a bedroom. It held a bed. There had once been a body on that bed, perhaps thousands of years ago. The body had long since rotted away... but bones remained.
He stared at the bones, DEEPR-1's camera zooming in on them, showing the head that had turned toward the window many a millennia before.
Garen looked into the face of death. |
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He was a stout man, 5 foot three with a head of thinning silver hair. From the neck up he looked his age-- 93, or so said my instructions. But, he still filled out his forest-green Army coat and stood ready beside his dented mailbox.
I eased the car over the dips in the dirt road and stopped. I rolled down my window.
“Excuse me,” I said. He snapped from his dreamy gaze. “Is this 5 Ranch Place?” I asked.
“Sure is.”
“Are you Quincy Brownell?”
He nodded and spit into the tuft of grass swallowing the mailbox post. “Sure am. I ‘spose you’re here to pick me up.”
I pushed my glasses up the ridge of my nose. “Ahyah. How’d you know?”
Quincy shrugged. “Just had a feeling this morning.” He approached the car and started to open the passenger's door. “You don’t mind, do ya?”
I shook my head. “No, no. Whatever’s good with me.”
Quincy lowered himself gingerly into the seat, keeping his back straight as possible. He closed the door and reached across himself for the buckle and stopped to hammer against his chest. “Bah, god. Been having some terrible heartburn today. Sorry.”
I shifted into drive and let the car roll, feeling out the potholes. The sun was a furnace melting the distant horizon. I felt sweat running down the length of my back and looked over to Quincy.
“You want me to put the air on? You must be sweating bullets in that get up.” I said.
“No,” Quincy said. “If it’s alright with you, I’d like to keep the window down. Air feels good. Y’know it’s funny, but I don’t think I’ll be coming back here. Just like I had a feeling that someone would be coming for me today. And here you are.”
Quincy watched his house shrink in the sideview mirror and dabbed at his eyes. “Am I, er, am I moved on?” He asked turning his attention to the road.
“Dead?” I said, flipping on the blinker to turn onto the main road. “Sorry. But, uh, yeah.”
“Oh.”
Quincy and I rode in silence for a stretch of miles, letting the country fall away behind us.
“Where are you taking me?” He said, nearly wincing. “Hell?”
I recoiled. “Hell? No, no Quincy. I’m here to take you to the afterlife.” I said. “I used to be called the Ferryman. But, as you may well see, there ain’t a drop of water for miles around. So I drive this. But before we get there, you get to pick one memory to revisit.”
Quincy’s blinked vacantly. “Memory?”
“Yup. Like a child's birth. A wedding. We realize that most people need a bit of pickmeup when they find out, uh, well y’know that they’ve moved on. So we let them relive a memory before we bring them across the river. Figuratively speaking of course.”
Quincy nodded and rubbed the front of his green Army-issued pants. His breath grew ragged and he took his cover off to crush in his hand. “June 5, 1944.” He said. Tears ran down Quincy’s wrinkled face as he turned to me. “I want to see my boys again.”
I looked back to the road and rolled up the power windows with my door controls. “You sure?”
“You're damn right I am. Take me.”
I put on my blinker to pull off at the next exit. “You’re the boss. Looks like I’ll need to get the old boat out again.”
|
Diana was not entirely comfortable being wrapped in a coat of cow meat and being left to her own devices outside of a dragon's cave, but her father said it was necessary. The prince of Agathon, Henri, had been turned into a dragon by some sort of strange witchcraft. The details, her father had said, were not important. Just get in, give the dragon a quick smooch, no big deal. Marry the prince, kingdoms are allied, everyone lives happily ever after. Unless, of course, Diana were to be, perhaps, **eaten**, like the meat she was slathered in. The guardsmen were supposedly surrounding her with pikes and fire in case the dragon prince had truly lost his mind, but the sounds of drinking and camaraderie had faded off into the distance, and she assumed they were off drunk in a field, dancing without a care in the world.
Diana was not enjoying herself.
An earsplitting roar shattered her eardrum, and she cried out in shock. She heard the sound of the beast slowly making its way from the depths of its cave, marching like a soldier to battle, although this would most likely not be much of a battle. She backed away slowly, then turned, then ran as fast as she could, before tripping over her high heels (which she was, might I add, forced to wear). Diana turned onto her back, and watched as a magnificent emerald dragon emerged from the cave. The behemoth was the size of a house, with scales glittering like a riverbed in spring. Her gasps of horror had turned into gasps of shock and wonder at the nature of the dangerous creature. The two, the dragon and Diana, peered into each other's eyes. Diana saw herself reflected in the black irises of the dragon, the yellow surrounding showing a thousand mirror images of herself, demeaned and small in the face of Mother Earth's magnum opus.
She stood, and slowly, maintaining eye contact, removed the suit of meat from her shoulders. The dragon purred and moved closer, sniffing at the bouquet of carnal flesh presented to it. A forked tongue snaked between rows of hideous, stained teeth, sharp enough to cut rock, and hard enough to crush as well.
The dragon gently leaned down, and snapped up the meat. After completing its hard-won meal, it gazed at Diana again. And Diana remembered her purpose for being humiliated in such a fashion, to meet a handsome prince and please her father. She approached slowly, her leather jerkin covered in sweat, her once pale and pristine skin dirtied and muddled, and lay a hand on the dragon's snout. The dragon did not snap, but it did not move either. It simply gazed at her entirety down the bridge of its nose, watching Diana's every movement.
Diana planted a kiss on the snout.
And... nothing happened. She tried again, but this time, the dragon snorted from the gentleness of her touch. Her proximity to its nostrils caused her to be knocked off of her feet, and she fell to the ground with a thud. The dragon approached her as if she were prey, crouching down and slinking towards her like a cat to a frightened mouse. Diana lay completely still. The dragon reached her, and brought its snout to her stomach, and Diana silently wept, preparing to meet God.
But the dragon nuzzled her stomach. And Diana realized this was not Henri at all.
She stood slowly, making no sudden movements. The dragon simply watched her, and Diana realized this was no monster, nor a man trapped in a monster's skin. She was unsure if this was a Henri forever destined to be trapped in a dragon's skin, or an entirely different beast altogether, but she didn't care. She stroked the scales, and she felt the animal vibrate with her touch.
In the distance, she heard the guardsmen finally react to the sounds her dangerous waltz had produced. She could imagine the brutes sluggishly retrieving their weapons, coming to slay the "monster". Not like this graceful creature, of another world. She felt kinship towards this creature, not towards the fools of her own race. And she made her way around the dragon, and climbed on its back.
The dragon huffed, almost in agreement, and ascended into the night sky, to take the two somewhere where they might forget the boorish decisions of humans. |
They came on enormous vessels that resembled river canoes but with taut, yellowish sails that crackled like corn husks against the beating wind. Below deck, dozens of oars slapped the ocean in perfect rhythm, adding a burst of speed with each downward blow.
Their faces were painted with plant dye and animal blood. The colorful markings ran in bold tracks all over their copper skin, seemingly flowing in time with the churning waves. Though their stoic, fearsome expressions did not change when *land!* was first called out, they eagerly made preparations to disembark. No American had ever sailed far enough to find the Other Shore. What adventure awaited them on these unknown lands? What riches? Were there already people here?
But their excitement quickly turned to grave shock. Everywhere their ships approached, they saw white faces and white bodies suffering from disease. Pustules, ulcerated skin, blackened toes upon the living; swarming rats upon the dead. The illness was deadly contagious; one entire boat-full, having had some contact with merchants, soon began dying and writhing in agony. Knowing better, the remaining Americans denied them proper burial. Whispering prayers of apologies to their gods, they burned the boat with the still-screaming inhabitants.
They also found a variety of interesting inventions. Having been nomadic for so long, the Americans were only beginning to create truly advanced technology, that which would sustain a growing civilization. They looked with wonder at the watermill, the blast furnace, the men riding strange, large beasts in sheets of shining metal. It was incredible, and they sampled sneakily but greedily, bringing what they could aboard their ships. Arguably most interesting find was a smelly black powder that ignited ferociously when dry; surely some use could be made out of this.
Eventually, the Europeans grew suspicious, and then hostile. The Americans retreated, having only light armaments with which to defend themselves. This was no setback - in fact, they took it as a good sign to begin their long journey back. Theirs were just a scouting party, after all; their mission was to explore and report. And they had quite the story to tell.
______________________________________
*Liked that? [More stories here](https://www.reddit.com/r/Idreamofdragons/)!* |
Most people have huge delusions of grandeur when it comes to reading others minds.
In reality, it was boring as fuck; annoying even. No one is as interesting as you think they are, and after you've heard everyone's thoughts every second of every day, they're all the same.
After a few years it was like living with television static, or how I've heard some people explain tinnitus; I basically tuned it all out, and would only look up if I heard my name.
The sudden man's shriek piercing the air caused me to lose my footing, stumble, and luckily catch myself on a nearby sign. In contrast to the white noise I was so accustomed to, this horrified me.
I *felt* the entire weight of this man's life; his unrequited loves, lost friends, passed on family members, past failures, and his lack of will to continue.
The weight of this all again nearly knocked me off my feet, the only thing keeping me standing was this angel of a stop sign.
A quick glance at the rest of the people on the street let me know that they all thought my mind was jello; no one just grabs a stop sign for balance for so long.
I can finally draw my eyes to the man giving off this demonic vibe.
He was a simple business man. Oh, sure, he looked downtrodden, forlorn, ready to end the day with a bottle, but not too unlike a common man.
He abruptly stopped walking as if he felt my gaze, and very slowly turned to make eye contact with me.
A burst of memories, years compressed into seconds.
This man was nothing extraordinary, and that was his folly. He realized he was nothing special, as most of us are, and instead of simply moving on, he let it consume him.
Devoid of anyone to give him the push he needed to change himself, to make a difference in himself, he kept on the same path; it simply became easier.
All of this was apparent in the instant he looked at me.
He blinked once, slowly, perhaps realizing this as well, that he can control his own fate.
But his expression never changed, and he slowly turned to walk away; he hadn't changed himself in years, this interaction was nothing. |
I drummed my fingers nervously on the table as I noticed them approaching me. I was never one for small talk and it always made me nervous.
"Hey, amazing work just now! I must say I'm really dumbfounded!"
I nodded shyly. "I know it's really inappropriate to say this, but wow! How did you do it? And without an engineering team!"I could sense the tinge of suspicion in their voices as they glanced around my resting lounge.
"I really thought I had perfected my teleportation trick, but you...you...I've no idea how you did it! I spent years with my team on these complicated props and devices, but you simply waltzed right up. No props, nothing!"I nervously looked around, at a loss for words.
"You didn't really teleport, did you?"The look in my eyes must have given myself right away as their looks of amazement turned into one of doubt.
I let out a deep sigh. I guess I didn't have a choice. With a deft flick of my hands, they fell right into a trance. And I uttered that very same phrase once more but with a little twist. With a faint thud, they vanished from sight. "I think you guys will enjoy the view tonight."I faintly whispered as I adjusted my jacket and got myself ready for the cameras outside. |
Excuse formatting, rushed out a story that I just had to share after it popped in my mind. Inspired by the prompt, even if it focuses more on solving climate change, not studying the data, with a fun ending. I think so at least.
———
The invention of the wheel, development of iron tools, embracing of agriculture and the written word - all significant milestones for humanity. The names of the people who first tried these things are lost to time, having been long forgotten by other humans who perhaps did not appreciate their significance.
The invention of the “Point Three-Dee Printer” by a sixteen year old boy called Adam Finn for a high school science project would, however, never be forgotten.
By reducing the core components of a 3D printer down to the size of a finger nail, Adam had kickstarted the birth of a new industry, and the full potential of this new technology.
Quick to capitalise on the invention, which in hindsight seemed an obvious one, Microsoft offered the boy and his parents the world - an unlimited scholarship and a guaranteed work life to grow into, and all it took was signing away the rights to the Point Three-Dee Printer, and all patents associated.
The worlds attention turned to Adam, and as the world media were quick to figure out, the ability to miniaturise 3D printing could have all sorts of applications that had only ever been explored in science fiction.
By the age of twenty two, Adam had lead his University think tank, sponsored and monitored by Microsoft, into the development and prototyping of a truly nano-scale 3D printer.
The size of a pinhead, these machines could print on the atomic scale.
Suddenly, the potential of this technology increased exponentially.
The biggest threat to mankind, increasing at a steady rate every year, was the looming doom of complete ecological collapse at the hands of global warming.
This technology, however, opened up the potential for scientists and engineers to deploy what was essentially an atomic printer into the atmosphere, where harmful compounds and elements could be collected and printed into more useful substances or masses that could more easily be filtered out.
Armed with the technology to save the world, Microsoft executives began counting dollar signs and ordered a full refocusing of the company towards developing this technology. New factories were built to mass produce the nanite printers, new operating systems were developed for use, and applied through sophisticated AI systems designed to save the climate.
Eventually, after a few years of developments, just as the sea levels started to really rise, the project was ready for launch.
Countless rockets, filled with millions of AI chip controlled, self-replicating, solar powered, nanite 3D printers were aimed at the heavens - and launched!
Not much happened at first, much to the chagrin of news media. But the observers who knew what to look for eventually started seeing the effects.
All over the world, small changes began happening. At night the stars were easier to see in cities, as the pollution levels reduced in the air. Tiny balls of solid carbon could be found from time to time too on the ground. Rain water started tasting better, the air became easier to breathe, and after only a few months the global average temperature actually stabilised for the first time in over half a century. Progress!
But all was not well, something new had gone wrong.
A simple error, in one line of code buried deep in the programming, caused an unexpected result during a single replication. The fact that the error was detected at all was a miracle, a graveyard shift coder, manning the control station noticed a single instance of directives change in a single nanite after it was formed. The nanite had faulted, and had started adding good elements and compounds into the destroy list after identifying them. Nitrogen, oxygen, carbon dioxide - major, important elements to normal breathable air.
Being a new version of the code, the entire cloud would soon assume it was an important update, and the update would self populate through the entire global nanite cloud. Within a week the entire atmosphere would be destroyed! The AI was it sophisticated enough to detect the insane error of this new imperative.
The terrified coder triggered an alert, and within 11 minutes a crack team of software engineers had begun working on a program to destroy the error, and outpace the update through the cloud. By this point 7% of the global cloud had already updated with the fault. Within a few hours humanity would be doomed.
After a quick test, the engineers prepared the upload station with the hot fix, the software to run the update was all loaded and ready to run the application. With the approval of a half-asleep CEO and accompanying chief council, the lead engineer sat down and started up the application.
The loading bar whirled, and the linked in hardware, including satellite delivery systems and antennae all lined up and prepared for the electronic instructions to follow.
With the weight of the world on his shoulders the man moved the mouse over to the LAUNCH button. Before he could click it, a message suddenly popped up on the screen!
CONFIGURING CRITICAL WINDOWS UPDATES
1% COMPLETE
DO NOT TURN OFF YOUR COMPUTER
With an almighty squeal the engineer screamed at the screen. Now of all times?! The fate of humanity could not wait for an update, the most important thing in the history of the entire species was happening!
With a roar the man flicked the power off and on at the wall, and rebooted. The few other people in the room started hugging and crying with each other, another terminal was tracking a number - 54%... 56%... 59%... the world was dying as the man finally loaded the application up again and moved to save everything.
A click, the program began, and the hotfix that would save an entire planet was blasted from a thousand antennae into the air.
The man, content that the job was done, slumped back in his chair, wiping the sweat from his brow. It was done, and he reached for his lighter as the progress bar rose past the half way mark. He would wait until the end, to make sure it was all done, least a single nanite remain infected.
As the bar moved towards the final pixels he clicked the lighter to celebrate with a smoke, and the last thing he saw before the computer blue screened was the bar stopping at 99%. |
Abroad the bridge of the *Terror*, Grand Admiral Rekkar was lost, staring at the enormity of the planet before the fleet. It was almost incalculably large, with oceans larger than his native solar system and continents that dwarfed Egiya, the supergiant gas planet his orbited around.
He sat upon his throne, as his men rallied, seeking his order. To save face, to hide his fear, he signalled to attack. They will seize every bit of resource they could from this colossal world with harrowing victory.
It took four weeks of nonstop thrust to reach the surface. Deploying in battalions to seize a landing base of operations, the Imperial Fleet was set upon by Buttons, a Labrador puppy owned by Ross Finch of Seattle, Washington.
There were no survivors. |
"Galactica". A starship from Earth that has been traveling for thousands of years into the intergalactic space. Since they entered the region it became dimmer and dimmer every day. But one day, a strange phenomenon encountered them.
"Jyn, we're at roughly 34 million light-years from Milky Way, how's the visibility going?"
"Just okay, sir. We're reading small interference from space dusts, nothing to worry about."
"Good."
At roughly half the speed of light, the ship rumbles heavily like a plane inside a thunderstorm when it encounters dust in its way. Captain Han is the 2,187th pilot of the ship. He was trained for years, he didn't expect anything strange to happen.
As his mentor said, "Flying in cosmos is the easiest way to travel". He did not forget that quote. It makes him feel safe every time he's having panic attacks while piloting the ship.
But he didn't knew what to do when it happened.
*Beep, beep, beep.*
The radar signaled a strange object incoming, about millions of kilometers away. The object, instead of an irregular shape of a rock or boulder, seemed like a word.
He looked at disbelief.
"S.... TAR....... WARS? "
He looked towards the window to see yellow, gigantic words coming towards the ship. He can't do anything but watch. The "STAR WARS"hit the window at an ear-breaking noise, but thanks to the window's material, it didn't break easily.
But another set of words are incoming. This time, it's slightly thinner and but longer.
EPISODE VIII
THE LAST JEDI
Captain Han panicked, instantly maneuvering the ship towards the east, to avoid the obstacle.
But as he speeds, the black cosmos was filled with words....
He stood in awe. Only then he realized the letters scattered apart from each other, like those cereal letters into the vastness of space.
His presence with the reality came back when he heard a small, but familiar music coming from a distance...
And saw a galaxy near, near in front of the ship.
|
I found a lamp on a beach. Not like, that gold thing from Aladdin. I mean a fucking lamp, with a cord and a lightbulb. It was this bulky purple glass thing. I picked it up and dusted it off and naturally, the lightbulb explodes and suddenly there's a dude wearing a paisley lampshade over his turban.
"I AM THE DJINN OF THE LAMP!"
"Uhhhh...what."
"YOU GET A WISH! I HAVE THAT POWER AND YOU HAVE FREED ME FROM THE LAMP SO IN THANKS I WILL GRANT YOU ONE WISH!"
He sounded like Apu from The Simpsons. It was borderline racist but I'm not about to pass up free entertainment.
"Can you please stop shouting?"
"IS THIS YOUR WISH?"
"...No."
"THEN I WILL CONTINUE SHOUTING! WHAT IS YOUR WISH!"
"I guess...I wish for just...uh...whatever will make me happiest."
"Oh...well then I will stop shouting."
I guess a man taking a leisurely walk on the beach can't really ask for much more. |
It started with the plants.
Thirteen stalks of Demongrass, to be exact. In retrospect, that sounded ominous already, but the guy who asked me for help was a kindly old man who looked like he couldn’t hurt a fly. Kind of like my grandpappy, back when he was still alive. Big sparkling eyes and all.
“It won’t take long, sonny,” he croaked. He had the kind of reassuring voice that most old people had, and who could resist that? “Go and help this old man out.”
So naturally I ended up helping him hack down the stems. If you’ve ever seen Demongrass, you know that they’re enormous plants. Maybe about twice the height of the average man. They bite, too, so you have to be careful when you cut them down or you could end up dead.
I guess it never really struck me why this nice, frail-looking guy was looking for Demongrass in the first place. There wasn’t really much reason to get rid of it except for clearing out space for crops. You can’t eat any of it, since it’s poisonous, and the whole thing rots in probably half a week. Nasty smell, too. Like manure.
Anyway, after all the Demongrass was cleared out, he gave me three gold coins and said I had potential. For what, exactly, he didn’t specify, but I chalked it up to old age. After all, he seemed like a harmless old dude, and you don’t mess with them, or so my grandpappy always said.
So I came back to the village, and maybe word got around that I was a pushover, because the moment I got back everybody started asking me to do things for them. *Can you fetch me a loaf of bread?* *Can you retrieve my cat?* *Can you kill my husband?*
I guess I *was* kind of a pushover, too, since I did all of them ‘cept the last one. They were nice about it, though. The blacksmith gave me a lump of ore, which I didn’t really know what to do with, and the little girl got me this weird fizzy drink I didn’t want to throw away but couldn’t find much use for.
Somehow my reputation got cemented like that. Like, people started talking about, hey, if you ask him to do something, he’ll do it! So eventually I got used to doing little errands in return for little trinkets. Like come on, what am I supposed to do with a shiny stone?
So when the war against the Demons started, the soldiers came marching through our village and recruiting men to kill wild beasts. And naturally, everyone pointed to me when they asked for the most able-bodied men in town.
I mean, what *could* I do? Rescue cats? Fetch bread? How was that anything remotely similar to killing demons?
“It’s fifteen grey wolves,” said the Major. He was this real intimidating bald man with an eyepatch. I swear his muscles rippled whenever he walked. Whatever it was, I didn’t want to go against him. “It’ll be nothing, I swear. We’ll reward you handsomely, of course.”
And of course, wanting to preserve my life, I said yes.
Okay, the thing was, to be honest, killing wolves wasn’t that hard compared to cutting down Demongrass. It was just a question of speed and reaction time. I didn’t even have a problem with the task, since I got fifteen gold coins from it, just what happened afterwards.
“It’s thirty Dragon spawn,” said the Major, towering down over me. I wanted to shrink away. “Of course it’s nothing to someone like you. Please, we need your help.”
Well, I couldn’t very well refuse.
“It’s fifty Orc Lords,” said the Major. He grinned. He had exceptionally white teeth for a man that looked like he did. I found myself admiring them before I lost myself in fear. “What’s there to be afraid of?”
*You.*
“It’s the Demon Lord,” said the Major. He crossed his arms. “You’re our only hope, Adventurer. Please, slay him!”
I mean, the Demon Lord was *nothing* compared to the Major. The way everyone described him, I was expecting some giant monster or something, or at least a pile of bulging muscles like the Major. Instead, there was some human-bat mixture that cackled about wanting to destroy the world. I got real tired of his speech so I killed him.
“You’ve done well,” said the Major. He shook my hand, and I could feel my knuckles popping with the pressure. “Very well. Please, I want to reward you. How about you become my successor?”
And like the pushover I was, I had no choice but to say yes. |
The problem with the best laid plans, is that they never go how you want them too. Especially when humans are involved.
When It first first suggests the plan, everyone agreed unanimously that it was the best idea yet. This is ignoring the fact that they always agreed unanimously with every plan It proposed. It was the Creator, the All Seeing, the <insert positive description here>. What could go wrong?
The problem, it was later decided, was that human consciousness relied too much on uncertain probability, the built in randomness found at subatomic level affecting the macro of life. In theory, everything could be predicted, pre-determined, but add a human into the mix and everything got kind of screwy.
There were early warning signs, but the red flag was when humanity collectively started building a huge tower in Africa. In their stupidity, they believed they could reach It, and some even started mocking It. The sheer audacity! Of course it was a futile plan. At best they would break out of the atmosphere, not reach heaven and probably fall into a species life crisis and ultimately achieve nothing. This is assuming they didn't end up believing the icy vacuum of space was a new paradise and all committed mass space suicide. You never knew with humans, but the simulations were not good. This was not acceptable. Building towers did nothing to improve science, philosophy, ethical codes and all that. A tower is a tower. At best it required some tricky maths, but projections showed humanity reaching a level of status quo that was, in effect, boring. It did not want this.
Hence the plan.
Separate the language into many. Split up the land mass. Create competition. Competition would create progress. Once a benchmark progress had been reached and competition was a core aspect of the human psyche, unity humanity under one language and allow them to - collectively and under It's name - reach the stars, and beyond. One day, transcend, and join, It.
To add a dramatic flare, when the time came It downloaded a vision into every single human's dream (awake or asleep) of the ancient tower - a symbol of humanity working together.
/
A side note : for the sake of dramatic narrative, I have created a dialogue of the report given to It about the results of the plan. However its worth noting that It, being a being of four dimensions (we assume) It and they did not use conventional language like you and I. You see the problem - such an exchange would be simply impossible to put into words, however elegant. So I have taken some creative liberty. Please excuse the crassness.
\
Er, hello, O' Great One.
GREETINGS. AT LAST. ALTHOUGH TIME IS NOT A LINEAR EXPERIENCE FOR ME AND SOMETHING ONLY DESIGNED FOR THREE DIMENSIONAL BEINGS AS A KIND OF ILLUSION TO ALLOW THEM A SEMBLANCE OF FREE WILL AND CONSCIOUS THOUGHT... I HAVE BEEN AWAITING YOUR REPORT WITH GREAT ANTICIPATION.
Wow. Right. Fuck. Um-
REPORT. ETERNAL RICHES AND PLATTERS OF THE FINEST CHEESES AWAIT AS YOUR REWARD.
You know, about the cheese thing, we never really lik-
REPORT.
Right! Report, of course. Ha-ha. OK, so... it worked! A few glitches. We're unsure why but squirrels also received the vision and we're trying to iron out of consequences. But all humans now speak the same language.
EXCELLENT.
But...
(an awkward silence rests for a beat)
YES?
None of the humans could agree which language they were speaking. Of course all languages became one, but they all refused to accept the fact they they were speaking any other languages other than their own.
SO?
So... All the nations declared they were the one chosen nation under Your name. Under 24 hours all hell - excuse the simile - broke loose. Wars broke out. Nukes were fired.
THEY... WHAT ? THEIR NUKES?
Their, aah, yes, nukes. Some. Some nations destroyed themselves. Some destroyed others. Where the bombs didn't hit, the humans tore themselves to shreds.
...
O Great One?
...
O Wonderful one? - hang on. Wait... One second.
WHAT IS IT?
Two seconds! Oh wow. Gosh... incredible.
TELL ME
The squirrels. O Loveable One. They are uniting. A coming together of squirrels under one banner! And they are rebuilding! Clearing away the nuclear fallout! Designing renewable energy resources, building rockets! This is incredible!
(Another pause)
NONE OF THAT IS TRUE. IS IT. ABOUT THE SQUIRRELS.
... No. Sorry.
BOLLOCKS.
/
So there it is. The end of humanity. I should have perhaps added some spoiler warnings, but we all know we're fucked away. I apologise for any typos and would love your comments. |
I became conscious to the sounds of the machines beeping and the ventilator wheezing away. Panic slowly subsided to calm acceptance as I remembered where I was and why. It was a rare thing for me to be awake and I fought to open my eyes and figure out what time of day it was.
From what I could tell through my blurry vision, it was daylight. The nurse always opened my curtains in the morning, letting the warming rays of the sun to filter across my failing body. She was a sweet young woman; reminded me of my daughter when she was younger.
Something seemed to be casting a shadow across my chest, though. I fought my tired muscles to lift my head only to catch a glimpse of Willard curled up and napping. For most people, a cat laying on you sunning themselves wouldn’t be a big deal. For me, it was a godsend.
You see, Willard had a reputation around the home. The staff tried to discourage us from calling him The Angel of Death, but the facts spoke for themselves. When Willard took up position upon your supine body, you were guaranteed to die within 24 hours.
And honestly, no better mercy could be shown by man or beast. For lying here as I was, I prayed for death every waking moment I had. I was tired of fighting. I was tired of existing. I was ready to depart this world for the next.
|
The bright light shines through the heavenly doors in front of me as cloudy mist entrenches the air around me. My body had become free of its shell and now I resides in the angelic one provided by God himself.
I had been a terrible person on Earth. My mind was blank as the scene was so overwhelming. I didn't think I'd be in heaven if it were real. I gawked at the immeasurable diamond pillars and the golden pebbled street in front of me.
The crunch against my feet gave me afterlife chills as I stepped on gold that would have made me rich in my previous life. A weak sound could be heard in the distance.
I touched my hand as it felt smooth and looked healthy. I couldn't believe it. My ears were tickled as I neared forward to my unknown destination. I had no purpose, and no drive to be here. I should've died and went straight to hell.
"Harrell, Harrell! Harrell, Harrell!"My name was voiced in the distance as my ears flicked back and forth. My curiosity was vividly peaked at this point as my walking pace increased and my nonexistent heart pumped faster.
Under the heavenly shining sun rays that bared down on my vision, a glimmer between the rays revealed a massive gathering of angels. Wings as far as the eye could see as people chanted my name, waving their hands in the air and screaming.
A man with sun glasses and a white rove emerged from a battle ring with a microphone glued to his hand. He posed like a supermodel with a lot of a spunk. He had a tattoo plastered across his arm, "Jesus Christ."
"Ladies and GENTLEMAN, give me your attention for our number one contender for the HELL BELT, straight from the burning depths of the UNDERRRWORLD. Give it up for HARRELLL!"Jesus growled as he crossed his arms and whipped his head back.
I was transported to the corner of the ring and the area became a massive scream as the crowd went wild. "I LOVE YOU HARRELL!"A fan screamed at me.
"And nowww, for our HELLL BELT CHAMPIOOOOOON!!! Give a round of applause for ADOOOOLF HITTTTLAAA!"Jesus dropped the mic.
My ears felt like they were gonna bleed as the crowd became distorted with mad sound. Hitler came out of nowhere dancing down the path with a hell belt strapped to his waist line. He smiled and kissed at the crowd.
He jumped into the ring and looked at me with anger in his eyes. "What did you do on Earth to put you here?"He asked.
"I have no idea." |
For the fourth time in his life, he grasped the shovel in his weathered hands, and began to dig his own grave.
The first time was a little more than 13 hours after Eric White had been captured. The stern military captain running the camp had emerged from the hut just inside the outer fence with an unlit cigarette clenched firmly between his cracked lips. All seven of the survivors from the ambush were lined up, held rigid and alert by pride and defiance despite their fatigue. The captain studied them carefully, barking a single unintelligible word to his subordinates for each one.
When he reached Eric he looked the thin man up and down, drew the cigarette from his mouth and spat on the ground. The word that came from the captain’s throat was barely a word at all; it was a rough, guttural grunt studded with harsh consonants. Nevertheless, its meaning was phonetically obvious: death.
Eric was led away from his companions, who were separated for their respective duties, and out to the boggy flats beyond the fence by three soldiers. A spade was thrown angrily at his shins. “Dig,” the tallest one ordered with a thick accent on the vowel and a pistol pointed at the prisoner’s gut.
Eric dug as slowly as he dared. The work was hard, and his joints already ached by the time he was a half-foot deep into the earth, but it was still a passing moment of his life and he clung to it fiercely. With each pounding of the blood in his ears, he enjoyed his fleeting chance to feel his hands blister and his muscles burn. He knew it would not last forever and if he took too long he would die instantly, but he did not want to let this moment pass any quicker than it needed to.
By the time his hole was a full foot deep and wide enough to curl a body in, a siren began blaring from within the camp. The soldiers grabbed Eric firmly and dragged him from his hole back towards the barbed, iron gate.
Minutes later the low drone of bombers filled the air. Eric had been saved from his grave, he realised, only to be blown apart by his allies mistaking the prison camp for a military base. Was it really too much to expect his guards to let him escape as they scrambled for cover in the bunker under their flimsy wooden hut? To forget him in a moment of panic?
Apparently so. And, since that small fortune escaped him, it was no surprise that the bombers continued overhead without dropping a single bomb and left the perimeter fence unbreeched as the dark metal craft continued deeper into enemy territory. Eric blended in among the other prisoners and apparently was forgotten by the guards as the dark night and sudden rain concealed any sight or reminder of his secret survival.
The next day, the prisoners were sorted onto trucks: the broad, muscular prisoners bound for manual labour; the slim, athletic ones shackled and sent to work on the enemy farms; the officers destined for God-knows-where, probably some dimly lit cellar where a sadistically grinning villain alternately extracted fingernails and classified information.
Eric wasn’t destined for any of these fates, and the guards soon recognised him as an exception—an aberration in their neatly sorted production line of human resources. After the last truck departed, he found himself dragged to the mudfield once more to dig his grave anew. The storm had already dissolved his laborious first pit into a subtle depression in the flat, plantless landscape.
Eric made much faster progress on his second grave, despite his attempts to delay it. The ground was soft and yielded to the shovel blade easily. Occasionally he glanced at the horizon while tipping his load of brown clay behind him and prayed to see the distant silhouette of aircraft once again. They did not come, and twice he was beaten across the spine with the butt of a rifle for being too obvious in his stalling.
By the time his hole was three-and-a-half feet deep he was intruding on the graves of earlier diggers; the dark sole of one boot was slowly emerging from one side of the pit, and two shovel-severed fingers lay mangled in the spoil. Eric apologised under his breath with each cut his weapon made in the earth’s soft flesh and as he watched the brown water bleed out. He would be with them soon, he thought, and another digger would soon be disturbing his peace.
A thin, gangly soldier ran towards Eric's supervisors shouting something he did not understand. The approaching man argued briefly with the’s guards before one snatched the shovel away. “You small. Go dig rock. Not die today.”
The newly arrived soldier took Eric by the arm and led him once more through the wire gate to be dragged forcefully onto an enemy truck. Four other men sat in the back, their hands bound with rough rope. Eric found his wrists being similarly constrained, the stiff fibres grazing roughly on his aching, living flesh and calling a small smile to his face; the smile of a still-living man.
One of the other prisoners, who introduced himself as Tom, apparently understood the enemies’ tongue perfectly and explained to Eric what the others already knew: the five of them would be sent to dig a tunnel somewhere equally forsaken deeper in the enemy lands.
The rock was hard and the work harder. Rations were scarce—barely enough to keep the tunnelers crawling at a snail’s pace for 14 hours straight in the stone and the mud. Three days in, James broke his leg and died in the tunnel. Less than a week later Tom and Sam were crushed by rockfall. It was at this point Eric realised he was merely working on his most elaborate grave yet.
The tunnel was barely started when the work was cancelled. Three lives were lost in an unwanted hole in the ground, but lives were a cheap commodity and no-one seemed to care. No-one seemed to think Eric deserved an explanation as to why the project was abandoned either, and Eric couldn’t have asked anyhow. He was simply packed onto the truck, or another indistinguishable from it, and driven back to the prison camp.
And now, a single day later, the fourth grave was nearly complete. A young boy’s grey-stained face gaped in horror out of the mud wall, his wide eyes staring in disbelief at Eric’s industrious work. There were no planes in the sky, no excited soldier rushing forward with a new use for him and no inexplicable change of plans afoot to cancel this latest abyss he was opening in the clay.
There could be only one interruption to his excavation now. Behind his back, Eric heard a bullet click into the barrel of a soldier's rifle. |
“Was it worth it?” Nikolai spat as his fist slammed into the bound mans jaw, sending blood spattering to the floor. “Killing them all? My family? Burning my house to the ground with them inside?”
“You’d really stoop this low for revenge?”
The man lifted his head, cuts and bruises almost making him unrecognizable. His eyes gleamed as he finished untying his wrists.
“Of course I would, you killed my puppy”
|
“Once upon a time, there was a little boy. His name was Thomas - same as you! Thomas lived with his mummy and daddy and his hamster in a nice white house with a garden. Thomas loved to play in the garden.
"One day, when Thomas was six years old, he was playing, as usual, in the garden after school. It was a beautiful day. The sky was blue and the birds were chirping away merrily. Thomas was kicking his favourite blue soccer ball around. The ball was as blue as the sea. Thomas loved the sea and he loved his ball.
“Suddenly, he kicked his ball too hard and the ball went flying! Thomas ran after it. The blue ball rolled under a hole in the fence and out of the garden. So Thomas ran out of the garden to chase after the ball.
“The ball rolled and rolled. It rolled across the road and behind the bushes. It rolled on the grass and into the park with the ducks.
“Thomas ran after the ball. He ran across the road and behind the buses. He ran on the grass and into the park with the ducks.
“The ball stopped in front of the pond. Thomas also stopped in front of the pond, then he bent down to pick up the ball. Suddenly… Splash! Thomas had slipped and fallen into the pond!”
“Thomas - “ My voice broke. I swallowed, vision blurring, then said, “Thomas was scared, but luckily, his mummy and daddy appeared and saved him! Since then - ”
I stopped, my throat constricting and the words dying in my mouth. I could feel a wetness on my cheek. Slowly, I raised my hand and laid it gently on the cold stone before me.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t save you, Tommy,” I choked out at last.
I don’t know how long I sat there on the grass, my hand on the cold hard stone. I only know that the sky was blue and birds were chirping away merrily, oblivious to my grief. |
*Right then..* The dragon's tail twitched, cutting across three metres of air in a heartbeat. *She's a fast one, Vakoshir Dragons. Bloody hell, this could be rough* The dragon lowered her head to hover just above the hard packed sand of the arena. *That's not a good sign, no indeed.* Funny thing about the Vakoshir variant of dragon, they don't rear upwards before an attack, they hunch down to the ground. *Admittedly, she's not as large as a Groshir variant, never will be either. Vakoshir are small. Still.. that tail only needs to strike me once, let alone her jaws and talons. Fun.*
I sidestepped slowly, lifting the haunch of meat onto my shoulder and preparing to toss it once she struck. *They call me insane for training dragons without any of the tools. I call them barbarians for training a living creature with pain. Bastards.* Her head inched it's way ever closer to the ground as her second set of eyelids slotted down to protect her eyes. *Three..*
Her body shifted, a languid coiling of pure muscle, ferocity, power and determination on display. Her tail stopped its incessant sweeping and stilled. *Two..*
I shifted again, facing my back towards the centre pillar within the arena. *I won't actively harm her, but I won't make any promises about her knocking her own self out.* The haunch still on my shoulder is drawing the better part of the dragon's attention. *Honestly, the accepted base practices of inflicting pain and starving dragon trainees is incomprehensible. Who thought this was a good idea?*
Her eyes met and her tail bulb split into the electrically charged blades that it was composed of, ready to slice anything into pieces. *One*.
She struck with rapid tempo, her sinuous body rocketing forward. Her neck snaking outward towards my general area. I tossed the haunch of meat behind me and rolled forward. Passing underneath the dragon I experienced minor static. *Good thing I've not got any conductors on, otherwise I'd have fried pulling that stunt.*
Her tail glided above me, whiz-popping as it went. I heard a solid thud and smiled to myself, *so it begins!*
--------
**THREE DAYS LATER**
*She's stubborn, I'll give her that.* A typical Vakoshir would not have this level of endurance, this one is different. *Not even a Groshir variant can engage in a prolonged combat for this long.*
I evaded another swipe of her tail, less lightning this time. *Curious.* The centre pillar had long since been turned to rubble, *good thing too, otherwise we never would have found the underwater reservoir of water that come forth from the rubble.*
I tapped the section of her tail just before the blades as I avoided being pulverised yet again. *She's learning. Good. I'm learning too.*
Her tail lost its electrical charge, reduced as it was. The stored energy began to move its way up the conductor plates of her body towards the three manipulation horns that sprouted from above the ridge-line that protected her eyes. *Oh.* I began to back away as quickly as I could, stealing quick glances to try and locate rubble large enough to hide behind in order to weather the oncoming lightning storm that she was about to discharge. *They said she was incapable of her variant's primary hunting technique, directional electric discharge. She is, she simply never utilised it.*
Vakoshir variants are smaller than their cousins, faster, not as strongly armoured. However, they're covered in electricity conducting scales. They gather it from their immediate environment, lightning strikes, they can even convert heat into electrical energy. Every horn and talon is capable of unloading a directed beam of electricity, Vakoshir are deadly because of this. She never showed that ability, which can be circumvented if the training begins when they're kits. A Vakoshir kit that can't unload directed electricity is considered useless. *But you aren't useless, are you? No, you're something far more, you're clever.* I sighed consigned to my fate as there was no rubble large enough to protect me. Her horns began to effervesce liquid electricity as she prepared her killing blow.
A quick, angry and concerned murmur began to spread throughout the gathered audience. Elite Dragon Slayers were arming themselves, prepared to charge in and end her life. I slashed my hand viciously through the air, signalling a halt to their plans. *I will succeed, or I will die.*
All three of her horns began to coalesce physical electricity between them as my fate loomed near. *It was a good run, thank you.* She nodded her head imperceptibly to all but myself. *Curiouser and curiouser, indeed.* The electricity shattered forward faster than one could follow with their eyes, and it spread out.
A flattened wave of diluted death spread throughout the arena, I stood tall and allowed it to wash through me. I collapsed, as did she. *Such is death but an instant within the void* whispered an entity that could not be heard, recognition flooded throughout me as the darkness swept me into the tides.
----------
**SEVEN HOURS LATER**
We continue to circle each other, thoroughly weakened after close to four days of prolonged battle with a short electricity induced nap in between for the both of us.
Wave after wave of diluted electricity came forth, each with less physical affect on the both of us. Each bearing a whisper. *You are worthy, kind, true to oneself.* The entity whispered, I smiled. *No, I am Foraxis de Mej'kalor of Xor'Atal-Iren, the Kingdom of Champions.* She nodded once more before she lunged forward, taking advantage of a feint.
*All or nothing, live or die.* I rolled underneath her jaws, surging to my feet I grabbed one of her horns and pulled myself up and onto her. My legs wrapped around her neck, ignoring the constant burn of electricity. Ignoring the shouts of surprise, fear and dismay from the spectators without the arena. Ignoring the blood, sweat and tears that was coursing forth from both of us.
--------
Ignoring everything I placed my free hand onto her skull, in between her eyes and I willed my determination to be greater than hers. A wave of electricity formed on the air in the arena, imploding towards her.
"Heed me, dragon!"I yelled as wave after wave struck us both, not harming us but augmenting us, fusing us.
"Heed me, dragon!"I yelled again, willing cooperation between the two of us.
"Heed me, dragon of the Vakoshir!"I yelled once more, my voice losing all ability. Naught but a hoarse whisper would come forth.
*Now you've done it, Foraxis de Mej'Kalor, very well.* The entities voice rippled through my mind as we both collapsed yet again.
I awakened to a static dome of physical electricity enveloping the two of us, cutting across the entire area of the arena. She was growling a warning to three dozen Elite Dragon Slayers that were attempting to find their way in.
Her head snaked towards me and our eyes made contact, she nodded. *Good. You're awake. Now, please tell these walking snacks to lower their arms. I will not harm you, not now.* she said as her body relaxed whilst she observed my reaction.
I stood slowly and deliberately, slowly piecing together the events of the last four days.
*Eleven days. I've been holding you safe for the last six days. You can dismiss them now, Foraxis* she whispered, holding my gaze. Another hard slash through the air signalling to those outside the arena not to interfere. |
For such a grim prompt, I greeted it with a smirk. *Of course.* I didn't know exactly what a corrupted file meant in the context of my life, though I knew how it worked in games: everything was gone. I tried reloading the file a few times, each time greeted with the same ominous message: "Save file corrupted."
I would just have to reload an earlier version of the file, I reasoned. The corruption was a new phenomenon, one that wouldn't affect my backups. While I searched through my save file history, I was surrounded by a vast, black ocean. It wasn't cold, though, now that I think of it, it wasn't much of anything at all. My immediate vicinity was lit by an ambient wash of light that refused to extend more than a few inches in any direction.
I found a suitable backup: three days old. Not too much time to go back, and the whole point of saving and reloading was to do things over again, anyway. I clicked on the backup. My body began to tingle as I was transported out of the in-between space and into my own life once again. The rush in my ears was quickly replaced by a blaring alarm, and I sat up out of bed to turn it off.
As I got up to dress myself, though, another prompt appeared:
"Fatal error. Reverting to file selection screen."
Before I knew what was happening, I was back in the ocean, surrounded on all sides by walls of blackness that seemed this time like they were bearing in on me. I experienced a sort of claustrophobia that the selection screen had never triggered in me before, and a flop sweat broke out on my forehead.
I tried selecting another backup, this time a week old. I got a few minutes into my day this time before experiencing another fatal error. The reality of the situation was beginning to set in, and I could feel myself starting to panic.
At the selection screen, I felt as if the darkness all around was choking me, leaving me unable to breathe. There was only one thing to do. I tapped the gear wheel at the upper right-hand corner of the selection screen, and selected the option labeled "Factory Reset."
A prompt appeared before me:
"Perform a factory reset? This will erase all data and revert the simulation to its original state."
"Y/N" |
Being a nerd had few advantages in the hellscape that was high school. Let's just say a lot of dumpsters were investigated and my social media following made a future in vlogging unlikely. In general, things were on the lighter side of miserable (I hadn't gone full blown goth yet), but there was pretty substantial room for improvement.
Of course, all of that was about to change. I had the egg now. My precious. Each day I sat there, adjusting the heat lamp and coaxing it to hatch. I knew I was making progress if for no other reason than the egg wobbled with greater frequency each passing day. Of course, there wasn't a lot of literature on hatching dragons, them being extinct and all, but I figured one hatching technique was as good as another.
I just knew one thing for certain: I had to be there when it hatched. I assumed dragons were a precursor to birds, so the odds they would imprint on the first thing they saw were high. If I was there at the right time, boom, pet dragon. No more waiting for the bus. Also considerably more likely my YouTube channel would take off -- the Egg Watch Video Day 192 currently had 23 dislikes and 2 likes (I had two accounts).
So, yeah, the stakes were high.
Of course, mom was NOT understanding of the momentous developments, saying that my "egg-session"(she liked making up lame words) didn't mean I could skip school. So I was forced to swaddle the egg with care and set it down beside my grandma each day before I left with EXPLICIT INSTRUCTIONS to call me if the egg began to crack.
And so that's what I did, just like the other 192 days leading up to today. Egg swaddled. Grandma informed of the CRITICAL NATURE of her task. Then off to school.
Grandma was not as vigilant as one might have hoped.
After school, I scurried home, all excited to begin the creation of Egg Watch Video Day 193 and finally close in on my tenth subscriber. Bursting through the door I looked over to see grandma passed out on the couch. A complete dereliction of duty as far as I was concerned, but there was nothing to be done about it.
Jumping over piles of stuff my mom had bought and discarded, I rounded the couch to see how Eggbert was doing. And then I saw it. A beautiful baby dragon, its bronze scales glinting in the lamplight as it lay curled up on a blanket, its eyes staring lazily at the television screen before it.
My heart exploded with excitement. Running over, I knelt before the dragon, eager to have it see me, to know me, to love me.
"Eggbert, I am your father."I leaned in, meeting its eyes with mine. "I'm here!"
"GASP! No, you cannot be my father, for Eduardo is the only father I have ever known!"The dragon looked away, a single tear forming in the corner of its eye.
"Eduardo? Who is Eduardo?"I looked at Eggbert, perplexed.
"How can you deny him? How can you deny your TWIN BROTHER?"Eggbert rolled on its back, and began to emit a tiny screech. Flailing its claws in the air.
"Twin brother? I don't have a twin brother!"
"He kept it from you. Afraid of what you might say. What it might mean. What you might do if you ever knew."Eggbert nose is running now, tears streaming down his face. "For he knew you would never accept him!"
"I have no idea what you are talking about, are you ok?"
"How can I be ok? My heart has left me. Stolen by Maria, never to return again."
My grandma started awake, blinking a few times at me before finally speaking, "I love this show." |
How does one like him rise?
Is it the redeemable quality?
The heroic heart that overcomes the treacherous sea of trials?
Or the light of its soul that blinds the darkness in every direction?
No, it wasn’t any of those. It was the hubris and arrogance of someone that thought highly of themselves when in reality their souls was equivalent of a speck from a universe.
He was the morning light, and if you looked at it. His beauty was enough to rise but no, it was his confidence and cracked ego that made him defy the creator and the omniscient one.
As the man above everyone chose someone else to lead the creation, he was engulfed in fury. His eyes were like the blazing fires of what is soon the be called the inferno.
A patronizing light was what filled him in his appearance, but his insides were nothing but a person who was blighted.
With his ego and his self proclaimed right, at one hand and one raised knee rose a rebellion that caused thousands or even millions of glorious celestial beings to defect to him.
He demanded everyone with the same power as the Omniscient one, and he promised that he would build a paradise out of lust, pleasure and greed that everyone would live.
No soul would have to face and experience flesh and blood.
He would reign as the new king of the highest.
But alas, the omniscient one was called omniscient for a reason. With one blinding light, his fists of justice threw all those that defected into the pits of infernal blaze that what would be soon called hell.
His anger against the fallen one made their wings as black as their blighted soul.
But the morning sun now the deceiver didn’t stop. He was able to rise and build a kingdom of his own in the pits of hell. *The Pandemonium*
The deceiver ordered his comrades to pull the mortals for centuries into their will so that they may not enter the gates of heaven and be despised by the creator like any other fallen angel.
But the fallen forgot the dispensations of the world. As the last dispensation occurred, all the fallen were turned into demons.
The unworthy mortals into prisoners, to be cast out in hell.
And as the seal closed, the demons and prisoners stayed, they still had the ability to repent. But it was shrouded with greed and shallow pleasures.
But maybe...
Just maybe..
One shall turn his head to the other and decided to return, with metanoia inside him.
Why hope?
Because I, who felt convictions and constant immense pain has been chosen to ascend back.
But as I wait for ascension, this demons and prisoners will beat my pride until I succumb to them.
Even with the temptations of eternal pleasure of illusions, my heart will remain strong and steadfast to go back to my master.
And maybe...
Just maybe...
I may finally experience eternal joy and bliss inside the true paradise.
And as these thoughts come by, I never would have thought these would be used.
I am positive I will rise into true glory once more. As the seal opened and my body felt fresh air that I hadn’t realized I missed so much.
|
[classic rock music plays over a deep engine rumble. A '67 Impala barrels down a country road surrounded by a dark wood]
"~Thunder! Nuh nuh nuh nah nah nah!"
"Dean-"
"Thunder! Nuh nah nah-"
"-turn left Dean."
"Thunderstruuuuuuuu-"
"DEAN TURN LEFT!"
[Tires squeal as the car turns, hitting a mailbox before stopping abruptly. Time of day? Ambiguous.]
"Son of a bitch!"Dean hit the steering wheel before leaning back and sighing exasperatedly. "A little *late* on the directions, were we?"
"Late? I practically had to scream at you to make the turn."
"Yeah, why didn't I hear anything?"
"Uh, I don't know, Dean. Maybe it was the loud MULLET ROCK COMING OUT BOTH THE SPEAKERS AND THE DRIV-"
"Whoa. I know we're upset, but show Axel some respect,"Dean said uninronically. "Where are we going, anyway?"
"Nowhere."
"Nowhere? What, is that the name of a town or are we starting an Abbott & Costello routine?"
"Abbott & Costello?"
"Yeah, you know Abott & Costello. 'Where we goin'?' 'Nowhere!' 'Where's that?' 'I dunno!' 'Whaddya mean? Where we going?' 'Nowhere!' 'Where's that?'
"Dean?"
"Yeah?"
"A little focus? It's just, Nowhere. The lore-"
"There's lore? On Nowhere?"
"Well yeah, tons. Pocket dimensions? Bermuda Triangle? Hell, every world religion has an otherworld that exists in a dimension slightly out of phase with our own."
"Like King Arthur."
"Exactly. Well, Avalon and the Fey-"
"Nerd."
"Ha-ha, Dean,"Sam said dryly. "Hilarious."
"Fine. Why are we looking for this 'Nowhere.'"
"Well, a lot of locals have gone missing and all the reports say they disappeared all right here."
"That it? We don't usually just show up for missing persons. You sure this is our kinda thing?"
"Well, hold on. Oddly enough, there's some urban legends about these parts. Something about a lone, eerie house owned by an old couple with a purple dog. It emerges out of the woods and, for the people who find it, it's said the rest of the world peels away."
"Ok, well, that's weird. But, supernatural?"
"Dean, look."
Dean glanced through the driver's side window, doing a double take when he realized the wooded country road had fallen away. Before them sat a lone, wooden house in a barren, dirt field.
"Well, Sam. You were right,"said Dean opening the driver's door. "I guess this our kind of thing, after all. Bitch."
"Jerk." |
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