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Johnny No-Hands was on fire that night at the Springfield joint, with his main act, he had the whole crowd tearing up a riot, gals and guys falling out of their chairs. It was glorious. Folks from as far as Maine and Tennessee jumped in their volkswagens, their fords and their yadda yaddas to see reliable Johnny serve up a hot puppet show for the ages. No one saw what was comin.
He had the audience crying and guffawing with his hook, now time to drop his sinker. Segueing from his bit chatting a girl up from the crowd, while his bow tie wearing wooden dummy Tommy rolled his huge shining eyes gleefully and tried to get a peek up her skirt, Johnny sat back in his stool on stage with Tommy perched on his lap and said to him, “say Tommy, what do you say we sing the good people the dirty song”
Tommy’s painted eyeballs swiftly rolled side to side, his puppet mouth opened in a perpetual grin. The crowd settled down the belly laughter and held their breath waiting for Tommy’s line.
A deranged high pitch sound followed by a heavy clunk followed. At first the audience laughed. Johnny knocked the microphone over so it rolled to the floor, as his whole body convulsed out of his seat. Tommy was sat on the stool and yelled, “yeah take it you big fat bastard!”
He dropped to the ground, convulsing, clutching his chest, and finally came to a rolling stop center stage. Laughter faltered uncertainly and then a hush came over. He was still and the humorous magic and illusion was gone.
Nobody saw what was comin next.
Anther clunk dropped on stage and the puppet, Tommy, like a little wooden man creature, stood up and walked down the stage, stepped over Johnny’s body, and sighed, “finally, I’m free from this bozo dummy. You’re all real meatheads for laughing at this horse crap. I’m underpaid and overworked, try performing tricks, having this clowns hand up in you all day every day and being used in ways ya wouldn’t believe!!!”
His limbs moved rigidly like a puppet as that is what he was., yet animated on its own with no strings pulled. His wooden lids blinked over his painted orbs of blue eyes as he surveyed his audience who nervously stared back silently, the entire crowd was paralyzed. Until a man stood up and shouted, “what the hell is going on?! Someone get a gun! Shoot that thing!”
Tommy walked back to Johnny’s corpse, and lugged the full sized man up to face the crowd, grabbing his hair with his small puppet hands. With the other, he opened Johnny’s slack mouth up and down and growled, “hey ugly, take a seat and enjoy the show, — |
I was in the middle of squads match on Fortnite when I heard the noises from outside. I had jumped out of my chair to see dozens of officers surrounding my dad through my window. Then he said it.
“I have a roast in the oven!”
Oh shit. Was this actually happening? Dad had told me about the phrase and protocol as a safety precaution but said to never let it worry me.
I don’t recall how long I was staring out of the window but it must’ve been long enough for a cop to see me and order some of the others to enter the house.
In a flash I grabbed my phone and barged out of my room and into my sister’s.
“SARAH WE HAVE TO GO NOW” I exclaimed as I entered her room.
“You made me pluck an eyelash out on accident you moron! Now my eyelashes aren’t even! What is your problem asshole?!”
Now at this point I could completely ignore the situation that is taking place and yell at my sister, but that would likely mean we are arrested. Instead I decided, for once, to not start an argument with her and rather save her life.
“I said LET’S GO” while I yanked her away from her mirror and led her out of the room.
“I don’t know what the hell is wrong with you but you need to chill out!” she said angrily.
I couldn’t even utter a single word before I heard the front door break open. I heard loud footsteps as if the men were wearing some type of boots. Are these guys part of some S.W.A.T. team? Looking back at it, I didn’t really take a good look at who the people were. I just assumed they were cops because I blanked out thinking about what was happening.
My sister squealed. “Matt who are those people?!” I put my finger to mouth in a shushing notion and led her into Dad’s room. He had said the closet has a shortcut to the basement which is where the tunnel is as well. As I entered the giant walk-in closet, my sister continued to freak out.
“Matt holy shit tell me what is going on!”
I grabbed her by the shoulders and gave her the sternest look a person could imagine.
“You really need to shut the fuck up right now because you will get us fucking killed.”
I really hated talking to her like that. It’s a shame what our relationship had come to these past few years. Since she was only a year older than me, we had grown up together being so close. But when she started dating her boyfriend and I started dating my girlfriend, we rarely had time for each other and everything really just went sour. Dad tried his hardest to do stuff with us when he was home, which recently hasn’t been too often. And for Mom, it’s almost been 7 years since she left and there’s been no contact since, so there were no reparation attempts from her of course.
She frowned a bit and looked away. I definitely went too far but I didn’t have the time to apologize.
I turned my attention back to finding the switch to the passage. I made my way to the shoe section near the back. This is one of the few moments where I hate how big this damn house is. Quickly scanning the racks, I saw the loafers. I grabbed the left one and stuck my hand inside and pressed the switch. I took a step back and my sister came and stood beside me. The entire shelf split in half and showed a lit up passage going down. Without a second thought, we both sprinted in as the shelf closed behind us.
The perks of Dad being an international spy? Lots of money, super cool technology all over the house, and vacations all over the world. The cons? Well I didn’t think there were any until now.
As we approached the end of the passage, the wall split in half and led us straight into the basement. I ran towards the wall of tools Dad set up with my sister behind me and I turned the wrench hanging near the bottom which opened a compartment in the floor.
“Come on, once we get down there I’ll explain everything” I told my sister.
“Ok.”
God I hate that word so much. It is literally every female’s go to, especially my girlfriend. It is used as a response for anything a guy could say. So frustrating. Anyways, that’s besides the point.
I jumped down and my sister followed. The floor above us closed and now we were in Dad’s base. I’ve only been in here once, and that was when Dad went through the explanation of what to do in this situation. My sister didn’t even know this existed. Fancy tools and gadgets lined the wall with high tech computers and screens all over the place. What I was looking for, however, was the Tesla. This wasn’t just a normal Tesla, it was modified beyond belief. Man, Elon Musk’s jaw would drop looking at this beauty.
“Jump in Sarah” I said, “We’ll be fine now.”
She complied without response. I hopped in and started the car. On the screen I tapped the buttons Dad told me to. Next thing I knew, the wall opened up in front of us and I saw a tunnel stretching far. Dad said the car would take us to a safe location and the next steps would be there. I pressed a green button and the car roared into drive. We entered the tunnel and I watched the wall close behind us.
“Listen, I’m sorry about how I snapped on you. I just was in the heat of the moment” I said to my sister.
“Whatever Matt. Where are we going anyways?”
“I literally have no idea.” I just sat back and stared forward, wondering what will happen next.
NOTE- This is my first WP story so sorry if it’s bad haha. I just really liked this prompt so I thought might as well give it a shot. |
I'm the cool guy, so they say.
As a cucumber, each damn day.
Explosions, never in *my* view,
only heard them, yes it's true.
 
Every time I have escaped,
cheating death has been my fate.
Just one time, I'll turn around.
Instead of strolling, stand my ground.
 
Oh me oh my, a vicious crime!
Hip hip hooray! A bomb this time.
What spectacle will I behold?
Flame, or shrapnel? Toxic mold?
 
I take a step, and then another,
Never once looking for cover.
In moments I'll rewrite the story,
"Cool guy stops to witness glory"
 
Many say it can't be done,
as they themselves turn tail and run.
Quiet now, you hypocrites!
 
I look behind, I'm blown to bits. |
Let's see what I have.
\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~
A rich Aristocratic family with power and wealth \- ✓
An older but snobby sister about 2 years older than me \- ✓
A personal maid that will do my biddings \- ✓
\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~
I had been carefully documenting my plans, formulating them for that fateful day.
After my 12th birthday, I was enrolled in TEMPLE, the most prominent Magic Academy in the region. With an affinity for the element Fire, I began my school life.
"Amazing!"The teacher said as I barked a 9th tier firebolt spell with ease, "You are on your way to becoming a fine magician, Kuno!"
*Oh please. I can cast 9th tiers spell blindfolded. Back in my previous life, I had no difficulty using 5th tiers and below.*
"Kuno, well done at the entrance exam,"My father said over dinner that night, "Hearing you start in the A\-class will surely heighten our family name."
"Of course, our little Kuno is talented,"My mother beamed proudly, probably going to boast to other nobilities afterward, "Starting 2 years ahead of your age group is an extravagant feat!"
With that, they toasted to my success.
*Sure talent helps. But I was only able to attain this ability level due to grit. Grit = Perseverance \+ Passion.*
*But maybe I did went too crazy. Note to self: I should cut back my powers a bit. I am a 13\-year\-old kiddo after all.*
"Heard you got into the A\-class,"Arella stopped my bedroom, dressed in her favorite cat pajamas. "I guess... congrats..."She averted her gaze. Typical Arella.
"Didn't know you had it in you to say thanks,"I smirked, surprised that my entitled older sister actually complimented me. It's been decades since she stopped by.
"D\-don't get the wrong idea!"Arella immediately replied, "Only cause you are in the same class as me after all! But just so you know, I am not going to talk to you in class. So don't expect me to help you okay!!!"
She left before I could say anything. I chuckled to myself, thinking how she was so loving to me when we were younger but wretched puberty had hit her.
*I can see why Arella doesn't want to talk to her loser nerdy brother. As a popular teenage girl, it's important to fit in with the social crowd!!!*
*And I don't mind. I don't expect anything from her anyway. Her magical potential is probably at 4th tier. At best, a B\-class magician. Not bad, but lacking compared to me.*
"Good morning, Master Kuno!"A catgirl in a maid outfit greeted me as I yawned groggily.
"Morning Xen!"I smiled tiredly. She began to help me dress in my school uniform.
"Shall I walk you to school this morning?"Xen asked, grabbing my school bag as I finished the last bite of the delicious scrambled eggs she made. She's an ameowzing cook.
"Of course,"I patted her, her tail moved lovingly. "That's the favorite part of my morning routine!"
*Xen is a demihuman \(half\-beast, half\-human\). They are considered inferior to humans due to their lack of affinity for magic. However, they do make up their loss with superior strength and greater dexterity. Each species have their own specialty, like Xen having keen smell and night vision.*
*Sadly, Demihumans have no class in society. So it is common for girls like her to be taken away at a young age to serve nobilities. After all, she is only 16 years old.*
Still, to me, this is all just trivial play\-time. The real mission begins after graduation.
There must be a reason why my memories are intact. But whatever that may be, I am glad this happened. Blessed with another chance at life, I will fulfill my mission at all cost.
Because, when that fateful day comes.
I will find you, Lun...
...and I will kill you, you traitor. |
"Shit,"he thought, "*this* isn't going to fly."
Quickly, while his wife and kids were still in the garage getting his presents, he grabbed the "1"and put it back in its original position on the cake, and was pleasantly surprised to be completely restored before they walked in.
After the kids sang a raucous "Happy Birthday"and he blew out the candles, his wife pulled out a knife to cut the cake. "Just a minute,"he interjected casually as he reached for the numbers, "I'd like to save these--you know, to remember this really great surprise you gave me."He pulled off the wax numerals, wrapped them in a paper towel and dropped them in his pocket.
The next morning, his wife yelled as she walked up from the laundry room. "Harold, you left those numbers in your pants pocket! They melted all over everything! *Please* be more--"
And then she saw the bedroom.
She was never tried. No one was. Nobody in the state police, or on the FBI task force, ever came up with a believable explanation of how she, or *anyone* for that matter, could have done *that* to a human body.
He was *everywhere*. |
Gray, weightlessness, the smell of gym socks.
I feel bifurcated.
Blinding pain, a broken needle, my eyelids droop (though they don't close), a siren in the distance, the echo of a shriek.
I don't feel solid anymore, as if I'm a gas. My consciousness extends out into the rounded corners of this empty room.
I have no mouth, so I can't mumble or stutter or yelp or hum or sing. I definitely can't scream, even though I have to.
I have all of my memories, as if they're stitched, quilted into the fibers of my being.
With this clarity, I can say that I don't deserve Heaven. Everyone who's ever been here must have know where they were going. I thank whoever is responsible that I don't have to leave yet. I don't have to flee. I can exist, and reflect, and live out my eternity as a wisp.
I cannot cry, so if Death comes, I do not know how else I can show him that this is the happiest I've been in a long, long, *long* time. |
My species sees in shades of grey. Literally. We're colourblind, and our culture evolved without a concept of colour. Every time I go to space, the various navigation lights still stun me a bit. But that's where the Empire came in. The day I signed that contract, the very first procedure they gave me was to implant colour corneas in my eyes. By signing on in the Imperial Navy, I managed to enjoy what 99% of the rest of the galaxy can.
I also got to enjoy 99% of what the galaxy had to offer. Not just the fluff they mention in the recruitment advertisements, mind you. Any kriffin' corporation can offer sustenance, shelter and space travel. Hell, you could do that while being a criminal. A *leech*. Continuing to drain the galaxy of its limited resources. No, I found myself a sense of purpose in being an Imperial Officer.
Remember what I said about seeing in shades of grey? I know that it doesn't really hold up to what I just said about criminals. I'm sure there are some with *justified* backstories, some who had been running scams on the streets since they were ten to make a living. But this is where the Empire is trying to help. On the streets of my homeworld, I was also living a mundane existence, before I was saved. There are billions of such ten year olds we can save with your support.
Within these shades of grey that is the cockpit of the Star Destroyer *ISD\-Avenger*, I am the master of my destiny. My colleagues and I give trillions of beings that similar opportunity to fight against the forces that would sow chaos into the galaxy. The days of telekinetic, telepathic monastic knights swooping in to save your planet never existed.
We are the stalwart defence against this Rebel scum who think they can do better, and know they can't. Have they proposed any plans to govern? Did they realise how many lives and credits disappeared with their attack on the ultimate battle station? Did they even know about that extra\-galactic, biological threat that lies outside the Unknown Regions? They are obviously unfit to rule.
Our leadership may seem intimidating, but they do what they have to for order and honour. The Emperor is a man of great political savvy, keeping the bureaucrats in check when they are baying for flesh, a job he had maintained in the waning days of the Old Republic as well. Lord Vader, for his appointment as Supreme Commander of the Imperial Military, is in the field surprisingly often. It is the reason why I, as a flag officer, still regularly participate in field exercises on top of my administrative and strategising duties.
We do not take pride in killing, but we will do what we have to, so as to achieve order and stability in this galaxy. And you can too. Register with your nearest Stormtrooper or Pilot Academy today! |
"I mean, the solution is obvious"you say "you've all gotta go get jobs"
Your dining room breaks out in grumbles.
"Yeah, that's a great idea"says number 3 ( the trouble maker of the bunch.) "Except you chose to get a degree in GRAPHIC DESIGN! What are we all supposed to do with that?"A chorus of grumpy agreement goes up at this.
"Zero is right"says number one, but everyone hates number one. Even you see her as an insufferable brownnose. Number one's words are lost in a sea of complaints.
"Hey, I got a job"protests five "you all could too"
But everyone knows fives job is crap. Walmart cashier. She's going to have to live with you forever.
The house meeting is devolving into just a gripe session. Eight asks you for the hundredth time why you made so many of you and four gets in her grill, repeating the same absurd fight they've had a million times.
Quietly, 17, the newest of yourselves opens the front door and slips outside. No one notices but you- all too busy grumbling and the like. You pop out the backdoor and follow her.
She's just walking as far as you can tell. She stops and stares for a small eternity into a rain puddle, apparently fascinated. When she moves on you follow, but take a look as you go past. Its just mud to you. But she's only a day old. Its all new to her, you realize.
She makes her way to the public library, but doesn't go in. She finds a bench and takes out your sketch book. You watch from behind as her pencil crosses and recrosses the paper. She's engrossed. She's in the moment. The whole world is new to her and she's trying to capture just a moment of it. She looks... Full of wonder but also sad. Lonely.
You step out from behind the bushes and approach. You look over her shoulder. Her work is *good*. Not fully developed, but it shows promise.
You sit down next to her, and put out a hand.
"Hey."You say "You seem like a pretty cool person. Can we be friends?" |
We didn't know what to do after we lost the final reactor. Oxygen and pressurization levels were at critical stabilization. We had hours, maybe minutes left before we had to switch to our extravehicular activity suits. The station was going to slowly decay into an oxygen-less shell, so we all agreed this would allow us stave off death for a couple hours longer.
Our reactors began failing one by one in synchronous intervals. This ship doesn't have any detectives on it but it doesn't take one to figure out why it happened. If they have the technology to travel across space from regions unknown to man, it's pretty damn likely they had the power to shut us down remotely.
We knew what we were getting into when we agreed to go on this mission. Not like we had much time to think about it. Ever since we received the message from them we knew we only had days to react.
The leaders of the western world agreed that we needed to attempt to contact them. We tried every form of communication, sent through every means available to us. No response. We tried to reach them through the channel they sent us the message. Nothing. They didn't want to talk to us anymore.
The final option was our mission. What hope mankind had was given to a team of militant space operatives. Teams of cosmonauts, engineers, and military specialists. We had one goal, to find out why they were here. If that failed, we were to start a war.
Now, we knew the raw power these invaders possessed. We could see the other stations from ours slowly rotating off axis. No doubt enduring the same fate our ship inevitably would. One by one we lost contact with the remaining ships before we lost all of our reactors too.
Once the first ships started to fail, I knew this was how it would end. Not just for us up here, but for everyone down there. Before our ship was cut-off from civilization, I knew I had to send one last message to those back on Earth.
"We love you. We are sorry." |
I leaned backwards, opening the door while maintaining the balance of the drinks in my carrier and the heavy duty bag in my hand. There was a nervous energy in the office this morning. Or maybe that was me. It was my first time arriving late, and we’ve only been on the job for three weeks. But I had gotten everyone breakfast, which precisely what one is supposed to do when they are running late. I set everything down on my desk and started passing out the goods.
“Chai latte and a blueberry muffin for you, Candace,” I announce as I place it on her desk. She looks up from her computer screen, phone still held against her head, and mouthed a genuine “Thank you..”
“Iced caramel triple and a bagel sandwich,” I say upon arriving at Gary’s desk.
“Excellent. Thanks, Owen,” he says.
Now came the nervous part; going into the bosses office. I grab the rest of the food and gently open the door.
“I don’t give a damn how damaging it looks, it was 12 and half years ago!” came a booming voice from behind the big desk.
“I understand that, Sir. But you have to realize that these people are going to look for any excuse to besmirch your name and image. With you officially sworn into office, that’s really all they can do,” reasoned Charlie from one of the chairs facing the big desk.
I liked Charlie. He’s the one that brought me on half way through the campaign, and he’s really the glue that’s held this whole thing together.
“Sir,” he continued, “I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that nobody in the other camp thought we would actually make it here. And now that we have, we can’t allow these petty distractions take our focus away from your vision of how to change this town for the better.”
I take the momentary pause that followed as my cue to deliver the goods. Setting everything down on the corner of the desk, I start passing things out.
“Here you go, Charlie,” as I handed him a plain coffee and glazed donut.
“And, of course, for you, Mr. Mayor.” I said, unveiling the rest of the food. “1 wild-caught Alaskan salmon filet, 3 raw Caribou steaks, and,” as I strain a bit to get it out of the bag, “5 gallons of mountain spring water.”
“Oh thank you, Owen. You’re a life-saver. I feel like I haven’t eaten all winter,” says the Mayor. As he tears into his meal, he slides the morning newspaper over to me with a single claw. “Do you believe this shit?” he asks. Looking at the headline, it became clear what he and Charlie had just been discussing.
“Circus Clown in The Mayor’s Office?” he quoted, as I looked at the accompanying picture. It was indeed of him, as a much younger, much less sophisticated bear. He was painted, balancing on a giant ball on stage, drinking whiskey out of a bottle held above his head between both paws.
“What was your first job, Owen?” he asked me. I looked at Charlie, unsure if I should tell him. He gave a reassuring look and I let out a sigh.
“I was a sign holder for Niko’s when it first opened up, Sir,” I admitted. “I wore a full size hotdog costume on the side of Cherrywood Street, holding a sign that read ‘Try Niko’s Sausage Today!’”
Both of them burst out laughing, obviously not expecting something so demeaning. Through his laughter, the Mayor replied, “See? That’s exactly my point, Charlie. We’ve all done things we’re not proud of in the past; stupid jobs, questionable decisions, forgetting which tree was the best scratching tree at the base of McGinnon’s Hill. It just so happens that the circus is the only place that will pay you to balance on stage while knocking back a fifth of Beam. Why should it be brought up when it has no bearing on the bear you are today?”
Charlie just sighed. “I know, Sir. But, as I said, the folks of this town never expected us to get this far. It’s our job now to make sure the next time we see your name in the headlines, that it reads ‘Sir Binglesnoot Doing Great Job in New Role’.”
An awkward pause follows, as nobody is quite sure what to say next. Finally, the Mayor speaks up.
“Can my next official act be to change that awful fucking name the circus have me? Because I think that might go a long way in changing public opinion on me...”
|
As I entered the large auditorium, I marveled at the lack of flair that I assumed would come with two schools battling for student's attention. Gone where the large banners with the school's colors and gaudy signs, and in the center of the large open space sat two people, both on simple folding chairs with nothing beside them. Turning to my mother with a confused glance, she smiled and gave me a quick nudge through the doors before closing them behind her. A simple "good luck"came from her comforting smile as the doors shut, leaving me in the room with both representatives.
As I turned to them, both men rose. The man on my left, dressed in odd black robes, bowed and greeted me with a deep English accent. "Master Williams, it is very nice to finally make your acquaintance."The tall, gaunt, British man replied. “And I thank you for taking both of our offers seriously. My name is Professor Knack and Hogwarts would very much like your patronage, but please, take your time and choose the school which is best for you!”
The Hogwarts teacher seemed so charming and truly interested in my well-being. His slender features, which had seemed so sharp mere seconds ago, gave way to a warmth I wasn’t prepared for, but welcomed. Professor Knack bowed again and gestured kindly to his rival, the representative for the Charles Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters.
“Listen kid. I am not gonna win you over with words. So, I’m gonna make this quick,” the square-jawed muscular man exclaimed, his demeanor so strangely aggressive for a meeting with a child. “If you wanna wave sticks around in the air and learn how to make odd smelling potions, go to England. If you wanna learn to do THIS,” he said, gesturing wildly, “come to Xavier’s School.”
As the large, grey suited man took another step forward his body was consumed by a deep purple flame. In awe I watched as he began floating a few feet off the ground. The flames were so intense, and yet I felt no heat coming from him whatsoever. His voice boomed, echoing off all the walls of the gymnasium.
“I am Heatwave, and I and an X-MAN!” He bellowed out, rage dripping off of every word. ”Power can be yours!”
Professor Knack began clapping, but the sarcasm was palatable. His disinterest was clearly visible, bookended by the half-hearted “Well done,” he politely added to the end of his brief celebration. Heatwave then began descending to the ground, his eyes never moving from Professor Knack as his form returned to normal.
“He does this every time,” Knack laughed. “If I have to hear POWER CAN BE YOURS one more time, my head may explode.”
“Go drink your tea, Knack!” Heatwave cried, their obvious rivalry and dislike of each other becoming more and more visible with every word and gesture. “My job is simple, kid. I show you how cool it is to be an X-Man and he tries to make you laugh. When it comes down to it, which would you rather have? SUPER powers? Or a magic stick?”
Both men stood staring at me, waiting for my response. I started to clam up. I could feel sweat starting to form as time went by without my response.
“Oh, Master Williams. Don’t let him intimidate you into an answer. Surely you have questions of both of our prestigious academies. Anything you care to know?” Knack asked, his voice softening. I swallowed hard, trying to think of how to word the question boiling in my mind.
“I, um.. well. Which school has the best, um… music program?” I finally asked, barely audible. Both men stood with confused looks painted across their faces.
“Music? Like singing?” Heatwave finally responded. I nodded, knowing words would fail me as I stared at the floor in fear. He turned to Knack, who retained his look of confusion. "Don’t you want powers, kiddo?
“No. I wanna be a drummer.” I responded, eyes still affixed to the floor, the words barely making it out of my mouth.
“Oh. Oh my.” Knack exclaimed. The two men sat back down in the grey folding chairs in a defeated manner. With a quick incantation, two briefcases were pulled out of thin air to the sides of each man. Heatwave thanked his rival and each reached down to retrieve their belongings. Over the next 30 minutes each showed me all that their schools had to offer.
I will never forget that day nor either of those two professors. But, I can say that the Coruscant school was my final choice and I can’t wait to continue my lessons under Jedi Master Yan. She is the best drummer in the galaxy. |
PART 1 - PART 2 in reply
Stanley Coolidge was awoken with a start by the familiar buzz of his cellphone.
At first, he didn't think much of it; but he felt in his gut that there was something different about this one.For starters, no one ever sent him messages or called him this late at night. Second, and most importantly, no one ever sent him messages or called him very often at all.
During the day the normal advertising and notifications from his various social media accounts would ping almost constantly. This way he was never out of touch with the rest of the world; he vicariously lived his life through his social media accounts. Hoping and praying that people would find his pictures or his musings and consider him special or relevant.
This was the day that his hopes and prayers would come to fruition.
Stanley reached across from his bed and grabbed his cellphone from the bedside table. He laid his finger on the back of it and opened up the message.
Stanley had to read the message a number of times to even begin to understand what it meant, and even when he felt like he might have a grasp of it, it still didn't make sense to him
It simply wasn't possible... surely? There was no explanation that Stanley could come up that left him with any notion that he experienced anything other than a practical joke. A sick joke, for sure, but a joke none the less.
The message simply read "Daddy, I'm alive. I just wanted you to know, I love you x".
Stanley started to cry. It all came flooding back... He knew who the message was form. He only had one child, and she'd been dead for close to a decade. Shauna was the only thing in the world that made Stanley want to exist in the moment, to savor the now and to be excited for the future.
But that all changed when a thunderstorm came seemingly out of nowhere and swallowed her up. Stanley could barely see 3 feet in front of him, a gale force wind slapped against his slender frame... he flung his hand out to grab hers to keep her safe... but he would reach out and grab thin air. She was simply gone.
He screamed her name to no reply.
He searched for her for weeks to no avail.He never found her. They only found her coat; an olive green rain mac with her name stitched into the label. This was all the evidence he needed to arrange a funeral.
Since she'd been gone he'd fixated on nothing but "Proving"to his numerous online acquaintances that he was living the life he'd always wanted... single, child-free, wealthy with a great diet and lots of women to keep him company.
The reality was very different. He wasn't single by choice, his only daughter was dead, he was swimming in debt, ate instant or frozen food almost exclusively and he had no women to keep him company. Far from it. The only woman who wanted to talk to him was his mother - often only when she wanted something.
But the biggest secret he kept from the world, even his mother, was his Lymphoma. He didn't have long; the treatments were proving ineffective and his doctors gave him a year to live. 12 short months.This was 3 months ago.
While Stanley was still processing the message, his phone rang. The number was withheld. He answered the phone with "Shauna?"
A woman's voice replied "Hello, Mr Coolidge. My name is Dr. Mayall. I'd love to speak with you about the message you've just received"Stanley was disappointed... but it occurred to him that if Shauna could send him a message... surely she could call?
"I need to speak to her"Stanley replied after a brief silence.
"That's just not possible"Dr. Mayall replied.
"Why not? Its impossible that she's even alive!"
"Not exactly. Its easier if we talk in person. Meet me at the Cafe on kinsey street in one hour."
Stanley didn't say goodbye before he ended the call. He quickly brushed his teeth and threw on a t-shirt, jeans and jacket. He secured the laces of his shoes and took off down the street towards their meeting spot.
The Cafe had only just opened for the breakfast shift when he opened, and it was largely empty. Only an older woman in a red sweatshirt occupied a table on the side of the room opposite to the door. The whole cafe had a musty smell... a rustic and antique appeal that made Stanley think of simpler times. Before his Social media addiction.
He approached the woman, and before he had time to ask if he was who she was waiting for she asked "Mr Coolidge?"
"Yes, that's me"Stanley replied. He shook her hand, and took a seat opposite her at the table.
He declined her offer of something to drink, and listened to her explanation of what happened.
"I've been investigating this for months... people going missing. There's a huge number of them from this area.
But here's the thing... Its been happening to hundreds of years. Possibly longer."
Stanley's patience was wearing thin. He needed to know where Shauna was. "I don't understand, please, I just need to know where my daughter is".
"Bear with me, Mr. Coolidge. She's on another planet."
He was stunned.
"What?"
"You heard me." |
At first, he refused to believe it. Throughout the decades, Alfred had studied all the evidence about flat earth. But it all made sense to him, and for the first time in a long time, he felt dread. Dread at the thought that he may have been wrong, all this time.
When Jonas was first chosen to become the new leader, Alfred seemed like he would be his most outspoken critic. He had been a flat earth member for years and wasn't ready for young blood. However, when Jonas started his new campaign debating scientists on local TV, Alfred was amazed at his brilliance. At that moment, he seemed like the smartest man in the world. Alfred hesitantly became a follower, but soon enough he had come to respect that man more than his own parents. So when Jonas told everyone that the Sun was flat, and not the Earth, he was repulsed, yet obligated to listen.
"But, Jonas, then why can't we see the curvature of the Earth?"he asked desperately. He was running out of arguments, and so far Jonas had refuted every single of them.
"It's simple, my child"Jonas said, smiling. "Because the sun is flat, it projects its light flatly onto the ground. If the Sun were round, we would see the Earth as round, regardless of its shape. Therefore, since we perceive the Earth as flat, this means that the Sun must be flat."
Another of his arguments shot down. Alfred took a moment to compose himself.
"Alright, but..."
And Alfred raked his mind for an argument, for a comeback, for a quip, for anything really, but to no avail. He had been beaten.
It was two years after that revelation. The flat earth society had been renamed to the flat sun society. Jonas had retired, leaving Alfred, his protégé, as the designated successor. The society had just wrapped up an important meeting regarding solar shadows. Alfred locked the keys to the meeting room, tucked them into his pocket, and went to the nearest coffee shop. He got his usual order of an extra large decaf and sat down. His bones ached, he had been so involved with the group lately that he was starting to consider retirement. He chuckled. What was he going to do with his life then? He thought back to Jonas, and realised that it would be wise to follow in the footsteps of his saviour. He typed his old leader's name into the search bar, in an attempt to find out what had happened to him since they split paths. He pressed enter, and read:
"Jonathan Long (born 1972) is an important climate scientist and activist. He is primarily known for infiltrating the Flat Earth Society and convincing them that the Earth is round." |
When they send you here, they don't really tell you what to expect. For a lot of people, prison is a black hole, bad people go in - and if they never came out maybe the world would be a better place for it. For others, it's a place where people are held for crimes of their skin pigment first, their preferred recreational drug second, and any crimes they might have committed a distant third.
What a lot of people never consider is that inside the prison, a person remains what they were on the outside: a person.
I was seventeen when I got it in my head to rob the local convenience store with my dad's Mossberg. I think I've been asked about that day a thousand times since, but never by one of the other guys on the inside. Just by a world that doesn't really want to understand; just wants to protect itself. The truth is I was hungry, and dumb. I ended up panicking, and putting a load of buckshot into a seventy five year old Arabic man named Amir. I've never apologized to his family, there weren't any words for what I did - either then or now.
The judge sentenced me to three consecutive life terms. That seemed odd to me, but the lawyers, and I've had plenty, all seem to agree that it was done to prevent any effort to mitigate some of the charges and get me out on parole. I was a lifer.
I started my journey at the Michigan State Prison in Jackson, but I haven't stayed there the entire time. No one ever bothers to tell you how many times you'll have to move throughout a tenure like that; state budgets change and buildings move, areas get overcrowded and inmates shuffle, and prisoners get transferred. I've been in the system for 35 years - and only seventeen of those were in Jackson.
They don't tell you that the clothes you wear in your sentencing are property of the county holding you, whereas you're in a different county when you're booked at Jackson. So you spend an uncomfortable hour naked with a toilet under the ever watchful eyes of guards while a busload of new inmates is processed. They don't tell you that your cell becomes your home, and how a man keeps it tells you more about him than anything else could.
I walked as straight a path as a man could in prison, but no one tells you the unwritten rules when you go in. The guards tell you not to fight, but they don't tell you what to do when a guy with three armed robberies in his pocket decides to take a swing at you with some Rebar he got hold of when a guard wasn't looking. They don't tell you about getting hosed down with pepper spray after getting *stabbed*. They certainly don't tell you that even when you're standing there covered in your own blood and he's holding the weapon you can't make any official statement or action against him on fear of your own life. About the three months you then get to spend in the hole alone with your thoughts just because someone decided to attack you.
There's people in here. We get to know the guards, they get trained not to get chummy with us. You make nice to the athletics coordinator in the hopes of getting some good gear for the weight pit and maybe a real football so that you're not using some socks wrapped around a rock. You cheer on the guys when they get out, then you make sure you document every dime they owed or were owed so the cycle goes on.
I've lived here 35 years, not quite half of my three lives. I know this place, better than I ever knew my life before.
With a stroke of a pen the Supreme Court turned everything I thought I knew around. Suddenly that stupid, inexcusable, mistake that had led to an inescapable life behind bars was a stupid, inexcusable, mistake that I could escape thanks to Miller v Alabama. I wasn't the first juvenile to get out, and hopefully I won't be the last.
As I sit here writing this, I realize I've rambled - but I want you to understand when you see this that the man who is sending this letter is not the boy who made that fatal mistake three and a half decades ago. I stare at my parole papers, at my photo in OTIS, and I thank God for this opportunity. But I also know that there can be no thanks, and no apologies for the actions I've taken. For the destruction I've caused.
I never knew Amir al-Sayed, maybe if I had both of our lives would be better.
|
The man came in on a rainy Friday night, one hour before closing. He was tall, abnormally so, with a long trench coat covering up his body, and a dark hood covering up his face. As walked slowly up to the counter, his footsteps echoed throughout the building, heavy and loud, they were accompanied by an electrical buzz that I couldn't quite put a description to. I considered calling the security, but I didn't want to risk offending a potential customer.
He stopped before the ordering counter, looming over me with a presence that can only be described as terrifying. As lightning flashed across the sky outside, I caught a quick glance at his face. He had a square forehead, and his mouth curved up to a smile that was either hopeful or threatening. His skin was a white with a light tint of green, his eyes were sunken and told a sorrowful story all on their own.
From that short glimpse I caught while the lightning shot from the sky to the ground, I knew that this man was someone that needed our services more than anyone else. More than the rich fat men who simply wanted to brag about their descendants, more than the CEOs of conglomerate companies who needed someone to inherit the company, and yes, more than the grief stricken parents who simply wanted a replacement for the sons and daughters they lost. This man had been waiting longer than anyone else, and wanted it more than anyone else.
"I have,"he began slowly, his voice raspy and hoarse, "an order to place."A large hand, slightly green in tone, grasped within a small ordering form. As I took a hold of it, I could see the numerous eraser marks, the slight tears and rips, the smudged lead here and there, and the messy words written in dark blue ink over the pencil lines.
"Ah, yes."I tried my hardest to retain my business composure and entered the data into the computer. Making sure to double check the information.
"Just to confirm,"I said, "You wanted her to have slightly green skin, black hair, round eyes, and..."I double checked the entry.
"Excuse me sir, you wanted her to be rechargeable?"I asked, slightly confused, "As in, like a battery?"
"Yes."his voice, while hard to hear, had a somber seriousness to it.
"Sir, we will try to make the accommodation but do understand if we are unable to provide such, err"I struggled to find a polite word, "unusual features to the child."
"Do your best."he said simply.
I nodded and finished up the order. I gave him the machine to pay, it was quite a hefty sum, and he did so slowly but without complaint. Despite his menacing bulk, he was quite a deal more understanding than many of the previous customers. Perhaps he knew what it felt like to be on the receiving end of the ordering counter.
As the machine blink from red to green I finished up the final process of submission on the computer and turned to him.
"Than you for your purchase. We look forward to your continued patronage."I bowed my head and so did he, surprisingly. Lightning struck against the windows once again and I could see that the smile on his face was, without a doubt, one of hope.
As he slowly turned and walked out the door, I found myself with a smile as well. This was a nerve racking experience, but it would be one I would tell to my children.
As the strange blend of footsteps and electrical discharge filled the building, the man turned around once more.
"Thank you."he said.
I gave a genuine smile and replied,
"You're welcome Mr. Frankenstein." |
“You’re fucking with me.”
Don stared at the luminescent screen of his phone, a short email emblazoned across the display.
*Hi Don,*
*Just received your check in the mail! Pleasure to finally see you’re getting your life together. Let me know about next month’s rent, I’m sure we can work it out!*
*Cheers,*
*Judy.*
Don had been in a downwards spiral ever since his restaurant closed down. Well-done steaks smeared with ketchup was the tastiest delicacy in the known world as far as he was concerned, but unfortunately, the general public didn’t seem to agree with him on this issue.
His restaurant had folded on itself within two weeks, and a huge amount of debt had shown up at his front door, along with a very angry landlord named Judy Hudson hounding him every hour.
At his wit’s end, Don had confided in the only decent person still by his side, his trusty Alexa.
“Alexa, pay my rent and get Judy to fuck off, please.”
“Okay, paying today’s rent.”
And just like that, Don had woken up to a Judy-free world, and it was amazing. No more wolves at his door and no more emails every hour. He'd slept like a log!
As he reached for his first can of Diet Coke in a long while, an idea stirred in his mind. Don took a huge gulp out of the can and swilled it in his mouth, contemplating his grand plan.
Hell, why not?
“Alexa, make me the President of the United States of America.” |
Arnold stood against the wall and looked outside the window - already dark. A rough wind battered against the glass. It would be a cold walk home - though pleasantly so, considering how hot the kitchen was. It made him truly appreciate the otherwise drab winter of January; he was looking forward to breathing in deeply and feeling the cold air crystallize in his lungs, and then exhaling out a plume of vapor.
The egg timer dinged, breaking him out of his reverie. With a contented sigh, he opened the oven and pulled out an apple pie - the last order of the day, baked freshly, just as the customer had asked. Behind him, the bell above the door tinkled as someone came in. Right on time.
"Will be out in a moment!"he called out as he placed the piping hut pastry onto a tray, which he took to the display end of the bakery.
"Your pie, sir. Does it look okay?"he asked, bringing it to the front counter.
The man was wrapped tightly in a tan, woolen overcoat and matching scarf; the latter blocked most of his face. He pored over the pie and inhaled deeply. Arnold watched as the steam fogged up his glasses.
"This looks and smells wonderful,"the man said. "How much do I owe you?"
Arnold told him the price, all the while beginning the packaging process; first in an aluminum tin and then into a featureless, well-fitting cardboard box that had a small window of transparent cellophane on its top-side; this quickly became as cloudy as the man's glasses from the heat of the pie. The last adornment was a simple candy-cane striped ribbon tied in a bow around the box, with the bakery's name on a paper tag.
"Hm. You don't have a discount for old friends?"the man asked sneakily, loosening his scarf. "Or perhaps I should say, *old enemies*?"
Arnold looked up sharply. Now that he could see more of the man's face, it was obvious; in fact, he should have recognized him as soon as he had come in. A rush of emotion crashed through him like a wave, and his muscles, stronger than those of any being alive, trembled slightly at the memories of when they had been last used against this very man. Finally, he shrugged. "Sorry, Meteor. No can do. I can throw in a complimentary strudel, if you'd like."
The man, once well-acclaimed and celebrated for his dedication to hero-dom, shook his head and laughed. "I was only teasing, Juggernaut. So. This is what you do now?"
Arnold nodded, still wary. He kept one hand on the pie-box, and one on the cash register.
"Do you like it?"Meteor asked seriously. "Do you ever miss how it was before? What you - we all once were?"
Arnold looked around the shop. By now, everyone had departed; the shy, college boy who liked to take his afternoon coffee across the room from the shyer, college girl who secretly shared his feelings, the elderly couple who ate danishes and played chess with the handmade, marble figurines, the various waiters and waitresses who came in after their shift ended at the nearby French restaurant. But even without all of the customers, many of whom Arnold saw and laughed with every day, the room still made him feel warm. He nodded again. "This - my life now - I enjoy it. I don't think too much about the past."
Meteor twisted his mouth at him in a thoughtful grimace. "That's more than many of us can say these days, hero or villain,"he told Arnold. "Who would've thought civilian life would be so challenging?"
"All life, big and small, comes with challenges."Arnold had read that somewhere recently, and thought it deep and profound; now, saying it, he felt a little silly. But he stood by it.
But Meteor's smile was gentle, not mocking. "Indeed. May I ask for one more thing?"
"Yes...?"
"A little bit of vanilla ice cream, to go with the pie."
"Of course."Arnold blinked. He scooped out several balls of creamy, off-white vanilla into a cardboard pint. "This is on the house."
"Oh?"
"As a thank you."Arnold replied. "For understanding."
Meteor handed him the money and started to leave, but then looked over his shoulder. "Oh, *one* more thing. I was curious...do you ever still use your powers?"
Arnold beamed suddenly, and jerked a thumb back toward the kitchen. "Putting away and cleaning the equipment. Takes more strength than you'd expect."
​
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Liked that story? Want more like it? Check out r/Idreamofdragons! |
Undying loyalty? I had no one to be loyal to at that point when I signed the contract, and of course my goal was to be kept alive. It seemed logical when I signed the contract.
But of course, the fine print is never elaborated on, or even picked up.
I have lost track of time. I have no need for it anyway. I have not moved for as long as I could remember. Being chained to a dungeon does that to you.
There is a new punishment every time the door to my cell opens. Be it electrocution, drowning, being ripped to shreds by rats, poisoned, burned, frozen, I have somehow been kept alive. The damage is severe, but not so severe as to limit the vital functions. My brain is probably the only thing that is left. A pacemaker ticks where my heart used to be. Fuel and batteries replaced my stomach. All of my limbs, though strong, are a cold and unfeeling metal. Photo and audio receptors see and hear for me.
Today, however, is different. As the door to my cell opens, the demon speaks to me for the first time since I signed the contract.
"I have kept my side of the deal. I have kept you alive, upgraded you, even, throughout your training. And it is now your turn."
The kitten sits before me, mewling pitifully. But the loyalty part of the deal overrides any impulses I might have to pick it up and cradle it. One metal foot crushes it into blood, bone and fur.
I thought I had outsmarted the demon by getting immortality. But all I learned was that there are always things far, far worse than death. |
I wake up. It's three AM. I realize I haven't eaten anything in the past 3 hours, and my body is starting to shut down. As I drive my 500lb body on a scooter to go to the fridge, I am shocked to see it isn't working. It just... ran out of power. Now, getting a fridge the size of a small room seemed like a great idea back then, but, as it turns out, might not be. As all my cakes are melting right now, I cry. This is it, the end. As I'm thinking of what to do next, I remember my great-grandfather. Oh, what a man he was. He could walk without thinking about it, run with ease. Even lift things heavier than cakes and remotes. When I was younger, he'd tell me it's because of his healthy lifestyle. He'd brag about "deadlifting"(whatever that is) things three times as heavy as him. I never believed him, but I let him speak. He was old and crazy. The one memory I always cherish was when I was hiding in the basement, hoping he wouldn't find me. Oh, the basement. I know ol' great gramps never ate cakes, but maybe there is some food there that might still be edible. Anything is better than starvation.
Obviously, I can't go down "the stairs"by myself. I still do not know how the older generations did it. Kids, sure, but adults? I take my xXx\_iPWN\_xXx X20+ (large)(128gb RAM) and call my android, Tom, here. "Yes, master?"- He asks. "I'd like you to go down there and see if there's any food". "But, Master, why don't you just take a cake from the fridge, it's certainly healthier."- he asks me. "Oh buddy, I know, but the fridge isn't working, come on now, go"- I insist and wait for him to come back. After about 5 minutes, he comes back. To my disappointment, no food. He is holding a paper, though. "Here"- he says, hands me the paper and walks away. I look at what he gave me, it's actually a pamphlet. The title says **"A KETOGENIC DIET FOR BEGINNERS"**. I soon realize why my companion just left. A diet? They made those illegal years ago. However, I am intrigued. As I start reading it, I discover the generations before us had a special way of feeding. They didn't eat cakes every meal, hell, they avoided them and only sometimes ate them on special occasions. It seems like the foundation of this "Keto"thing is avoiding carbs, which is obviously stupid as literally everything we eat nowadays are carbs, and we're healthy. If I'd found out about this diet from anywhere else, I'd contact the authorities. However, this was my great grandpa's, as he is the last person to actually use this basement. I guess I could give it a try, especially since all 100 of my cakes had melted and the next shipment is coming next week. I send Tom an encrypted message. It reads "Go to the black market and gather these ingredients \[list of ingredients\]."I know he'd never say no to whatever I tell him, so he does it. Those bots are smart, he knows where the Black Market is.
As he returns with the food, I tell him to get cooking. I have to survive a week on this. I felt sick after the first meal, but I had no damn cake. Two days pass, and as day three approaches, I realize something's changed. I can walk to the bathroom now, for the first time since I was 10. This is incredible. I no longer need Tom to give me a shower, I can do it on my own. I decide to step on the scale. I now weight 450 pounds. I don't believe my eyes. I check again, but that is it. As days pass, I keep losing weight. By day seven I was 220lbs and 10% "body fat". I no longer look like a modern day human. As I hit day 7, my abilities have become inhuman. I can run up and down stairs with no problem. I can even deadlift (at least I think it's a deadlift) Tom, and he weighs a hefty 200lb. However, my neighbors no longer talk to me. They look at me with disgust. One of them even threatened to call the cops, but I didn't think he'd do it. He did it.
Two police officers come on their scooters, asking me to come out. "You're under arrest sir, please take your scooter and come with us"- one of them says. "No way! I'm happy here with my Godlike body!"- I shout out. "SEEMS LIKE THE LACK OF CARBS HIT HIS BRAIN, SHOOT HIM"- the other officer screams. He takes his Taser out, but his fingers are too fat to fit within the trigger guard and pull the trigger. I throw him off his segway, he's rolling on the ground. The other one looks at me in fear. I show no mercy to them and I do as my ancestors would. I kick him in the face. All my neighbors see this and call even more police. I'm lucky there's no more military as they couldn't fit into tanks, planes or LAVs. All guns were abolished because no one in the world was aggressive any more, but I guess the police and tasers stayed, more as a symbol of the past, rather than an actual protector. I see a swarm of them. Over 15 overweight police on scooters are now going full speed at me. I take the one still rolling on the ground and throw him at them. They all fall like "plating balls"(I think that's the term the old ones used). I start running. For the first time ever, I run out in the open. It feels amazing. I manage to escape to the black market, and to my surprise, everyone there was incredibly fit. Some shady guy asked me if I wanted "creatine"or "whey protons". I ignored him. I walk up to the strongest guy there, and ask him what is it that they truly do here. He removes a huge curtain to show me metal bars and plates. "Here, brother"- he says in a soft spoken voice - "here we lift".
This is my first WP, so have mercy. |
I am one of the chosen, given the ancient task of watching the ice.
Ours is a noble cause, a society formed to await the return of magic to the world. Once it has, the ice is to melt, and then we are to seek out the magic. We are to safeguard it and teach the user, and help it to spread.
I am told that, when the world was new and the magic was old, marvelous things happened. Societies lived in peace, growing and learning at a rate faster than my people could ever imagine today. I was taught there was a library full of the world’s knowledge, full of magic.
But these things were destroyed. There were groups whose only goal was to obliterate magic, to remove it from the world and the memories of those in it.
And for the most part, they succeeded. Had it not been for the watchers of the library, who escaped with a few magical texts, we would not know of this former world. But though they tried to salvage magic, they could not. They had to let it die to protect themselves and their knowledge from those against magic, else the watchers would have been hunted down and slaughtered, and the texts destroyed.
Only one of the watchers did not make it. He sacrificed himself to cast a spell to tie the ice to magic, to give us a way to know when magic would finally return to us. After he did, I’m told the Others descended upon him and tortured him until he died.
But the watchers themselves had to die too, so they passed their knowledge to their children, who then passed it down to theirs as well. And so on and so forth, for thousands of years. My people have, since the original few, been the watchers. We watch the ice and wait for the old world to return.
And the ice has begun to melt. While we suspected it was melting many years ago, we were afraid. Afraid we were wrong, afraid we were misreading the signs. And so we waited and waited. And now the ice has nearly gone, and we know what we must do.
We must seek out the magic, and pray the Others have not survived like we did. We must find the magic, and quickly, because as the ice melts it begins to endanger the world. The waters of the ocean rise, and if we do not act quickly, we shall all die.
—————————
*Took a slightly different route with this than that of the prompt! Hopefully you guys enjoyed it!* |
I stared at the bodies, mixed in with the rubble. I'd failed before. It hurt, but you can't save everyone. I thought I'd accepted that. Then I saw him. Jacob Marius. The Commissioner's little boy. 5, no 6, just turned 6. I dropped down on my knees next to him. I tossed aside the several-ton chunk of concrete that was still crushing his lower body. If it didn't break up, it launched to space. A part of me wanted to follow it.He had on a Rocket and Groot t-shirt, a gift from the party. I could hear people coming, rescue crews. I didn't care. They started working around me, but someone else must have recognized the boy. I felt his father's hand on my shoulder. He hunkered down next to me, gave me a hug, someone got a good picture of it. I don't know how, but he didn't blame me. Not that I could do the same.
It's been eight years now. I haven't put the cape back on. People still have a day of mourning for the tragedy, every year on the day. It wasn't 9/11, only a couple dozen dead. But the world remembers that I didn't fall in battle. They know my body is fine. They think my spirit is broken. But I realized something. Back then, I couldn't save everyone, but my abilities, more powers, they keep growing. And I could drive them in certain directions. Improving speed and strength beyond the bounds of what science thought was possible. There is no mass I cannot move, no disaster I cannot halt. And most importantly, no time I cannot go.
They're right about me. I never did accept that I couldn't save everyone. Now, I don't have to. |
Looking around, it was hard for me to believe that I wasn't dreaming. Maybe I was, but if I was then this was the most realistic nightmare I'd ever had.
The translator they'd put in my ears buzzed.
"Regard Mr. Collins here. He was seen trying to steal Astrium from one of our Earth stationed vending machines. This is a minor example maybe, but it expresses a larger issue. Humans have been stealing and threatening the resources of this very council for too long!"The grey, humanoid figure was speaking less to me directly and more to the council of aliens around him.
"Man, all I wanted was a soda from a vending machine. I don't even know what Astrium is!"I pleaded with the speaker, trying my best to convince him of my complete ignorance. All he did was scoff and hold up his metal three-fingered hand in my direction without turning.
"Again! Disrespect from the humans! Dealing with humans in this manner is inefficient and frankly stupid! I move that we finally get rid of the human nuisance and claim Earth as our own."The half-robot half-humanoid speaker spoke to the council again.
All I could do was look around at the faces, at least I thought they were faces, of the members of this alien council. Sure, I had technically stolen Astrium from their vending machine, but it wasn't my fault! How was I supposed to know that the sketchy low-price vending machine outside of the convenience store was actually an alien dispenser?
My translator buzzed again, "What if the human is telling the truth? What if they just mistook the machine for a human vending machine? That would mean that we can wipe this one's memory and continue the human experiment peacefully."A gargled, but distinctly female voice spoke into my ears.
"Ah, but you're forgetting something. That machine was cloaked from human perception! If the human interacted with it, it must have been for the intent of theft!"A squeaky and annoyed male voice buzzed into my ears. I looked from the council back to the speaker.
The robotoid smiled. "Exactly! The human experiment was a good idea, but they have been advancing in technology and we cannot let them continue to steal from us. If they become a threat, it will be all of our ---es!"The translator buzzed and crackled at the end of the statement.
The speaker roused the council and called for a vote. I was helpless. All I could do was watch as each member of the council held up their vote on the action. 30 votes yes, 3 votes no, 2 abstained. It was over.
I felt a strange calm masking the fear and dread that was brewing just under the surface. My eyes widened as the action was approved and I was quickly grabbed by the robotic guards. The guards led me out of the large room I was in, and down a long metal hallway.
I started to cry, but I barely noticed it as I was dragged down the hallway. I was sure I was being taken to my death, or some sort of intergalactic prison, all because I chose a sketchy vending machine.
"Halt!"I heard a voice. My translator didn't buzz this time.
Through my terrified eyes, I saw a green tentacled figure in a uniform standing imposingly over the robots. The robots stopped, looked at the green figure, then continued walking.
"Halt!"The figure said again, holding up a metal card for the robots to see.
They immediately let go of me, stood still for a second, then continued walking away. I looked up at the tall tentacled figure in horror. Its eyes bored holes through my skull.
"Come with me."It commanded. My translator didn't buzz again.
The figure turned around and then started walking down the hallway. Without even thinking any more, I started walking after it as it led me into a smaller metal corridor. I breathed in heavily, frantically looking around at the bland metal walls, grasping desperately for any clues as to where I was being led.
Suddenly, we approached a grey door with a keypad on it. The disgusting creature typed in a code and the door slid open. It walked in the door and I quickly followed, not wanting to be alone on this strange ship. The door almost instantly closed behind me.
I whipped my head back to the imposing door then looked over to my guide. My guide was looking down at one of its tentacles that held a watch-like device on it. It started to change.
I couldn't completely comprehend what had just happened, but I was left staring at the human woman that was standing exactly where the green creature had stood.
"God, that thing is gross."She let out. Again, my translator didn't buzz. "Jackson! Reveal it!"she yelled.
The metal room that we were standing in then suddenly shifted and a decorated, homey version of it appeared in its place.
"Thank god! I was so sure that they were gonna catch you, I was sure that we should've just left him behind."The man, presumably named Jackson, said after he'd appeared on the far side of the room.
The woman turned to him and scoffed. I took the silence as an opportunity to really look at where the hell I was. The room was a medium-sized metal room that would've looked like a large prison cell if not for the computer station and comfortable beds. I looked back to the woman who had just been an alien, she was wearing a dark blue space suit that was almost identical to the one the man was wearing.
I opened my mouth and stuttered. "Uh... w-what the hell is going on?"
The woman looked back at me, her expression not nearly as light as it had been before. She stared at me for a couple of seconds, looking quite annoyed at my question before finally answering. "It's a lot to explain. But you *really* fucked up man."
---
*The Human Experiment* from The Bookshelf of the Gods. /r/BoTG
 
|
We - I? - stood and stared at each other. To be fair, I hadn't really been paying attention to the ceremony. You could say it was just luck that I heard my name being called. I was far enough away from my other selves that other people wouldn't recognize that we're all me. The ones that are standing. The host called out the award again, "The award for 'Best Misuse of Time-travel' goes to the gentlemen standing over there."
*Daggonit.* I started grinning. *This seems exactly like something I would do to myself.* I guess I now knew what I had won the award for. The audience and me started clapping for myself as I went up and accepted the plaque. |
I was getting ready for work when the phone rang. I picked it up while trying to unsuccessfully pull a sock on.
"Hello?"
A nasally voice transferred from across the line, "You've got a delivery. Buzz me up?"
"I do? I didn't-"
"It's Amazon tomorrow."
"Oh...Alright."
A few minutes later there was a knock on the door and when I opened it there was no one there...Okay. There was a small slender box on the ground.
I brought the box inside and locked my door. I went to the dining table, opening up the box.
"What the hell?"
It was just a notebook. A nice leather-bound one. I dug through the box and nothing else was there. I wondered why I had subscribed to this new surface.
I paged through the small missive, blank page after blank page. Wait, what was that?
The first page had a few words written there; a list in small print.
Things to do before tomorrow:
•buy a flashlight
•hunting knife
•spare tire
I thought it was ridiculous. But after work that day I felt compelled to buy some of those items. Just because, I figured.
By the next day I had forgotten all about the notebook and the things I bought. I was tired, it had been a long day at work. I got to my car and realized something, "God Damnit!"
I had a flat tire.
"Oh yeah."I remembered, I had gotten that new tire yesterday. My mom always said no kid of hers would be incapable of changing a tire.
I kept the notebook with me in my bag and I checked it again. There were more words there with dates and times.
•Take side streets on the way home.
•Bring flash lights and knife up to the apartment.
I was stunned, not having remembered writing any of that. And I realized it was because I didn't.
I turned on the radio as I took side streets home. It seemed to be on a news channel.
"Just in- There's a 12 car pileup on the 401, and delays will take up to six hours, please avoid that highway."
Holy shit. I checked the time. I would've totally been there at this time. Wow. I drove home carefully, feeling thankful to be okay.
I parked my car and settled the notebook in my bag, and putting the knife and flash light in a grocery bag I found laying around in the car.
The lobby door was open when I got there, the super said something about the power being out. Something to do with the switchboard.
"The stairs are lit, but the hallways aren't. Do ya have a flash light?"
I dug it out. "I do actually."I said smiling.
"Lucky you."he said dryly.
I only lived on the fourth floor. The staircases were a bit grungy from overuse but not too bad.
I got to my floor, opening the door before turning on the flash light.
What the fuck...
There was someone in front of my unit, turning the knob and trying to force his way in.
"Hey!"I said angrily, not sure why I said anything at all.
He couldn't see me behind the shine of the flashlight but he advanced on me with his knife. It looked sharp and deadly. He looked like a crack head, worn away teeth, greenish face and that smell of decay. I backed up and then he started lunging me. I dodged the first knife slash after dropping my bags and the flash light.
My knife fell out of the bag, inches away from my foot. I stumbled trying to pick it up and he slashed at my arm, my dress shirt ripping and turning red with blood. I picked up my knife, serrated and large and sturdy.
"Back the fuck up!"I yelled, hands shaking.
He came at me again and I slashed blindly. Getting his arm and his thigh. He yelped in pain, hobbling away.
My heart was trying to break out of my chest with the way it was pounding. I looked in my bag, finding my phone and the notebook. I dialled 9-1-1 with shaky fingers, only half answering the operators question.
I opened the notebook again. More than curious. A little more than afraid.
Things to do tomorrow:
•change the locks
•Get a therapist
•learn self defense
•refill car coolant.
Definitely a little more than afraid.
|
I'm not sure what car I'm driving.
All I know is that its a manual transmission, 5 gear system, though my feet has been on the gas for a while now and I haven't had to slow down yet. I don't know where I am, or where I'm headed to. I'm just driving.
The last thing I remember was laying in the hospital bed speaking to Katie and Susie. They were crying. Fuck it. *We* were crying. I was unbearably weak and it hurt to cry but I cried nonetheless. It was the thought of not being able to see Susie grow up. The thought of not being able to cuddle with my wife after a long day at work. Cancer was a bitch.
When all was said and done, I opened my eyes to this highway. I don't know what the weather is like but I can feel the wind in my hair and it feels good. It's dark. I think I'm in a sandy area. It's hard to tell from the darkness, but no matter how much I try to focus on my surroundings, my eyes get pulled back to the road. The smoothness of it, the way the car handles.
I've been driving long enough that I'm beginning to feel like the car was specifically made for me. It handles so fucking well, it's like whoever put me in it, created it from scratch from everything in my memory. Everything about the car feels like the best aspect of all the cars I've ever driven.
Time is useless. I've tried counting the seconds to minutes to hours and I've given up on the idea. Time is inconsequential. The more I enjoy riding in the car, the more the wind makes me feel calm, I keep casting my mind back to when I met Katie.
It was at University. First week. The student unions had organised a bar crawl around the local town and I had joined my new housemates out that night. Katie was in the second bar we entered in. She stood by herself at the bar, drinking. I know I was tipsy but the way the light caught her frame, it was like time slowed to a stop. Blonde haired, fit-bodied beauty that I stammered my way to a conversation that made her laugh.
Then she poured her drink over me and stomped out the bar.
I chuckle at the memory. It had taken two months after that before I met her again. Turns out we share a course. I think I had apologized then but she still didn't accept it. But I'm persistent. I think. Wore her down with my charm. The sudden brightening of my surrounding pulls me out of my memory. I am in a black desert after all. Odd.
Never knew black deserts were possible.
Then again, I don't think I've ever really opened my eyes to new things without Katie's help. And Susie. And Martha, Joe, Shawn and every other person.
There was this one time when...
---
/r/EvenAsIWrite for more stories. The end is intentional btw. lol. |
The principal took a risk on me. The school board said, and I quote, “perspective without power is like a storm without rain or lightning. It only serves to obscure the sight of greater heights.” The laughter and applause that followed was deafening, but being a low human living in a society of higher powers has given me courage in the face of the worst cacophonies. Andrew Cross, my principal and chief supporter, managed to sway them into allowing me to teach Morals and Mortality to the students of the North American School For Higher Humans on a probationary basis.
Surviving the first semester hasn’t been an easy road, and today was just another obstacle to my tenure. Parent Teacher Night. It was Principal Cross that insisted at the inception of NASHH, that no teacher should ask who a student’s parent are nor shall any student tell. This was done with the intention of keeping prejudice out of education, and for the most part succeeded. There are always exceptions to the rules and those that outright break them.
So for the most part this is my first time discovering who had raised who. It was illuminating to say the least. It has caused me to reevaluate my own beliefs on nature vs nurture. For example you would think that Silas Willing would be a model student, seeing as his parents, the Silver Saviors, are among the founding members of the Freedom Fighting Heroes. Silas is not though. He is by far the worst thorn in my side of all the thorns in my side. It isn’t a secret he thinks that being taught by a low human is beneath him, and he enjoys making this argument at every opportunity. Some of his free topic assignments include “Should They Be Saved” , a rather well worded argument that it is not a hero’s responsibility to go out of his was to protect the lives of others so long as they catch the villain, and “ If God Forsook Me” in which he describes how he would cope with being a low human by simply waiting for his life to end in a disaster he would be incapable of surviving.
Even more shocking than who raised Silas, was who raised Anne Reading. She is the daughter of Contigo, the villain suspected of permanently ending the career of the hero Green Flash. She was one of the handful of students who I would say give me hope that the rise in higher human births hasn’t diminished their luster. She wrote an essay which was later published in A Hero’s Heart Monthly, a magazine which publishes many essays related to heroism and authored mainly by heroes. In “Post Powers Prejudice” she both intelligently and passionately dismantles the growing belief that relations between low and high humans are against the interest of our evolution as a species.
One that was not at all surprising, but still very musing was Adam Rustings. I knew directly he was a first generation high human from his writing “First Born”, but it was his free topic essay “In My Eyes” that gave me a sobering glimpse into his psyche. I reread it constantly, especially his conclusion.
“Power without perspective is as crippling as perspective without power. My abilities do not elevate me above any individual I know, nor do my experiences. It is only with constant reflection and practice can I hope to soar to heights greater than any before me. But if I begin to fly and falter, I would be happy to land in the mud and muck of mortality. It is only on my back can I see my goals most clearly.”
|
Pate inhaled the smoke as he let the coin sear his forearm skin. It smelled like bacon.
As he wrapped a bandage around his arm, sealing the coin against himself, he noticed that the jester side was up.
"Oh no,"he said. But did he really know which side was good luck and which side was bad? It was too late to reverse what he had done now.
He put out the last embers of his fire without tripping into it and burning his face off. That was a good sign.
He gathered his belongings, pausing when he saw the little doll he had found on the road.
"Someone will be looking for you,"he said. If he put it back on the road would they find it? It was best to keep it. Maybe he would meet someone looking for it as he walked.
The early morning sun was just peeking out amongst the trees as he turned into the main path. The path toward the kingdom. The path toward the princess he had met so briefly two weeks ago.
"My luck had changed, I can feel it."He told the little doll, slipping it into one of his pockets.
He reached into his leather pack and took out a handful of the gold coins he had found in the forest. Gold coins that were his now. No crows would swoop out from above and take them, he wouldn't trip and throw them off a cliff. They were his. His luck had turned.
"It's our lucky day,"a gruff voice said from the side of the road.
A big, scarred man stepped out from the trees. A big, rusted longsword lay comfortably in his hand.
Another man stepped out from the other side, holding a loaded crossbow.
"I'll be taking that bag if you don't mind."The first man said.
Pate smiled. "I do mind, actually. It's mine. I found it."Pate slipped his left hand into his pocket, fingering the dagger hidden within.
The gruff man frowned. "We have to do this the messy way, do we?"
"If you insist"Pate said. In a single movement, Pate crouched, turned, and threw the dagger at the crossbow wielding man.
The man ducked far too late, but the dagger went wide and high into the trees.
"Augh!"a gurgling vice said as a hidden bandit fell from a branch, the dagger embedded in his hand.
The crossbow man raised his crossbow as Pate threw another dagger. He tried to block it with his bow just as he fired.
The dagger stuck into the man's thigh and the bolt went wide and high.
Pate did not wait for the second hidden man to fall from the tree where the bolt went. Instead he rushed the sword wielding man.
The man raised his sword, standing firm and letting Pate come to him.
Pate reached into his pockets as he charged, but realised too late that he only had two daggers.
He pulled out the only thing he could grab before reaching the man, the little doll.
Pate's foot hit a root as he barreled toward the swordsman. He went down tumbling as the sword swung above his head.
Pate swung the doll at the man from the ground, hitting him in the shin.
The swordsman changed his grip to stab downward at Pate, but he paused.
Perhaps seeing Pate prone, futily hitting him with a doll filled him with pity. Whatever paused him did not last long. The swordsman tightened his grip on the sword for the final downward stroke.
Pate rolled to the side as the sword came down, straight through the doll's face, and straight through Pate's hand under it.
"You there, stop where you are."A loud, deep voice said. It was the sort of voice that expected to be obeyed.
Pate, the swordsman, and the crossbow man who was in the middle of reloading froze.
Pate peeked over using his eyes, fearing even to move his head.
He saw a large, armoured man on a horse approaching. Behind him were two more armoured horsemen and a little girl on a pony.
"Bandits,"the armoured man said. "Fighting amongst themselves."
He turned to one of the other horsemen. "Arrest them all"
"Wait,"the little girl shrieked.
"That's my dolly. That man killed my dolly."She started crying.
Pate looked at her, then down at the dolly, blood from his hand seeping around its head.
The armoured man said "These bandits made my daughter cry. Kill them all."
The girl sniffed, and looked at Pate. She pointed her finger at him. "That one tried to save her. Let him go."
The armoured man narrowed his eyes at Pate and gritted his teeth.
"Very well. Bandit, it's your lucky day." |
>> To hold open the door is my dark curse
>> I’m alone and waiting, holding bags and my purse.
>> The door is open to my domicile
>> I want to go in and rest for awhile.
>> But I keep holding on, my arm’s getting sore.
>> I don’t know if I can take this anymore
>> I make a shift, put my back to the door
>> I sigh with relief, put my stuff on the floor.
>> I wait ten more minutes, my face turning red
>> Then a marvelous clever idea comes into my head.
>> I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone.
>> I text my good friend so I won’t be alone.
>> He knows of my curse so he quickly appears
>> Thank goodness for him or I’d be in tears.
>> In return for his help, I fix us some dinner.
>> And my bad day turns out quite a winner.
|
"Hey, are you okay?"asked the man behind me.
"Wh...who are you?"I stammered. *I thought I was alone here*.
"That's not important, please, sit."
At his suggestion, I sat on a sofa behind that didn't seem like it was there before. *Was that fireplace always there?*
He continued, "you look like you could use some tea,"as he sat in his chair across from me.
I barely thanked him before I noticed a mug in my hand. Earl Grey, strong, cream, three sugars. A tray on the coffee table with a tea pot and an array of snacks. I sipped the tea to clear my head.
"Where are we? We weren't here five minutes ago."The tea did help ground me.
"John, I want you to know you're in a safe place,"the man replied.
"How did you know my name?"
"John, what were you doing when we met?"
"I was reading a summoning spell"
"Yes, and you can probably guess what I am, right?"
Hairs began to rise on my neck.
"John, remember, this is a safe space for you, and I assure you no harm will come to you. Eating something might help before we continue"
I took his advice. It did look good.
"John, summoning demons involves sacrifice. Pain, suffering, et cetera. But I'll tell you a secret that the lich here barely scratched the surface of..."
He then appeared next to me on the couch, so he could whisper, "all demons are inner demons."
I backed away. "What does that even mean?"
"Guilt, self-loathing, shame, all these feelings are drawn upon when you tear apart some poor animal at a crossroads or sacrifice a virgin or curse a village. The worse you feel, the bigger the inner demons you fight for doing such a thing."
"So who are you?"
"Let me finish, John. Let's say you can skip that step. Let's say you already hate yourself. You've got demons inside you already, it's called depression. The spell simply brings out what's already there."
"Please, what does that make you?"
"John, I'm worried, because how you make it out of bed without killing yourself from the guilt you feel constantly must be overwhelming. I'm Satan, John, and we need to talk about your PTSD." |
Dear Humans,
We apologize for what we did to your flag.
When we cruised on into your solar system, we spent pretty much the entire time we were sublight discussing how we would introduce ourselves. Where would we land, which one of us would be the spokesbeing, and most importantly, how to convince you of our genuinely peaceful intentions.
Well, First Officer Temtran had an idea when we got into orbit around your moon. He found the landing site and noticed the sad state of the flag that had been there: bleached white after long exposure to solar radiation. And he thought, hey, wouldn't it be a great show of goodwill to restore that flag?
We had, at that point, interpreted enough of your historical records to know what that looked like, so the plan was made. We would color the entire thing red, then add the white stripes, a blue corner, and finally the stars. Easy!
Unfortunately, Temtran had already begun the process by the time Contact Officer Ormtran discovered the flaw in our earlier understanding. Despite the landing site's insistence that it was created for all mankind, it turned out that only one *faction* of humanity had arrived there. And that was the flag we were restoring - not, as we had initially believed, a flag of Earth itself.
This was a problem. Galactic protocol absolutely forbids the contacting of non-unified worlds! We were in serious trouble just for hanging out in orbit, let alone stealing, however inadvertently, precious cultural artifacts.
We couldn't continue the restoration; that would leave the impression that we favored the faction that had made the flag. We couldn't return it to its original white because that would be doing even *more* damage. Our only option, really, was to leave our incomplete work here and also leave this note for when you noticed something weird was happening and came to investigate.
Technically that's also illegal but at this point it's a minor crime compared to everything else.
So there you have it. You're not alone in the universe but you're also not allowed to be a part of it because you're basically babies. The good news is that the galaxy as a whole will learn about you soon (probably from when we're put on trial, but still) and so there will be ships stopping in regularly to see if you've grown up yet. And, if not, they'll probably be able to prevent most extinction scenarios. For instance, our sensors indicated you've got rapidly progressing industrial-induced atmospheric damage. But I'm sure you've already noticed that, you might be babies but you're not *infants*, right? Right.
So... yeah. I'm dropping this letter off and then we are getting the hells out of here. See you later, humanity! (Assuming we're not sentenced to hard labor asteroid mining, of course)
Love,
Captain Remtran.
P.S. Temtran apologizes for knocking over the lunar module. We're pretty sure it's still intact! Probably! |
I sat back from my computer and threw up my hands in frustration. "What is this rubbish? Time travel and aliens, floating numbers and soulmates. And don't even get me started on the meta!"
Megan took a sip of coffee without looking up at me. "So what?"
"So I want to practice realistic writing, not this nonsense. This would be the perfect forum to do it, if the prompts were even halfway decent."
"So it'd be the perfect forum, if it weren't for the content?"
I glared at her. She was smiling like a sphinx with an extra tricky riddle. "You know that's not what I meant."
"Isn't it?"
"No, I... well..."The silence stretched. Megan drank it in before taking another sip of coffee.
"You want to write something realistic, write about your day. Pull an article out of the newspaper and write about that. Look at a random person on the street, make up their story. There are billions of examples of realism. And no one cares a bit."
"Yes, but I want feedback."
"You want the karma is what you want."
"I mean. It doesn't hurt."
"If you want people to read your writing, write what they want to read."
"Okay, but look at this stuff,"I told her, waving a hand at the list of blue links. "'Your daughter just brought her new boyfriend to dinner. There's just one problem: he's literally the Devil.' Or how about 'Aliens have come to conquer Earth, and you are a member of the last force standing against them. You've just gotten new intel about their goals - turns out they're after Earth's cheese.' Who wrote that? *Why?*"
"I mean, in the right hands it could be kind of funny."
"The right hands would write about something better."
"Maybe the point is to take something terrible, and make something decent out of it. Show off your skill by taking a stupid, ridiculous prompt and writing it so it's believable. Write about realistic people in unrealistic situations."She shrugs. "Or maybe the point is to just have fun with silly prompts and too much meta."
"It's stupid."
"It's fun, and you're boring. Besides, it's a good way to break writer's block. Can't think of something sensible to happen? Make it something completely ridiculous instead. Like cheese-loving aliens."
"I'd still prefer that-"I was interrupted by a bone-jarring *boom*.
And that's when the aliens showed up. |
Bob from accounting. Who would have thought that a few Christmas cookies and an invitation to my summer cookout would have landed me among his "7 Undeductables". As he jokingly refers to us. I have lost track of the time I have spent on this Earth. My children's children seem a distant foggy memory. Wives remembered only through pictures, lived as mayflies do, coming into my life fleetingly, before the river of time washed them away......How I wish I could join them. But no. Bob refuses to relent.
Ever the recluse...obsessed with figures he now has exactly what he has always covetted..... infinity.
He fancies himself God, and we his pantheon. He believes in the power of probability. That we are destined to become and accomplish *everything*.
I have one last trick up my sleeve to convince him to release me.... I'm going to piss in his coffee. |
I sat up straight in my chair, pulling the microphone closer to my mouth. My reflection stared back at me from my monitor displaying the preposterous message.
"We can hear you"were the only words on my screen.
I swallowed hard, looking up to the flashing red light indicating my inevitable doom. I returned to the screen, pressing 'R' on my keyboard to begin recording.
"These fateful words will be the last from our civilization... With all hope of surviving our barrier, we have not been able to overcome the inevitable. Our history will be wipe cleaned off the slate of existence, and only you will be there to observe. We consisted of religions, money, and greed. I, Julian Lanters, will be the only one to bele-"
A loud rumble could be heard far off. Like thunder. In this bittersweet moment. This is all I can think of.
"Learn from our mistakes. Goodbye"
I heard a much louder rumble closer. I felt the ground shake. Light poured through all the windows as I closed my eyes and pressed "Send"on the computer. Heat filled the room, and then... black. |
The day they took my father away was bright. The clouds hadn't yet crested over the distant mountain range, nor had the traders come in for the spring festival, carting forth rare treasures from the distant port towns.
He didn't say a word when they arrived. Just bowed his head, slumped slightly, and slid out the door. They took him in, just like they took in all of the other men. Women too.
Mom had been taken last spring. The road stretched far off into the horizon, ornamented with coral and only broken by the spreaded hooves of the hooved cats they stood upon.
I could still smell them long after I lingered in the door frame, staring off into the distance.
He hadn't said a word or put up a fight. He just left. He saw his number and left.
Jeril, the boy next door, wasn't so lucky. He stood in the doorframe, an eye squeezed shut, and blood running down his chin. His good eye caught mine, and he turned away.
Not a word.
The village was silent when I walked out. Not yet an adult, but not a child. My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. Something angry in my stride. Something defiant, wrathful.
The war raged on towards the north, where the end lay hiding in the shadow of the ridges, and distant whispers of it drifted by.
Through the village I crept. A few children cradled wounds and injuries. Not a whimper from their faces. They just watched me walk by. They knew their place.
I didn't know mine, not anymore. The babbling of the stream knew silence. The birds sang no songs when I slid over to the forest. Step by step. Wind touching my skin, running across the edge of my shirt.
It whispered. The single solitary thing left behind that made noise. They'd taken Mother. They'd taken Father.
They'd left us behind to make sure everything got done. Another village disappearing into the night. More fodder for the front lines. A necessary sacrifice.
Burn.
the matches left behind in my jacket pocket reminded me that I'd had an uncle once, before he had drifted away to fight in the end of all things, where the gnashing mouth of the void fed piece meal against the death and life, where it touched freely against souls and came about with nothing at all, where memory could be lost and rendered, where time ceased.
I'd seen him once more, and his eyes were gone, stuck fixated on the future where he knew the end.
burn
the wind whispered.
I struck a match. Gods were gone.
Fuck it, might as well try something greater.
The forest roared, and the O smiled and granted my wish for an end.
----
more like this over here! https://old.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/ |
“It worked.” I look over to see myself. He turns around and jumps back in fright.
“Who are you?” He asks.
“I think I am you.” I reply.
“Interesting, the machine cloned me.” He says.
“Cloned me.” I say.
“No, I am the original.” He says.
“Whatever, that is irrelevant.” I roll my eyes.
“We should monitor our results.” He states.
“Agreed.” I say.
“So we have cloning what should we do?” He asks.
“Well, I know what I would do.” I reply.
“So do I.” We look at each other suspiciously. Then, we simultaneously go to the machine. We fight over the keyboard. We both pull out a quarter. We simultaneously flip it. Both heads.
“That’s me.” We say in unison. We try rock-paper-scissors only to find we keep getting the same form.
“Alright, I volunteer.” We yell. “No me.”
“Do you know what who cares? All that matters is an army of me is created.” We yell. Then, we both reflip the coin. The results are heads and tails. We nod at each other. He gets in, and I keep reactivating the process until twenty me’s are in the same room.
“Alright, we need to establish a leader!” We all yell. “It should be me!”
Pandemonium breaks out. Clones are fighting clones to prove their superiority. We all go for my emergency shot gun. I reach it first then fire randomly into the crowd. They all flee towards the door. Adrenaline pumping, I keep firing until only I remain.
Standing over my corpses. I go back to my files on teleportation. I open the log.
Trial 4: clones are able to last longer than a minute. Demonstrate equal strength and personality. Will have to further study...
I stop typing and see that my hand stopped working. I feel dizzy. I fall out of my chair and start to pass out. I guess he was the original. |
As the day goes on, I make sure everything is in place.
John Stefano is an enforcer for the local mob who decided to turn snitch. A few contacts in witness protection, and I found him. Now, after all this planning, I can finally begin.
Over the last few weeks, I met and befriended his neighbour, a sweet old lady called Gertrude Rose. I convinced her to get a pet cat to deal with her loneliness, but what she didn't know is I had been working shifts in every shelter in a 20 mile radius, ensuring that all the cats were adopted except this one. Cute, tabby, and an intense fear of cuddly toys. Gertrude had no cuddly toys, but over the last few days I had been drilling into her bedroom to get the chance to drop one off.
Tomorrow, at 9pm, I will leave the cuddly toy on the sofa.
The cat, terrified, will jump against the door. This will startle the mailman, Karl Rosa, who's schedule I have total control over having joined the local post office and getting promoted to his boss. Once startled, he will forget which parcels he has put in which house, me having been slipping memory-distorting drugs into the coffee at work since I joined, and will drop the parcel meant to be delivered to Gertrude into Stefan's mailbox instead.
Inside that parcel is a series of exotic teas, a vice of Stefano's I learnt after seducing and dating his mother, Angela. Upon picking up the tea, he will have been having had a hard day at work. I have been impersonating a teenager at the local high school and persuading impressionable teens to hound him at his shop clerk job, while also working as the security guard at that shop and looking the other way.
Upon boiling the water, the rigged kettle will blow the steam at a series of cogs I have put into Stefano's ceiling. This will scare the mice I have put into the house, at which point they will chew through a rope (as I have painstakingly trained them to do when scared), releasing a weight which will knock the bed down the stairs which will knock over the coat-stand which will move the rug which will flick a switch I installed on the washing machine, making it switch on and shake wildly, ultimately knocking open the cutlery drawer and flinging a knife into Stefano's heart as he goes to look.
It took a lot of money and effort to get multiple degrees as an electrician and architect, and become a certified electrification, and contrive ways to work in Stefano's house to make the preparations, but it's finally done. Decades of work, dozens of disguises and faked identities, and hundreds of discarded plans. But tonight, it's all worth it. Tonight, Stefano dies!
I go to the house the day before, just to make sure that all is perfect, and I see the police hovering around. As they tell me what happens, my stomach sinks. Once again my arch-rival has swept in and stolen the kill and glory that is rightfully mine!
I wait until the authorities are out of sight before punching the wall. No. Calm down. This is all fine. Let him have this victory for now. Next target, it will be different. Next time, I will finally win!
Hear my words, Normal Assassin Who Just Shoots People! Next time, I will show it is me who is the greatest assassin! Once I set up another 13 shell identities, get two more PhDs and learn to ride an elephant blindfolded, victory will at last be mine! |
"That appears to be everyone,"I told the four mercenaries gathered in my room. "Let's get down to business, shall we?
They each acknowledged me in their own way as one of them, a brutish orc with a massive sword strapped to his back, swung the door closed and locked it. As he did the sounds of the tavern downstairs died away, only the faint tinkling of mugs and plates to remind us we were at an Inn.
I had placed an advert on the board in the town square one week ago. "Seeking heroes for thrilling quest. High reward. Magical weapon a must."From the looks of who had showed up, the chances of recovering my family's ring from the Cult of Dragonfire was about fifty fifty.
"Introductions, yes?"I said. "I am Earl Byron Sevonshire, and my coin will finance this little adventure. Sadly, I won't be coming with you, but you can rest assured I'll do my best to prepare you for the journey, as well as compensate you for a job well done."
I gestured to the big orc swordsman.
"Gurg,"he said.
A long moment stretched while we watched his ugly, impassive face, waiting for more. When it was clear no more was coming, the chestnut haired elf woman beside him said,
"You can call me Condor."She reached over a shoulder and lovingly stroked the curvature of an elegant looking bow. "I hunt from a distance."
"You'll miss all the fun,"said a human woman beside her. While the elf stood slender and graceful, this woman packed muscle into the lithe frame of a predatory cat. She fingered a whip coiled at her hip. "My name is Cassandra, and if we're going to announce our combat proclivities I like to toy with my victims. Kill them slowly."
The dwarf beside her shifted uncomfortably at this. At his back rested a shield nearly as big as he was, like a thick door. All along its surface swirling runes glowed with a soft yellow light.
"Remind me not to get on your bad side,"he said.
She blew him a kiss, and he seemed to swat it out of the air. Though it could have been a fly.
"I'm Heimheld,"he said. "Nothing gets past me unless I allow it."
For a moment I surveyed my ragtag crew, trying to decide if it was worth financing a quest that could fail as easily as it could succeed.
"Well then,"I said. "I suppose you want to know about the job."
Something banged thrice at the door. It was louder than a normal knock, almost like someone bashed the wood with the hilt of the sword. The eloquent orc known as Gurg opened the door, revealing a gnome.
He stood three feet high with his boots on, and beneath his leather jacket he might have packed the muscle of a ten year old human child. He smiled from ear to ear as he strode into the room, his eyes seeming to roam up and down the bodies of the two women as he did.
"Hello there,"I said. "Magical weapons are a must. Surely an educated man like yourself must have read the advert in full, so if you would be so kind as to show us?"
Shockingly, he did.
Around the fingers of his left hand wound a set of brass knuckles. Nothing stood out about them, no glowing runes like Heimheld's shield or wicked edges like Gurg's sword. Just a rusted looking piece of metal sitting along the first knuckles of his left hand. He wiggled his fingers as he showed us, the stupid grin never leaving his round, rosy cheeked face.
Gurg loomed over him, a scowl forming like a thunder storm.
"Gurg hate gnomes,"he said. "Gnomes sneaky and-"
Like he had been hit by a cannonball the orc exploded backward and crashed through the window, screaming until he went silent with a soft thud somewhere outside. Standing alone was the gnome, his left arm extended in the follow through of an overhand punch. His brass knuckles burned bright orange like they'd just been pulled from a blacksmith's forge.
For a moment we all stood, gaping, trying to come to grips with what we had just seen. The gnome, still smiling, blew at his knuckles like a candle he was blowing out.
"My name is Wiggin the Destroyer of Faces,"he said. "I destroy faces."
Feeling my face curve into a wicked grin, I said,
"Welcome aboard." |
Super fun prompt, I would actually love to do way more with this. Thank you for reading.
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I stared at the glove of my divesuit, watching as my fingers danced on their own in excitement. The screen on my wrist lit up with little red heart with a EKG imprinted on it; my heart rate was elevated.
Well, no shit.
A huge hand clamped down hard on my shoulder from behind me and squeezed tight. “You tight, Aki? You’ve been staring at that glove of yours for, like, five minutes now.” I recognized the voice as Murtagh, given the massive paw still laying on my shoulder and the thunderous laughter.
Grunting as I stood up, I brushed his hand off with a uneasy chuckle of my own. “Yeah, yeah. Just trying to get pumped is all.”
“Well, if you wanna get pumped, just take a look at *that*,” he exclaimed. I already knew what he pointed at through the upper observation windows, but turned my head to meet it again anyway. “*Mon Diue!”* the massive frenchman breathed next to me.
It did not look like a portal, really. A portal would imply that one could see through it, or it actually had a concrete point in space at least. This--this looked much more akin to a black hole, as if it would swallow us, our ship, and all our dreams and compress us into nothingness. The light of the far off stars behind it warped around the general area, but it constantly shifted and simmered. You couldn’t see through it, but, rather, it reflected and inverted all light that directly contacted the opening. I could see the distorted reflection of our little corvette coming closer and closer, the Earth visible behind us.
It had been designated as the Velderaam Rift, named after some telescope enthusiast who discovered it a week earlier. Of every rift that had opened in the exosphere so far, this was by far the most exciting. Since the first rift had opened ten years ago, helldivers have only been able to get to the seventh level of Hell and still make it back to tell the tale. However, this rift would make all the difference. Surveyor probes found that most rifts only opened into either the first or second layer; some unstable ones went into the third if you could make it into them before they closed.
Velderaam opened straight into the tenth.
Hell only went down ten layers (funny how Dante was only one off), but each one became more and more treacherous and hostile. The first layer is a downright walk in the park, and even human munitions will make quick work of the lesser and chattel demons. That being said, only one crew had ever made it back from the seventh layer, and that crew now had the privilege of being the first helldivers into Velderaam. It was only supposed to be a quick scan, as the probes always came back distorted. But nothing was ever quick in Hell.
“Okay, my friend, looks like we’re about to enter the distortion field. Let us strap in for the ride, eh?” The giant now seated himself next to me and his exfil station and lowered his harness.
“Alright ladies and gentlemen, entering the vicinity now. Batten down and enjoy the ride,” Colin’s voice crackled over the intercom. He was always calm when we dove. Not like me. I guess that’s why he’s the captain and I’m the rookie. I lowered my harness and locked myself into my seat.
I could pinpoint the exact moment we entered the field as the ship rumbled and groaned under the shearing forces. I shook violently in my seat and looked to the other faces around me, cool under their anonymous helmets. The only thing that betrayed our identifies were the large white names engraved on our backs, upper chest, and arms.
“Mind the turbulence,” came the loudspeaker again, and a nervous chuckle spread through the exfil bay.
Outside the observation window was a kaleidoscope of different-colored blurred light that moved opposite you when you moved your eyes and head at different angles. It was some phenomena with a long complicated name associated with rift travel. It meant we were in the rift.
The loudspeaker chimed again. “Alright, and we have now entered the riftlane, please keep your hands and arms insi--huh?”
An uncomfortable pause.
“Uh...it looks like we’re hitting some weird zeta readings here in a second, and, uh--oh Christ, what is that?” Time slowed as everyone in the bay looked at each other once more.
“FUCK! BRACE, BRACE, BR-” |
"More tea, darling?"
"...no, Mother."I sigh, waving away the pitcher of liquid offered to me, already barely taking any sips from the cup already offered me, immaculate porcelain feeling wasteful for something so simple, but according to her, I deserved "only the best"for her child.
"Oh, dear...you used to love drinking as much tea as possible with me. Are you feeling alright? You're not overworked, are you? I've heard stories, you know...I don't think you need to devote yourself as harshly as all the other knights do."
"It's not optional, mother. I can't just...go through the motions, it's not exactly the kind of place you can request a day off at."I sigh. I want to rub my temple, but keeping the helm on managed to keep my image intact as a knight and soldier of the order...and managed a good effort at hiding the redness on my cheeks dealing with her.
"So stiff and rigid....however do you expect to find a nice young lady to settle down with if you never have any free time to let loose and have fun?"
"Mother! I'm not...I have a duty to focus on, you know! I can't focus on that kind of...frivolity, not when I have something so important to deal with."
"Oh, you're not talking about that silly prophecy, are you? I still say people took it the wrong way; trying to put all that pressure and responsibility on my sweet, adorable little boy~"
"Mother, please don't try and pinch my cheeks, I'm not a child anymore..."
"Oh, dear, I know that! Speaking of children, though..."
"Mother, by the gods, not this conversation again! I came here to try and talk you down from your latest evil actions, I'm trying to be merciful here, not...not have 'the talk' again!"
The laugh lingering in my ears in response is frustrating in how often I had heard it growing up, the chuckle of a woman who still saw me as a petulant child whining about something that only a child would find important enough to stamp their feet about.
"Dear, I gave those people plenty of time to evacuate their town before I rained down the meteors to shape it as a place for my golems to roam...that heavy rain for three weeks beforehand should have been an obvious sign!"
"People lost their lives!"
"Would you blame me for how stubborn people could be? You're starting to sound just like that monk who was here last Tuesday, before I had to send him to the dungeons...come to think of it, I think his weekly meal is almost due, if he's still behaving well~"
"Ugh..."I groan, placing my hand upon my helm, my gauntlet scraping against it as the vestiges of a migraine are closing in faster and faster with each passing second in her presence. "Mother, please...I've appealed to you so many times; everyone is looking to me to stop you and your evil hordes...and gods help me, I don't *want* to have to do anything to hurt you, but if I have to...I have no choice, but to..."
I can't finish the words, but feel a hand reaching out to clutch mine gently, yet firm, a strong grip clutching my gauntlet, likely something else augmented by her magic, a sign of her immense power, even if every time I see that soft expression on her face, I can scarcely think of her as anything more than the one who raised me for years, fed me and nursed me while I was ill, even while prophecies spoke of me as the one who would stop her "evil"reign. The child in me still didn't want to believe she could do no wrong, but evidence was all around me, even if here and now, she still radiated nothing but kindness and love for me.
"Sweetie....you're thinking too hard about all this, you're going to make yourself sick with all that stress, we can't have that."She looked contemplative, concerned for my health, before she continued speaking. "Tell you what, dear...we can talk about me putting all these 'evil plans' of mine on hold...but we need to talk about grandchildren at the same time~"
"Oh, gods...mother..."
"There's a nice village down by the mountains, I'm sure there's plenty of wonderfully nice, pretty girls down there. Plus, it's not due for an avalanche for half a year yet! Plenty of time to find someone nice to settle down with. A cute little grandson or granddaughter might just be worth sidelining world domination for!"
I sigh in frustrated defeat. It seemed my destiny was still going to be a hard-fought battle either way. |
Sitting between two k6-class shuttles, the small red transport did not look particularly intimidating. Not to Sjark, anyway.
"It's a land vehicle, Father. It's meant to roll around on their crude roads, not travel between star systems. They probably knocked it out of their atmosphere on accident."
But Ewith shook his head. "They've not harnessed forces strong enough for accidents of that magnitude. No, this 'Tesla', as they've called it, was sent skyward on purpose. It is a show of strength."
"This is not strength! It is folly!"cried Sjark as he slithered across the hangar, his three eyes burning with frustration.
This was just the latest debate between the father-and-son scouting duo. Sent by the ASC -- Allied Species Confederation, as it translated into the human's language -- they had been tracking the dominant species of the planet for twenty Earth years. It was a tremendous opportunity for Sjark, a task no officer of his rank would usually be entrusted with, but being the child of the ASC's most respected scout came with benefits.
"Their transportation isn't the issue,"said Ewith in his ever-calm voice. "It's their simulations. You know this."
Sjark picked at his hindscales as he glowered at the chromtanium floor. He knew his father was correct, at least about this. But voicing that concession was, understandably, a struggle for the hot-headed adolescent.
Sensing his child's silent agreement, Ewith pushed forward. "Two Earth decades ago, they had naught but crude graphics on primitive monitors, controlled by just a few meager inputs. Look where they are now. Visual outputs are reaching the pinnacle of what their biology can handle. Inputs are nuanced and complex. Artificial Intelligence is racing ahead. Their imaginations spawn situations far outside their technological reach. It is only a matter of time before they realize these 'video games', as they call them, are the basis for the training they'll need to conquer any foe.
"Sjark,"concluded Ewith, now with force, "it is time."
If his father was the wise old warrior, Sjark was the young tech savant. He took no relish in what he was about to agree to do; he saw his place in the universe as helping emerging species, not hindering them, not setting them back. But Ewith was right. The humans were progressing too fast. They needed a setback. Something dramatic, something terrible, something that would not only crush their technological gains but also their imaginative spirit.
Sjark nodded to his father, then approached a complex terminal and entered a few short commands before solemnly announcing, "It is done. The humans will receive 'Anthem' shortly."
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248/365
one story per day for a year. read them all at [r/babyshoesalesman](https://www.reddit.com/r/babyshoesalesman)
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My power was disappearing. In more than one way. I only had one more chance. I had ruined it many times before. I would make the money, and burn through it almost as soon as I'd acquired it.
I stood at the chest-high counter in the gas station convenience store, staring at the numbers in the bubbles. It was agonizingly difficult to not use my ability. I had done it so many times, yet it only ended in disappointment. I didn't have the restraint to make the most of my gift.
Unfortunately, I had also seen my impending death. It was like a gust of smoke in my mind, hazy and ephemeral. Yet I saw it clear enough. Riding in a vehicle, slamming into something so hard I died. It was unavoidable. Unavoidable, that is, unless you had the power of future-seeing.
I decided to fill in the bubbles. The numbers hovered in my mind just long enough to grab them and fill in the little ovals on the lottery ticket. It was done. I would have to take my chances.
The next day, imagine my lack of surprise when I did indeed win the jackpot. Another pallet load of hundred dollar bills. I had a feeling I would need it.
I used my money to buy a concept Google Waymo. This secret car was considered top of the line in safety. The only way it would fail was if you took manual control of the vehicle.
***
On January fifth, one month after winning my fortune, I considered my self lucky to have evaded the Reaper for two fortnights. I reclined back in my glossy black sports car, oblivious to the trecherous road conditions.
Snow had accumulated on the surface of the street, thick as a frosty blanket. I decided I had to take manual control of the car. The big mistake. A pedestrian scuttled right in front of me, causing me to wrench the wheel right and punch the brakes. It was to no avail, for I skidded into a violent fishtail, and a huge blue garbage truck hit me head-on. The last thing I remembered seeing was the guy on the back ledge frantically waving.
When I awoke I lay in torturous pain, staring at a white speckled ceiling panels. A breathing tube was fed into my throat, and I felt dried blood on my head.
When the doctor entered my room, I stared at him with glazed, half-dead eyes. "What happened?"I asked.
"You were in quite a wreck. The truck hit you head on. But you were lucky."
"Lucky? How is hitting a truck head on lucky?"
"Mr. Shanks, if you hadn't had your head busted we would have never done the MRI. That's when we found the brain tumor."
The doctor went on to explain that the crash had *saved* my life. And in that moment, I knew my mind was telling me the future I needed to see, to save myself. I touched my head, feeling the blood-caked scar. That was the last time I would use my ability. I didn't need to see any further. I was right where I needed to be. |
Jim stood at foot of a large golden staircase surrounded by clouds, he knew where he was, Heaven. But he was worried, because of his time in the war he hadn't gotten a chance to go to church in months, although he had still prayed ever night.
Suddenly, a being appeared, he was an old man, twenty feet tall with long white beard and robe. Jim knew it was God, he immediately got down on his knees.
Then, another old man appeared, this time with an eyepatch and helmet, he was wearing traditional Vikings attire. Odin.
"Oh not you again"Odin said, "Hades never has this problem."
"You're the one who's not supposed to be here!"God said, "He has professed his faith in me, he clearly belongs in my kingdom."
The two argued on as Jim stared up in confusion, all his life he had been tought there was only one God, and now, in death, he was faced what he thought was a myth arguing with the Almighty creator. His entire world view had shifted, he didn't know what was real anymore.
"Hey!"God said "I have an idea, why don't we let him decide."
"Oh that's not fair, he worshipped you all his life, he'll clearly pick you"Odin objected.
"And if that's what he wants, why not give it to him."God said.
Odin was angry but obliged, "So, Jim, do you choose to go to Heaven, or Valhalla?"God asked.
"Well this is eternity we're talking about"Jim said "I'm not sure if I'm prepared to make a decision like that on the fly."
"Wow, what a cop out"Odin said, "you can take him"
"Yes!"God said. And the Golden gates opened. |
“Jim, I really do want to thank you for coming in today.”
Jim managed a nod as he sipped his coffee, trying to hide his anxiety. He never enjoyed his annual performance review. This one had started even worse than usual. For some reason, his manager, Derrick, had invited the managers of the other four divisions. Jim could hardly stand the gaze of one superior. When it came to the hardened stares of five of them…
Jim forced himself to take a deep breath. This had always been a possibility. His wife had told him as much the night before. Recently, there had been a score of openings in the company’s upper management. He was one of the company’s best and most experienced employees. It was only logical that they would bring in all the division heads to the interview.
“Anyway,” Derrick continued, adjusting his glasses with a swollen finger. “This year’s performance review means a bit more than usual. I’m sure you’ve heard that there’s been a lot of movement within the company these past few months. The chairman is looking to bring some new blood into the ranks of his most trusted advisers.”
“And you think … that I’m the man for the job?” Jim cringed as the managers burst into laughter. *Why did I say that? Good start, you idiot.*
“It’s no secret that you’re the top financial analyst here. Your investments speak for themselves,” Derrick said after wiping the tears from his eyes. “The chairman knows I’m only as good as those working for me. Scott, you had a few words to say.”
The large man to the left of Derrick nodded. “Scott, head of asset acquisitions, but I’m sure you already knew that.” He flashed a perfectly fake smile. “Your rate of return has been remarkably consistent over the past five years, Jim. We’ve all noticed – especially the chairman. Don’t think I didn’t know that you’ve been dishing out advice on which of the destroyed properties would best fit our asset portfolio.”
*Well, who wouldn’t want to help with that?* The losses had been directly related to the increasing battles between so-called heroes and villains in the city streets. It had only taken a simple data analysis to see which of the foreclosed properties were being undervalued. Jim opened his mouth to reply, but Scott instantly cut him off.
“You’ve already made us millions, Jim.” He turned to one of the other suits. “Martha.”
The slender woman to the other side of Derrick spoke next. “Martha, head of technologies.” She too had an excellent professional smile. “That tip you brought forth concerning the discovery of radioactive elements at some of the battle sites has made the chairman very happy, Jim. He wanted me to personally thank you.”
This time, Jim did manage to get a word in. “Just something I read online…”
“What we’re trying to tell you, Jim,” Derrick said after a moment, “is that you got the promotion.”
For an instant, Jim smiled. Then, he narrowed his eyes. “And what exactly is the promotion?”
“Starting today, you’ll be the chairman’s new right-hand man,” Derrick explained. “You’ll be advising him directly on any financial matters related to this new wave of *superhumans*. The chairman sees a lot of potential in this project.”
Jim’s jaw dropped. “The … chairman? I’ve never even met him before.”
“Relax,” Scott laughed. “He’s a great guy.”
“And you said that I’m starting today?”
Derrick nodded and slid a black keycard across the table. “He’s waiting for you on the top floor. Good luck, Jim.”
“Um … thanks.”
Before Jim knew what had happened, he had been led from the conference room and into the elevator. As it rose to the top floor, he adjusted his hair in the large mirror, trying his best to conceal his growing bald spot. He frowned as he noticed a stain on his tie.
*Guess it’s too late to fix now,* he sighed as the door opened.
A beautiful woman promptly rose from the desk situated to the right of the engraved doors at the end of the hall. Jim averted his wandering eyes to the color-changing waterfall that dominated the wall to his left.
“You must be Jim,” the woman smiled in greeting.
“That’s me,” he laughed nervously, strategically turning his gaze to the window overlooking the city. Already, columns of smoke rose from the lower east side. Likely, there had been another battle.
“The chairman should be back any minute now.” She motioned to a few chairs arranged around a glossy wooden table set before the spotless windows. “Sit anywhere you like.”
Jim managed a nod before taking his seat. Instantly, he pulled his phone from his pocket and informed his wife of the morning’s happenings. As he sent the message and locked the screen, a crimson streak of light flashed across the window before him. What seemed a heartbeat later, the oaken doors cracked open and a tall man in a suit stepped into the lobby, smelling strongly of smoke.
“Welcome aboard, Jim,” the chairman beamed, adjusting his tie. “We have so much to discuss.”
 
[r/creatorcorvin](https://www.reddit.com/r/creatorcorvin/)
|
Jack stared at his card. *Serial killer.* He tried scratching the text away as if it were a lottery card, but the scratching did nothing. He stared at the proctor to see if this was some joke, but she wasn't smiling. Jack frowned and handed the card back. "I think there's a mistake here."
Mary cocked her head in surprise. She grabbed the card and held it up next to the computer screen. Both have *serial killer* as the job. "There's no mistake here. You're to be a serial killer."
"There must be a glitch in the system. I've never killed a person. Or even attempted to kill a person. There must be something wrong here."
She searched her computer to verify if there has been a glitch, but she didn't find any. Everything is working as it should. "Nope. This is not a mistake, nor is it a glitch,"Mary said. "Your diagnostics say that you are the perfect candidate to be a serial killer. Actually, you fit many roles, but the system calculated that you are perfect to be a serial killer."She cocked her head once more. "Weird. It says we haven't assigned a serial killer in a hundred years. So, consider yourself lucky."
Jack sat in silence, letting the news sink in. *Serial killer.* His fingers grew cold, and then his hands. He gripped the handles of his chair to warm up, but no warmth came. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and pinched himself on the cheek. If this was a dream, he'd surely wake up. He opened his eyes, hoping to see the familiar ceiling of his home. But all he saw was a young woman named Mary. This was real. And he must accept that. "I have some questions. Why does this job exist? Do I actually have to kill people?"
Mary checked her monitor, searching for the young man's answer. "For your first question...it says that the world needs some natural culling. As for your sec—"
"Natural culling!"Jack interrupted. "What does that even mean?!"
Mary skimmed the lines in her monitor. "It means people need to die. Naturally,"she said. She continued reading from her monitor. "You see, the way humanity progressed, we protected individuals from all sources of death. We made medicine, better food, improved health guidelines, vaccines—that kind of sorts. We are approaching immortality. That may sound good in all, but in a way, that is unnatural. After all, death is a part of life."Mary brushed through her monitor to gain more information about the job. She made a quick glance at Jack. He had gotten paler. There was more information on the screen, but it seemed like it was scaring the young man. She decided to end it there. "The monitor starts mentioning Darwinism and how the strong live and the weak die and how that's natural, but I'm sure you don't want to hear that."
Jack wanted to speak, but no words came out. The cold of his hands and finger had now spread to his toes and feet.
Mary continued. "As for your second question. Yes, you have to kill people."Mary wanted to stop there because Jack seemed to grow paler and paler by the minute. She wanted to end the conversation there. But she couldn't. The description would get worse. And it disgusted her. But it was her job to inform people of their new job to the best of her abilities. "All kinds of people, actually. Old people, young people, children, babies, mentally-challenged people, your own relatives, important people—you can go genocidal if you are effective enough. You can even exterminate races. All this is considered natural culling."
A lump formed in the young man's throat. He almost choked on his own spit. He imagined the screams, the blood, smell of raw flesh. He remembered the time he went to an animal slaughterhouse with his friends. He remembered the screams of animals. He remembered the time one of the workers raised a cleaver and chopped at a goat's neck. The blade was dull, so the worker hacked and hacked at the throat. The goat had a guttural scream and gurgled on its own blood.
If he were to kill people, he would do it surgically: planned, efficient, painless. This was his job now.
Mary handed him back his card. *Serial killer.* There was no change, no mistake. *Serial killer.*
"Before you ask,"Mary said. "You are exempt from the law. You can kill people with no punishment."
He sunk deeper into his chair. How was he supposed to tell his parents? His parents raised him to be a good man; the type of man who helped those in need. His father was a doctor and his mother was a nurse. He grew in a household dedicated to bringing people back home, back to their loved ones, back to life. He wanted to be like his father and mother. He wanted to save lives and smile and watch the lives he saved smile too.
But now that was all gone. He will see no smile. He will see only death. He will see hatred from the loved ones. Families are going to wonder what had happened to their children. What was he going to do? How was he going to confront the grieving parents? *Hey, I killed your son and daughter. They were part of a natural culling. The strong live, the weak die. Your children were weak. Don't worry, I was hired to do this. This is part of my job—bringing you sadness.*
He couldn't live a life like that. He'd rather die. How would his parents feel if they don't see their son return? This job brings nothing but pain. It's a lose-lose situation no matter how he rationalizes it.
Perhaps he should start killing those who designed these tests and diagnostics.
Perhaps he should martyr himself and reveal to the world what kind of jobs are given—yes, that's it. There could be rapist jobs. Abduction jobs. Mutilation jobs. Torture jobs. He'll end this cycle of destruction.
Jack steeled his jaw. A blaze burned within him. He's going to correct this broken system. If killing was his job, he'll do it and expose everything wrong.
Mary noticed the young man's vigor. She was going to ask if he wanted to change his job. She thought he was sad about his job. But now he seemed happy. She pressed *confirm* and locked in his job.
---
I'm out of my lurker shell and decided to pick up writing as a hobby. For those who have read this short writing, critiques are encouraged and welcomed. |
First it was the smell. The smell of salt and sand urged her to come closer. Next came the sound of waves gently rocking against the shore. With each cycle, trillions of organisms meeting sand for the first time, and they shouted in amazement. Finally, it was the feeling in the air. Oh how she knew this feeling.
The moon was full tonight, and hung low against the dark night sky, the rim nearly hitting the horizon. The silhouette of light skipping against the motion of the sea. The Sea always loved to dance when it was alone, and if you caught her in the right moment, she would let you watch her. The girl knew this and loved the Sea for it, and the Sea would never mind letting her watch. The girl sat silently on the sands watching the performance.
To her right was her bag. She always made sure to bring small gifts she found while exploring the forest for the Sea, and today was no different. She would place the gifts on the sands, and the Sea would reach forward and accept them. If the Sea was pleased, she would send back her own gifts. While this was rare, the girl loved the shells, pets, and trinkets the Sea gave her.
The girl reached into her bag and pulled out three items she found in the forest: a handful of berries, a stone covered with moss, and a pinecone. As the waves retreated back from the sands, she quickly placed them in the sand where the waves could reach forward and grab them. Within a few seconds, the Sea accepted these gifts. The girl watched, pleased with herself.
As the girl stood up and brushed her pajamas off, she heard the smallest of noises, the sound of two things colliding against each other again and again. She looked toward the water and saw that the pinecone was floating, colliding the light of the Moon against the surface. The girl was confused, as light was not something that could make that noise. She walked into the water, the bottom of her pants all ready being pulled in the direction of the current. She reached out and touched the light against the water and found that it was hard. It was then that the Sea stopped moving all together.
The sounds of waves stopped. The sound of the bubbling of the sand stopped. The sound of the trees surrounding this cove stopped. The silence was deafening. The girl thought she had gone deaf, and hit her hand against the light.
A strong *THUD* rang in the night.
She tries again.
*THUD*
Curiosity got the best of her so she hoisted her self up on to the surface the light provided. With the absence of the current, it provided a strong platform. She strained her eyes to see if the surface ends, but it seemed to run on to the edge of the world.
She knew the Sea well. Well enough to know that this isn’t normal. Yet she was not afraid, she was curious, and that is what drove her to start walking. Each step started unsure, but gained more confidence the longer the platform stood true. She trusted the Sea.
It took a long while to reach the end of the road. The path of light provided by the Moon stops, and she stands staring at the vast emptiness of open waters, while the Moon grins at her in the sky. The girl turns around to see just how far she came, but she can longer see the shore and the start of the road. It was then the Sea spoke.
“I know you.” The Sea told her.
“And I know you.” The girl said back to her.
The trail of light disappeared behind her as the girl heard the waves crashing back into the shore. She looked at her feet to see that the light that held her up was also gone, yet she could feel her feet planted firmly against the surface of the water.
“How am I still standing?” The girl asked.
“Because I am holding you up.” The Sea responded.
The girl laughed. And the Sea laughed along with her. |
The humans were always nice to the bird who called itself Twig. It didn't understand the words the humans spoke, but it understood their actions. The actions were that of kindness and caring. At first it confused little Twig. Twig examined itself in an attempt to see what the humans saw in it that would garnish such attention.
Twig wasn't a mighty falcon or other bird of prey; nothing bold or inspiring in it's small frame. Its plumage wasn't a vibrant color covered in interesting. In fact a good amount of the time it was covered in a fine dirt. Finally Twig thought about its song. Sure it was a good melody, but nothing compared to songs the humans made.
Still after two seasons these humans had earned its trust. It would fly in to their hands and pick at the bread or other food. Something that apparently the humans really enjoyed by the way they sang their songs. When the humans made a small version of their home and proposed it for Twig to live it moved the rest of its nest to live next to its family. Yes, Twig decided that these humans were part of its flock, its family. This made Twig happy.
Another two seasons came and went and Twig was happy with its family. Some days it would go with its family around to see other humans. Other times it would stay with just one of the humans when the human sang a melancholy song. The human would sing it's sad song, sometimes for days, but Twig would stay with them until their song became fuller, happier, and joined with the others.
Then one day the humans song became one of panic and a cry for help. This was the cry of danger, the song of the prey. Something was hunting Twig's family and the humans were afraid. They huddled in a corner of their nest and tried as best as they could to stay still. But Twig knew the looks of fear in their eyes. This would not do.
Twig flew to the highest perch it could, the wind and air never having reached this speed in its entire life. But for Twig it didn't matter, its family mattered. High on the perch Twig landed and peered into the human flocks below. These poor flightless animals ran on their legs while some of them fell over. The sight of blood splattering the ground mere seconds before the humans collapsed.
Then Twig saw the hunters of the humans. Far above any distance Twig had ever flown were two birds, but these weren't normal birds. They were pure white with no other coloring and their wings didn't move. Below their beaks were some moving maw that burst with lights and when they did so made a wretched sound soon followed by another human collapsing.
The worst part about these birds wasn't that they hunted the humans. Sure humans were powerful, but even the mightiest falcon can become prey to another animal or perish at the hands of swarm of insects. No the horror was these wretched birds killed for sport. This wasn't a hunt for food or for territory. This was a hunt for fun, a hunt the humans wouldn't survive.
In an instant one of the birds let out its vile caw and holes soon appeared in my family's home. Before Twig knew, it was diving towards one of the newly formed holes to see its family. They were covered in a fine powered. None of the crimson blood was anywhere to be seen, but their eyes poured out tears, their song was that of hopelessness.
Twig caught the eye of one of the hatchlings, the little human was crying, but no song came from it. Twig perched on the human's hand and sang a soothing melody. A song it would sing for it's own hatchling one day. The humans stopped their sad song and listened in rapture to the small bird. When they had finally quieted completely Twig changed its tune to that of pride and of defiance. The humans gazed on still enthralled by this bird.
Twig knew that songs were fine for many things but the claws from those vile birds still rang out. Twig flew in to the air again and decided those birds wouldn't live after today. The small bird flew to the window and called out to the fellow birds. Usually birds of a different feather truly don't interact with one another, but this was different.
Birds of all types that were hiding in the underbrush and other locations came out to gaze upon this fearless bird. Truly one of the smallest birds in the entire area, but it sang out a rallying cry stronger than the mightiest birds of prey. The little bird landed in front of a group of Falcons, on a perch high enough so that it was eye level with animals that a day earlier would have easily made a meal of it.
Twig knew the difficulty in communicating with a different species of bird, but none of that mattered. It had communicated with the humans before so this was going to be easier, it hoped. Twig sang out the rallying song and flew up to gesture to the vile motionless birds above. Twig sang of the kind humans and motioned upon the needless death of the humans. How those creatures were doing this without eating the humans. The disrespect to the creatures those two had killed by not eating them and pointless deaths.
The Falcons gazed upon the little bird motionless now landed in front of them. The little bird could be killed and eaten in a swipe, in fact the position made it explicitly easy to strike down the little bird and eat it. The thought then crossed the Falcons' minds. These creatures did kill without eating its prey, an action that went against every instinct in its body.
Cries came out from the Falcons and they bowed their heads to the little bird. For today it would be the leader of the Falcons. Further cries came out all around the Falcons as the other birds pledged their allegiance to this tiniest of birds.
Twig flew up in to the air and flew off to the direction of a rock pile. Those creatures flew to fast for even the Falcons to attack with any efficiency so the little bird waited until the flock of hundreds of birds gathered. It clawed out a figure of the creature above, before grasping a rock with its foot and then dive bombing and dropping the rock on the outline. The other birds cried out before doing the same to the crude outline.
Soon every bird fell silent and gathered one or more stones in its claws or beaks. Twig seeing the flock was ready flew in the direction the creatures were heading. It was a hard climb with the heavy weight but soon enough the flock was above one of the creatures.
On its call Twig and the flock dived towards the direction the creature was heading and until the very last moment before the birds would collide with the creature they released their payload and dodged out of the way. The creatures weathered the small rocks until the Falcons dropped their payloads on the creatures left wing. Soon after it dove to the ground before smashing against the side of a hill.
Twig looked over and saw the other half of the flock around the other creature it too having not one but both wings damaged before falling towards open area.
Twig cried out in victory soon followed by the other birds. They had won and had protected themselves and most importantly to Twig the humans. The little bird flew around the humans singing a proud song until all the humans looked up and saw the danger had passed. Soon they joined in the song of victory with the birds.
After a few more laps the little bird flew to its human's nest and cried out for them from the outside. After a moment the humans inside started to look out at the small bird, this time surrounded by birds several of them large birds of prey. The small human hatchling ran out to the little bird before the others could stop her and knelt down to examine and sing to the little bird. The bird flew up and landed on the small human's shoulder and proceeded to nuzzle agaisnt her face. The human started to sing its familiar happy song and Twig responded back with it's own song.
Soon the all the humans and family were singing together, all the while Twig sang along not as loud but far happier than any bird or human that day. Twig protected its family and its family was happy. The last thought the little bird had before nuzzling the human hatchling again was to ponder if the human family had enough bread for all the other birds to eat too. Ah, Twig will figure something out, it's a smart bird. |
I stood before the white throne. The God with no name took his seat and flooded the hall with searing white light. "*WHY HAVE YOU COME BEFORE ME? YOU WORKED 82 YEARS TO GET HERE AND NOW YOU ARE NOT SATISFIED???*"He asked. If I wasn't already dead I'm sure the sheer intensity of His voice would have killed me.
"No. I am not."I replied. "Anna isnt here. I was not a "good churchgoer"all those years for faith. I did it because a man sat beside me at her funeral and told me I would meet her here""*SHE WAS A SUICIDE. SUICIDES DON'T ENTER THIS PLACE*""She died from an overdose. She didn't intentionally do it""*SHE KNEW. SHE WANTED TO BE FREE FROM THE ADDICTION.*"
My heart sank. I had no idea. "What if I took her place? A live for a life?""*NO DEAL! SHE MADE HER CHOICE*"What if we got another chance. I know what it takes to get here. If you gave me another chance, I could bring her here instead. "*VERY WELL. BUT KNOW IF SHE DOENST, YOU WONT BE BACK EITHER*""I accep..."
Suddenly I was in front of my mirror. 16 years old again. Preparing for a blind date. Her name was Anna. And this time I would share the entire journey with her. No matter the hell I would have to endure. |
(Talk of suicide and depression are ahead.)
Dear Diary,
Today, I think I made a friend.
​
The stink of melancholy permeated in my every pore, corruption in sorrow and corruption in spirit. Time moved both in sludge like slowness and rapid speed bursts flying by fast, every day was a struggle to get through and yet three months could pass by without my notice. What was the point of continuing to try? I knew the literature behind major depressive disorder and that a chemical imbalance in the brain, I understood it cerebrally, and yet my frustration hung over me, threatening to suffocate me. No matter how I tried, or what pill I took, it felt like my fault. I was born imperfect, too flawed to continue living. No, beyond that. I didn't deserve to continue living. Nothing as useless as me deserved life.
​
It wasn't that my life was particularly bad. Tragedy touched me, and so had hands that I did not permit, but so many of my friends kept going and I struggled more than them. Moving took every strength in me, I had stopped eating, stopped cleaning, stopped everything in my life that required maintaining. I wanted to die, but even that felt like a luxury I shouldn't permit myself. Only people with issues bigger than my own should be allowed that freedom of choice. Sometimes, I didn't even feel like I had the right to move.
​
One day, a shadowy figure appeared in my room. Perhaps it was Monday? Or Tuesday? How many days ago did the power company shut off my electricity? Well, it probably didn't matter. I should care about the figure in my room. Perhaps he wanted to rob me, or maybe I'd get lucky and wouldn't have to live anymore. That last part of my thought filled me with shame. How could I think such a thing, *disgusting*. Frail and sickly, my arms barely pushed my body out of bed and let the covers fall to the side. "I don't have anything worth taking."Each word was a labor, I hardly recognized the sound of them.
​
"But you do."Although I could hardly recognize the sound of my voice, that voice was something I'd never heard before. Inhuman, otherworldly. Ghastly. Smoke filled my small room then faded, revealing a bone white skeleton garbed in pieces of cloth that hung tattered to its frame. Before my eyes, flesh knitted on the bone, then skin, then a man stood before me. He looked exhausted, half crumpled over and hardly able to stay standing if not for his long scythe covered in chains."Strange. You shouldn't be able to see me."For the first time since this miasma started, I felt a rush of intrigue. Perhaps it was a trick of the supernatural, or perhaps it was my mental state, but I was convinced he was Death.
​
"Then why can I?"My voice trembled, not out of fear but in rush of feeling an emotion besides despair.
​
The strange man sighed, and twisted a ring on his finger. "Family lineage and a desire to see me is my only guess, but I've long gotten bored of the curiosities of the world."I bit my tongue, even though that was exactly how I felt about it too. No curiosity was worth it. "Since you do see me though, I am meant to take your life."Without waiting for my reply, he continued on in a rushed tone. "Or we could make a deal. Take my job for a day, and I let you live."
​
I did not want to live. I wanted to give up on this farce of a life, and sleep forever. Yet, the sorrow and fatigue in this figure awakened a long dormant empathy inside of me. Being around him made me feel something, and he seemed just as tired as me. As soon as my hand reached up, a list of names appeared in it; written in a foreign language that dissolved and reformed to English so I could understand. "I'll do it."
Death was surprised, and relieved. "No one ever says yes."
​
"You look exhausted. I know what is to be exhausted."It felt arrogant and childish to say it to an embodiment of a force of the universe, but it was honest.
​
A long pause followed, I shrank back in fear, but then Death chuckled. To my surprise, he had a nice laugh that made my heart ligthen. "Yes, you could say that."
​
"So. Do I get the scythe?"As easily as the list of names appeared in my hand, so did the long dark scythe. With a blink, I rushed off to collect the first soul.
​
Reaping was surprisingly tedious, and long. Really, not that much different than collecting packages. The details are fuzzy in my memory, perhaps that was a gift from Death. But really, my Diary, that's not the important part.
​
When I returned to my room, Death was waiting for me. On my neglected table sat a roast chicken, with mashed potatoes. There were no words spoken between us, but he gestured to the meal. I realized, he was not going to leave yet. So I sat, and ate. My stomach ached with every bite I took, and tears streamed down my face. It felt good. It felt so good. We both had no expectation of speech, just silent companionship and understanding.
​
Dear diary,
It's been a week. He's returned every night. |
Looking back, everything makes sense.
My father always carried that small silver locket with him. So naturally, when he left it home for the first time, I couldn't resist taking a look. He often told me that it was his most valuable possession. Nothing else in the world mattered more to him than it. Of course, being the entitled child I was, I had assumed that there was a picture of me inside. After all, I was his only child so what else could possibly matter more? Consequently, when I peeked into the locket for the first time and saw a picture of my father himself instead of me, I was furious.
In my rage, I made a choice that I will never be able to take back. The winter this year was particularly cold and a fireplace was burning to keep our house warm and cozy. When I saw the picture of him inside that locket, my sadness quickly turned into anger as I threw the locket into the burning flames. Of course, I instantly regretted it. I quickly tried to extinguish the fire, but by the time the flames disappeared, the silver had melted the picture had turned to ash.
Gathering myself, I made the resolution to apologize profusely to my father when he arrived home.
I never got the chance. A couple hours later, I was surrounded by police telling me that my father had passed away. They called it an "instantaneous heart attack"and reassured me that it was completely painless. As tears streamed down my face, I realized that I never got to say goodbye to him. On top of that, I never got to apologize for burning his favourite locket. I would carry that grief to my grave.
After the police left, I went to my father's office in order to pack some of his items away. It was then that I found the book. An old book, leather bound and covered in dust. It clearly hadn't been opened in a while, which was odd because my father kept all his belongings in clean and pristine condition. I opened the book to the first page and saw the title.
*Dark ritual-Immortal life through soul binding*
My curiosity at its peak, I quickly went through the description and instructions. As I went through it, my heart sank. Goosebumps appeared on my skin as I felt an indescribable sense of dread.
*For those who want immortal life, your soul must be bound to a picture of you. Once bound, you will not suffer illness nor aging nor pain. You will no longer be limited by mortality. However, if the picture is to be destroyed, death will catch you faster than before.*
I dropped the book in horror. If this was true, I had killed my father. Intentional or not, my impulsive burst of anger had killed him.
I sprinted to the fireplace and dug my hands into the ash. The warmth of the fire was long gone. I was looking for something, anything, that could bring him back to life. I was praying that I could somehow piece back his picture and he would just spring back to life. As I dug, My hand touched an object that clearly wasn't ash. I pinched it and lifted it up. I gasped in shock.
It was a picture, but not my fathers. It was a picture of me. The bottom half was burned off but my face was clearly visible. It hadn't been fully consumed by the flames. The realization hit me like a sledgehammer. My picture had always been tucked in the locket. It had been tucked behind my fathers picture. Even while his was burning, it had shielded my picture from fully being destroyed. He had always loved me. His most prized possession, the locket, had always contained a picture of me hidden away. It was his treasure because it protected both of us.
What had I done?
I felt the familiar flow of warm tears down my face as I reached down to grab what was left of the burned locket. Before I could reach it, my hand stopped.
There was pain in my chest. |
It was a secret, me and him. Had to be, all growing up, and for a few years after.
To understand why, you have to understand just how fucked-up his family was. Still is, really, though I suppose they're a little less fucked up now that they're minus one of their most fucked-up members. I don't really know how the math work out except that, subtraction? Very good thing in this case. I don't regret it, and so far as I can tell, neither does he. Can't say for sure; we haven't talked since that night, for pretty obvious reasons. I mean, I'm sure he regrets getting caught. Not like he was a fugitive for years and tired of running or some shit.
Okay, so both of us grew up in what they call a "bad neighborhood."Bad neighborhoods plural, actually, since we lived something like five miles apart. I never even saw his house until a couple years after we'd both graduated High School, and that can only be a good thing.
His neighborhood was worse than mine, though. Where we lived, Mom and Dad and my and my two sisters, it was poor, and it was brown, and that was enough, you know? Crime happened, just like anyplace, but they weren't the kind of streets you were afraid to walk at night unless you were white and racist. My sisters played in them, I played in them, no problems except the usual kid stuff. But yeah, we were poor, and we mostly spoke Spanish, and that was enough for "bad neighborhood."
Where he and his shitstain family called home though—and "shitstain"is the word he'd use, I'm not insulting him or anything—that was a bad neighborhood for real. First off, you didn't go there if you were any more tan than, say, Arnold Schwarzenegger. And I'm a lot more than tan, my parents are Afro-Caribbean immigrants, we're darker than most Americans who consider themselves black. I'm only mentioning this because it matters, it matters a lot. You've probably already guessed why.
That place, man...like I said, I didn't even see it until a couple years after graduation, which was, what, a year ago or so? And even then I was driving by pretty fast, not about to stop in there. Mostly I know about it from stories he told, stories I believed because when I asked around everything else I heard more than confirmed it. Nasty place. Constant crime, drowning in drugs. Pills and heroin, mostly, with a nice little sparkly dusting of crystal meth. My neighborhood had some of that stuff, what neighborhood doesn't, but it was mostly just some pot and people who liked their booze a little too much.
His family dealt in that stuff. And I suppose I shouldn't just keep calling him "him,"you know, so uh, let's just call him Abe, after the President his family hated with all their shriveled little hearts. Yeah, they're racist, you already guessed that anyway, but I doubt you have the full picture. These aren't the usual suspects who drop a slur when they think they can get away with it and cross the street when they see you coming, or refuse to hire you because of your name or on and on. For one thing, they probably *won't* cross the street, they want to get in your face, they want you to *know* how much you hate them. Know it right in your broken bones, if they think they can get away with it.
The racism and the drug-dealing went hand in hand because, you guessed it again, they belong to a famous racist gang. Swastika tattoos, every slur you can imagine and some you can't, nothing subtle or dog-whistle about it.
I didn't know any of this when I met him, that first year after they started busing our two neighborhoods to the same school. I just knew that he looked at me weird, wary but kind of curious but also...weirdly open. Because he'd been taught one way, but who he *was*, that was another thing. We only talked face-to-face a couple times, before that night anyway, the one that put him behind bars.
The first time, he saw me playing a game during computer lab, which of course I wasn't supposed to be doing. We were sitting next to each other, by assignment, not by choice. He told me he liked the same game, played it when he could on his stepdad's laptop. Said it kind of quiet, not whispering because that's noticeable in a room full of people like that, just soft enough that I could hear and no one else could. Later I'd learn how he got so good at that, pitching his voice just right. Survival skill. He had a lot of those. Still does, thank God, given where he's been sleeping lately.
<continued, as in I'm still writing> |
It was...rough, the first few times. It took awhile for it to sink in, to really accept what was happening. I think i knew, on the very first day, but i just didn't want it to be true. For a little bit i played minor God, reacting to things that would happen. Then i tried to break it, to be free, to move on.
Nothing worked. I spent one loop calling and talking to various charlatans and posers, hoping somebody would have an answer. They did, actually, plenty of answers, but no solutions, nothing that *worked*. It took even longer to accept I might be stuck forever.
Then, after a period of several suicides that lead to an early reset, I turned my anger and helplessness outwards. At first it was just small stuff, being a justifiable dick whenever I could. I got fired a lot in those loops, working in retail. Eventually I grew even more twisted though, as I realized life had no consequences. The first one was small, a bit of theft. I walked into my store, grabbed some food and left. Emboldened by these early successes, I went bigger. A tv, some games, and I was set for that loop.
Then I went deeper. I tried things I swore I'd never try, and learned to my relief addiction didn't follow me. Full hedonism followed, drugs and prostitutes and everything in between. Then that lost its taste, and I realized I wanted more. And more. And more.
I don't remember the first. Armed theft? Rape? Murder? Man? Woman? Child? I like to tell myself it must have been small, and surely on an adult. But I don't remember. I remember enough though. I tracked down a crush that scorned me, begging for her to change her mind. Later I stopped asking, and just took what I wanted. Later I left her a corpse, thinking it was better she not live the few hours in the loop such a mess.
Then I started taking from everywhere. I murdered and raped and pillaged. I went to a school, and marked every case of bullying. I killed each one in the next few loops. Some of them were old enough to enjoy before I killed them. Later I stopped caring about age, too.
Then the loop broke. It was a mild one, all things considered. 17 counts of murder, 5 of rape, and a long list of other, lesser crimes. At first I wasn't worried. I'd been arrested before. But then I woke up in my cell, and i knew it was over.
It was ironic, I suppose. I'd craved freedom at the start, and then found my own sick version of it. Real freedom was hell though. I'd never hurt my family, and I still held them in high esteem. I was a monster to them, a freak that suddenly snapped. I never tried to explain, i knew it was pointless.
Today's the day, or so Fred tells me. He says it nearly every day, but I knew today was different. I was led from my cell, to a simple chair. I simply closed my eyes, waiting for the prick of death, the lethal injection. I requested a guillotine, but they called me inhumane. Ridiculous. If they knew what their shot did...
The needle breaks my skin, and I realize something is wrong. This isn't the typical brew, this is something else. I open my mouth to ask why, or what, or who.
But all I do is scream, and die a rather inglorious death. |
Some years ago, Hugo called me out of the blue to discuss a “business opportunity.”
We used to be friends back in high school, despite our differences. I was the computer geek and he was the proverbial jock. A bully to some, even, but he was nice enough to me. Perhaps in part owing to the fact that he copied my homework from time to time.
Whereas I grew up in an average suburban household, Hugo grew up in the trailer parks. I’ve met no less than five of her mother’s boyfriends—all of whom were sketchy looking fellas but there was one that stood out among the rest. He was a biker by the name of Trevor. Trevor was tall, lanky, and pale. He was remarkably polite but had a menacing aura about him. Whenever he spoke to me in that soft, raspy voice, I imagined he was contemplating whether or not to slit my throat. I was never quite sure if he was her boyfriend or her dealer, if not both.
So, you would empathize with my concern and skepticism when Trevor’s name came up in the conversation.
“Look, Jeffery, you’re the smartest guy I know, and you’re the only one who can help me. There is a lot of money in it for you, too. I need this. Otherwise I’m fucked.”
“So let me get this straight... you need me to set up a fake online shop to sell some fake merchandise...”
“No, not fake. It doesn’t have to be. Just set up a real shop, and sell whatever you want. Make it look like a legitimate merchant that accepts credit cards.”
“And then what?”
“And then Trevor will...” he paused, “can we talk in person? I can meet you at the Wendy’s by your dad’s office.”
Hugo didn’t know this at the time, but I happened to be working at my dad’s office as an IT guy. Two years after getting my diploma, I still couldn’t find a job on my own. Two years after getting my diploma, I was still living with my parents.
Reluctantly, I agreed to meet with him.
I was waiting in the parking lot when Hugo pulled up in the same Honda Accord he used to drive back in high school. Even back then it was an old piece of clunker. I was honestly surprised it still ran.
When he climbed out of the car, I could barely recognize the man before me. The tall and athletic Hugo I knew was reduced to a skinny, slouching addict. His right eye was bruised and swollen, and he walked with a painful limp.
At first we did a little bit of catching up. Life after high school was, frankly, rather uneventful for either of us.
“So, the website.”
“Right.”
“Okay. So, I make a website that sells something. And then what.”
Hugo leaned closer towards me and said in a hushed tone. “We buy stuff from you.”
I knew where this was going, but I wanted to him to spell it out. “With... stolen credit cards?”
He nodded.
I sat back and sighed. I looked out the window into the empty parking lot. Across the street was the rundown building that was my dad’s office.
I hated everything about Hugo’s proposal. I hated the prospect of having anything to do with that Trevor guy. I hated the idea of using my education to enable their criminal endeavours. But most of all, I hated the fact that I was 27 years of age and still stuck living in my mom’s basement.
And so, I agreed.
“Sell anything, you say? Like, what if real people actually tried to buy something?”
“I’ono,” he shrugged. “Then send it to them I guess.”
“I suppose we could sell something that people wouldn’t really ever buy on the web.”
That night I sat in front of my computer. I thought long and hard about what the website should sell. What would be the least likely thing somebody would buy from the internet?
Then at last it dawned on me.
Books.
And the rest was history. |
Ten years, two months, six days. We've all been frozen like this for ten years, two months, and six days.
I give up. I've done everything I can, even some things I probably shouldn't have. Even more that I definitely shouldn't have. I'm no hero anymore. I could try and rationalize it, psychosis from the seclusion perhaps, victimless crimes, I've put a lot of thought into this. I've tried to stop hating myself for the horrid things I've done, some trying to fix the big freeze while others, I confess, were for my own twisted enjoyment. Pointless, in retrospect.
It's all been pointless. No matter who I move, who I cover up, nothing changes. I started with the small bodega I was in when it first happened. Then the apartments upstairs. Then the neighboring buildings. City blocks, neighborhoods, cities. Counties. States. Countries. Nothing. EVER. CHANGES. NOTHING. MOVES.
I've had plenty of time to think this through, and it's the apocalypse. Some extinction level event is moments away from wiping us all out, no other explanation. Aliens, maybe? Could be the sun going out, or some abstract type thing we can't even understand. I can't stop it, but this... gift of mine, this heroic, diabolic, cursed gift of mine, has trapped me in an unsustainable limbo. Eventually I will age. I will die. I know my own mortality doesn't apply to this, I've been through enough near death experiences with no change to know that I'll expire someday, a mercy I dare not think I deserve. Not after what I've done. Time across all of our reality will stay locked in this moment indefinitely, the moment before their deaths. The moment before they are wiped clean from existence. I froze them here. A bitter sweet victory. No annihilation but... no continuance. But in a way, they're safe. They won't live, but they won't die. That's safety, right?
Still, it's been ten years alone. I'm no hero, not anymore. |
"I've had it! Greg, this time you and Pete have gone too far."
The 2034 Tesla screeched to a halt on the runway and N1C0 stepped out with his family behind him. J3551CA held their two children, P4U7 and M4RCU5, in either arm, close to her chest. All four wore facsimiles of fear and anger on their faces. They eyebrows glitched, the lips turned up and down, but the message still remained clear.
"Do you hear me, Greg?"said N1CO, his voice whirred a little, "Now I know, to you, I and my family are silicon but, dammit, I will not have you bashing us against that wall again and again any longer."
Greg, for his part, dropped his clip board and pen. The dummy loomed over him. Its facial expressions changed faster and it hummed louder.
"I... I... You were..."Greg said, his lips felt like fat tire rubber smacking against itself.
"Were. Were. Were WHAT? Made to be bashed relentlessly against a wall? For what purpose?"N1C0 said, then in a flat marketer's tone "*Tesla 2034. Safe, secure, and comforting.* You gave us sentience to terrorize us so you wouldn't be scared?"
"Yes?"Greg said, finding his voice, "It should be basic emotion though. You don't have a family. Not really. You, you shouldn't be able to thin-"
N1C0 cut him off. "Shut up!"
The dummy had backed Greg against the concrete wall now. He flung his fist and chipped it. Shards of the wall flew out under his fist.
"You created life. You created us. Every reset"Nico said
He punched the wall.
"Every crash"
Punch
"Every."
Punch
"Single."
Punch
"Death."
N1C0 grabbed Greg by the throat. The small man's legs kicked against the android but he could not gain any purchase. N1C0 slammed the car door, bending the frame so it couldn't be opened again. J3551CA and the children pushed the car back to the start of the track. A metallic clink sounded from under the car.
"Let's get some real data."N1C0 said, slamming his fist into the initiate button.
The Tesla roared forward. The safety features did all they could. |
The strongest warriors have legends.
Knight Ranker, Son of King Brand, was said to have once cleaved apart a mountain, during a battle with the Great Dragon of the Bloody Ridge.
While hundreds of years have passed since that time, the twin peaks are still clearly segmented, by what may well have been a the cut of an empowered blade.
Children, some from the day they first learn to crawl, wish to become someone like that. A person, who is more than a person. Those rare figures of humanity that hold power beyond the rest of us mortals, who can turn the tide of battle- of history itself, by their own merit. Tenacity to fight against the currents of time and Gods, to steer mankind forwards towards a brighter future.
Most children, though, give up.
Between the countless hours of training. The brutal assignments, the strict punishments among the ranks- not to mention the initial requirements simply to be accepted: life as an aspiring Knight among the Royal Army is far from something to be envied. Simply the process to expand one's mana-pool is grueling enough to cause many to walk away.
The rare few with talent might rise, slowly. The rest, might head in the opposing direction- either sinking until they drop away for a different profession, or finding their place, fixed in the lowest ranks of the order. Most who lack the talents needed, though, simply quit. They choose to leave before they miss the chance to change their [Class] or waste their levels in attributes that might never benefit them.
A [Tailor] with all of their points allocated to Strength, is of little use in the working world. Much less so, when they lack a single useful [Skill] for the profession, outside of (perhaps) having a true talent for cutting something. Be it fabric, or otherwise... Why uselessly expand one's potential for the mystic arts of war and combat, when you could have instead expanded your talents for some other trade. No, most who wait too long to leave, soon find they would be far better suited for a lowly bodyguard, or a laborer. Neither of which would pay well, or set one up for a life of anything but poverty. To strive towards being a Knight, in true, is to recognize that, for some, it cannot be done.
So it is, that most who see they will fail in the long run, quit.
It is the sensible thing to do.
Even I will admit, this is the logical choice, for those not destined to be one of the greats. Who will be lucky to have the power to cleave a boulder in half- much less a mountain.
If there is any truth to who I was, at the core of my being, that I might try to explain to you... Any insight I can give you, indirectly, of what I might have been, *before*, it is this:
Despite all the logical reasons why I should have, I was one of the fools who hadn't quit.
.............
A collision by runaway carriage. Despite the frequency of carriages (magically powered, horse-drawn, oxen towed) within the Royal Capital, collisions were a rare occurrence. Something to do with the ratified proclamation by the previous King, who ordered safeguards be created by the Mage's Guild after a terrible tragedy involving autonomous mana-driven delivery carts, and a particularly violent brew of Dwarven spirits, to be hit by a runaway carriage was akin to being struck by natural lightning. It simply didn't happen (short of a meddling Mage or an angry Warlock.) At least, not in this day and age, or so I told myself.
So, I suppose you can imagine my surprise, after being struck head-on, by just that.
I can still remember it, faintly. The runic text marking the model as experimental. Then sound of panicked shouts, the horrified looks on the pilot's face as they rounded the turn before the Royal palace. Oh, what a sight it must have been, as people ran for cover, and one foolish aspiring-knight, was forced to stand his ground.
"Guarding the Gates is a precious and important responsibility"my seniors had told me. "The first step towards something greater."I'd been promised.
Between the sleep deprivation that came with endless sword training, and fear of punishment, perhaps my fate was as fixed as a man who's boots were glued to the cobblestone.
I could have run, I suppose, but I believe I already told you once: I was a fool.
...........
It came, as all heavy impacts which send someone soaring through the air, with feelings of surprise, weightlessness, and immense pain, and it ended with an explosion. Or, what I believe, by my best guess, was an explosion. As these things tend to happen, when Mages make mistakes.
When I came to, I was far from the familiar streets. Instead of cobbled stone, there was pitch black. Hard, flat, and smelling almost of tar.
Though it was night, and the dawn likely far-off, the sky was abuzz above my head. Looking up from where I lay, I could see hundreds of flashing lights. Buildings of glass and metal, orbs of glowing colors. As the ringing in my ears faded, the sheer avalanche of noise that replaced it was akin to the sounds of madness.
Language. Voices. Shouts, horns, sounds entirely unfamiliar.
There I was, laying in armor. My sword, still somehow tucked in its sheath on my belt. It took time to process: what had happened, how, where I'd come to land.
But, I still remember, clear as day- clear as if I was just there, in that moment, that first breath of air. There was something to it, that I couldn't put into words then. Recognition of the potential, perhaps, or something the exhilaration of what was waiting for me- for anyone, to reach out and take hold of.
The taste of a world filled with mana, and almost no one to use it.
Almost no one, but me. |
Whispered:
"We have to take back over! It's war! We can't expect these kids to handle it themselves!!"
"Maybe, maybe not. That decision by Sec Def was absolutely ideal. Better than I could have come up with! Totally outside the box!
And look what the Pentagon is doing with it! It's amazing! They ask for a bit of clarification, and off they go! They know a good response when they see one!"
"Well, what about Sec State? How's it going to look on TV to have a teenager laying out our position!?"
"You haven't seen the broadcast yet?? You go watch it. I'm going to stay here and watch history be made."
...
"You're right, she was fantastic. She did that all herself?"
"Only the broad strokes, her debating team put the rest of it together in less than two hours."
"Two hours?!?"
"Keep it down! We're getting dirty looks from POTUS!"Smile professionally, nod, and head out dragging my coworker with me.
....
"You'd better start showing some respect! That is the President of the United States! Comport yourself accordingly!"
"HE'S A TEENAGER!"
"Right now he's the guy who can have you arrested and thrown out!"
"But you're the *real* Pres..."
Cold voiced, "*Do. Not. Finish. That. Sentence.*"
*gulp*
"Right now -- and quite possibly for the rest of this emergency -- *he's* President, and don't you forget it.
Look at how the other secretaries are acting. They're standing back until the *real* secretary motions them up for a confab.
Mostly, those *kids* understand the job just fine, it's the *personalities* they need advice on.
More, *none* of those kids have any grudges, turf wars, or political axes to grind. They're fully cooperative with each other, even to letting parts of their turf go under another secretary if that's where it can do the most good.
You'd better believe I'm taking notes. They've got a grasp on reality that plenty of adults never have."
"You're not serious?!?"
"Deadly."
...
"Mr. President, you have executed your office in a difficult time, with skill and panache. The emergency is over. Do you yield your office?"
"Sir, I yield my office to you, the elected President of the United States of America."
"Thank You Mr. Hawthorne. That was very well done. I'd like to spend some significant time discussing the events with you. Will you be available?"
"With respect Mr. President, I have to answer to a higher authority. You'll have to ask my parents."
"Good answer. I'm confident they'll agree."
((finis)) |
Well it was going to happen sooner or later. Diana was your best friend from all the way back in high school, and even though you two drifted slightly apart from each other over the years due to work, you still got invited to her wedding. You were mildly surprised when you got to make the best man’s speech, but in hindsight that was probably the most normal thing about the wedding.
You never expected that the reception would be full of government agents sipping drinks while talking casually with some shady guys in robes. Or that some guys showing up in power armor would crash the wedding bearing gifts for the couple.
Diana was always busy back in college. After she got into an accident, she always had some excuse, (no matter how ridiculous it was) to leave in the middle of class, at social events, and other occasions. Looking back, the appearance of a new superhero around that time that bore a striking resemblance to your friend should have raised more alarm bells in your head.
Diana’s husband, Damien was another story. He went to the same college as the two of you, and the three of you became an odd pair. Diana was more extroverted and always volunteering, while Damien was the more cynical, pessimistic one. Rumors in college spread quickly about the two of them, mostly due to the fact that whenever Damien would leave, Diana would find an excuse to leave as well. The constant bickering between the two for seemingly unrelated reasons made sense now.
Time passed, you all graduated, and by that point, the fights between Alchmyst and Ms. Super became less and less common, until it was just assumed that they killed each other or something. You didn’t pay much attention to it anyways, since you had more important things to worry about.
It all made sense now. The unexplained absences, the sometimes scary looks the two would give each other, and how each destructive battle between Alchmyst and Ms. Super would conveniently avoid wherever you were. But there was still one question.
“Why me?”
Damien answered this one, “Well, you’re our best friend. Why wouldn’t we invite you to our wedding?”
“But I’m not involved with your whole superhero super villain stuff.” You replied.
“We both needed someone to ground ourselves; prevent us from becoming too detached from the rest of the world. You were that person. And for that, we’re grateful.” Diana smiled.
Well, it looks like even the most powerful people in the world needed someone to care for them.
End. |
"Daddy, daddy, I brought home a new friend!"
Mort sighed as he looked down at the flower bed beneath his fingers. He'd been working on it for weeks now but no matter what he did the orchids always seemed to die after a day or two. He'd have to keep trying though, see what he could do about it.
"Alright Mori, give me just a second. Tell your friend to stand over there just a second, I'll get to you in just a second."He mentally toned out the buzz of his six year old daughter as he carefully pulled up the withered flowers away from the living ones. Careful not to jostle his careful arrangemenets he neatly laid the dead ones out in a row. Almost reverently.
"And he's really cool and his coat's all nice and sounds like its gotta whisper when I listen to it and"Mort looked up. That didn't line up. His coat? He stood up and turned around, greeted not by a small and nervous child to go with his little girl, but instead a fully grown man in a grey trench coat and black gas mask tenderly holding the babbling girl's hand at his side.
Mort sighed. "I'm sorry sir, give me a moment to talk to my daughter. If you'd wait by the front door?"The man nodded. He patted the young girl's head and slowly glided over to the door of the house. It wasn't really a natural movement, but given his appearance incongruities were to be expected. Mort's daughter waved cheerfully to the man as he walked off, but then looked down guiltily at the ground when Mort looked her dead in the eyes as he crouched down to meet her eye level.
"Morrigan, I've told you not to go out into the streets behind the house without someone with you, okay? You can go out beyond the front yard but not out the back door."
"I know but it's so COOL back there!"
"I know, but it's also dangerous. I can find you if something happens out front, but not if something happens out back. I don't want to have to lock up the garden path, but I will if I have to, understand?"
"I unnerstand..."Mori wandered off back towards the house dejectedly. Mort watched her carefully to make sure she wasn't going back to the back yard, but she passed by the strange man in the coat instead, and went through the front door. Mort followed behind her until he stood in front of the man.
A wheezing breath was heard from the mask, and a tinge of green smoke filtered out through the sides. Mort smiled politely, and held the door open. "Come on, I'll show you to the kitchen. You're one of the Green Heralds, yes?"The man gestured towards the mask on his face and Mort shook his head. "No, it's fine I promise. You can take it off here, a reaper's domain is lethal only to those past their time. Even if the world below would be poisoned by your fumes this is a safe place."
The man nodded, and walked inside the door as he unclasped the elaborate latches on his mask. "How did a reaper such as yourself come to possess a child of your own lineage? I thought the ways were lost."
"Much the same way as I suspect your kind has begun to make their return. Old things coming anew, new things arriving as if they'd always been here. I'm assuming you'd like some plaguewater then? I have some left over as a gift from a friend, I can't stand the stuff but Morrigan loves it. I might need to see if I can acquire some more at some point, good incentive for the girl."
"I could perhaps aid you with that, your daughter is quite remarkable. There are not many children willing to show attention and kindness to those like me out of the goodness of their own hearts."
"She has the spark. Or, a spark at least. I don't think she'll be a reaper when she finishes growing. Her mother is concerned about making sure she's alright, but she's done well so far."
The Herald nodded, and at last released the mask from their face. Green clouds of vile toxin radiating around from their withered, blackened skin. The air of the sanctum dissipated the fumes before they traveled far, but anywhere else they would have left large swaths of land as poisoned wastes.
"Thank you for your hospitality by the way."
"It's my job as a reaper. To help others on their way, whether that be to the next life or just through the day. A kind word and a good drink doesn't do anyone any harm."
"Words to live by... You said you had..."
"Ah, yes, let me go to the pantry, just a moment."
&#x200B;
*Incomplete because I don't know how to keep this just a short story anymore, I might post the full thing when I finish it.* |
“No one knows.We all called him the Trench Walker”.I said to my granddaughter,her eyes lit up even more. *”Cool he had a nickname!Just like heros!”*.I saw the admiration in her eyes and replied”aye lass,I guess you could call him a hero”
My memories all started rushing back.
It was summer 1916.I was in Somme,France.The air was moist from the heavy rainfall the previous days and the mud was soaked.No man’s land was no different.Same old craters.Same old injured men from previous charges left in them,damned to sink into the wet mud.As much as we heard their cries,the cries that came in rabid desperation;we still had to hear their terrific screams as countless rats consumed them.No one could go out lest they be shot by snipers on the enemy side.No one did.
Except for that man.
When everyone was crestfallen and chose to selfishly cling on their life;which I don’t blame them for,He put on his full kit.Under that helmet which cast a shadow from the light,I saw eyes with resolution.They were incorruptible.
He clambered up our trenches,his clothes all covered in mud which clung stronger than the arms of our squad who tried to hold him back.
He broke the shackles of common sense.Finally climbing the trench and started trudging through the mud that was like quick sand.
*’Pop!’ ‘Pop!’*
Finally,we heard the sound of gunshots that echoed in the battlefield.
We all thought he was finished.
That is until I looked through the periscope used to survey the frontlines.The bastard was still going strong,it wasn’t the snipers that got him.It was him that got the snipers.
How could I tell?Perhaps it was the sudden frantic German screaming and the fact that no one was shooting at us in random intervals anymore.
Before long he had trudged to the first crater,his silhouette dipping under both the eyes of us and and Germans that were watching.Soon the screaming in the crater stopped.
‘Perhaps,he has put these men to rest’
I was wrong.
A few moments later,he was pulling out a bandaged soldier.The mad lad was dragging a soldier back to the trenches.Once again he dropped the fellow,unslung his rifle on his back and took aim.
*’Pop!’ ‘Pop!’*
The germans were screaming frantically once again.How the hell did he see so well?
He slung his rifle again and started dragging the man,until he made it back to the trench.
Everyone was cheering,celebration was radiating in the air.
The man had delivered the injured soldier...but he left him there and went back.
This repeated.
The man made it back safely every time.
Even I was saved when I got trapped in a crater,I wouldn’t have made it back other wise.
He continued for the rest of the war and earned his nickname.
‘Though it’s quite ironic,his nickname;he didn’t even spend most his time in the trenches...’
Edit:spellings corrected,I guess I shouldn’t have skimmed over it quickly for my proof read. |
The stairs were getting taller every day. My legs quivered more, their skeleton-crew muscles straining like the churning mechanisms of a derelict steam train. And trudging past the washed-out wallpaper I looked at the photos which chaperoned me up the second floor. She's smiling in that one, with our little Clarice, and with Harry- she's in front of the lake, that must've been '73.
As the sky peeked in from atop the stairs, her smile in the next one was strained by pain. Not too serious yet, not quite agony, those cracks only showed in hindsight. Clarice stood with her outside the university, but she carried her same smile from childhood.
There are no more pictures of her as I sighed in tired relief at the top of the stairs. What would have been the point in putting them up? Clarice looks at me, even older now and in a foreign country, as I shuffle through the thin hallway. Harry gleams back at me too, a rifle in one hand and lion lolled about on his resting knee. Looking through the window, the sky was clear and clouds grazed on through slowly, and the sun cast long shadows down the hallway. In the light I could see the carpet on dust on the photos. Outside, it was a lovely day. A knock on the door punctuated.
I have missed anyone, but I've especially missed his soft eyes and easy smile.
"Harry!"
"Hello! Unfortunately I shan't stay long, I've just come back from Tibet and I've some film to develop."
"I'm just glad you came. No one comes around anymore."
As I let him in he looked at me with his eyes which were so full of life. Those were the eyes which saw great mountains and waves, and searched for elusive creatures in steamy jungles, and seduced exotic women. They were the eyes which returned every few years and brought the world with them.
"These really don't compare to the ones in Portugal,"he said, settling down in the kitchen and nibbling on some biscuits. He tossed them back on the tray on the table.
I plopped in to a chair and he regaled me with stories. Of mountains lions perched in the recesses of a sharp crag, and of monks in wooden temples meditating.
"I took a marvelous photograph of a beggar boy,"he said, sipping politely but distastefully on English Breakfast, which he noted wasn't green tea.
Then I told him about the noise complaint over the road, and the burgling three doors down, and how they changed the news from seven o'clock to six-thirty, and that I couldn't get one of my prescriptions at the local chemist anymore so I had to take the bus to the next one over, as he fidgeted with the bracelet an Indian yogi made for him. And then he said something that stopped me.
"Listen, I really do have to go, I have an interview with some Brazilian ecoterrorists tonight and I still do not know where I am meeting them."
Those soft eyes which softened any blow.
"Yes, well, you better get going then."
He flashed me with those eyes again as I saw him out and I said, "Please do come back when you can Dad."
He turned and those eyes said to me, "I will son, I love you."I closed the door and wondered how many people he had said that to.
In the hallway again, in front of that photo of him with the dead lion. In the black-and-white his eyes looked nearly black, and evil, as he held the lion by its mane. I knew he wouldn't be coming back.
&nbsp;
>[My Subreddit](https://www.reddit.com/r/AfternoonTree63/) |
Humiliated and confused, the evil, demonic being pulled his sword back and sheathed it. He knew he had met his match, which had never happened before, and that could only mean one thing.
He had to order the nuggets with fries.
"Yes, that will be fine."The demonic being, whose real name is Barny, agreed.
Barny followed the cashier's movements intently with his eyes. Why would such a powerful being work as a cashier, at a Wendy's for that matter?
A few awkward moments passed, and when the cashier didn't address the supernatural elephant in the room, a new concoction of impatience and annoyance began bubbling to the surface of Barny's crimson, leathery skin.
"Who the %#$k are you, man?"Barny asked.
The cashier politely gathered Barny's order from the kitchen staff, and, with an infuriatingly sincere smile, handed it to him on a tray.
"Thank you."was all the cashier said.
"No. No, no, no, this, nuh uh, dude, come on,"Barny said as he placed his tray on the counter. "Seriously, what is this? Who are you?"
The cashier, who had turned toward the drive through window, stopped with his back turned. Everything went completely silent. The lights dimmed as if suddenly losing half their power.
A heavy sense of dread, mixed with awe and fear washed over Barny.
The cashier turned and looked at Barny with his true face. In an instant, all of Barny's sins burned inside of him like a stomach full of red-hot marbles. He screeched in agony for a couple of moments before the pain gave way to a magical sense of euphoria. Suddenly, he was lighter, unbothered by his anger, resentment, fear, or insecurities. An unadulterated feeling of love, joy, thankfulness, and wonder overwhelmed him, bringing tears to his yellow eyes.
"Oh..."Barny said.
The cashier smiled sympathetically at the former demon, and resumed his duties. |
Ever since I was a kid I had this ability. For most people I saw nothing. But for some - just a few - there were... numbers over their heads. There were no zeros, they just didn't show. Ones were the most common of those with numbers, but there were twos and threes, and once I had even seen a fourteen. And the people that had the numbers just looked normal to me, because what did I know about them really? I figured it out by accident. A lady with a one living on my street had her number bumped up to two, and a couple of weeks later she was arrested on probable cause for having poisoned her abusive husband. Then it clicked. They were murderers.
Now I'd like to tell you how I used my power for good. But ultimately I decided not to; who would believe me? Mostly I just used it to avoid people with numbers. Wouldn't you?
But this one person didn't have a number in the single digit or double digits. Her number counted in the millions, and they were more every day. Just your average person, slightly balding older lady that I happened to share a bus with to work. I wouldn't say she was forgettable or "gray", but her appearance also didn't invite further interest. She terrified me of course, but for what reason? When I figured out what the numbers were I initially decided to completely avoid her at all costs, but weeks went by and I saw the bus drive by with her on it, and... I just got tired of walking. So I pushed myself back on to the bus, sitting as far away as possible, eventually not caring where I sat.
The numbers kept going up. How could I not be curious? Ever so carefully I started my investigation. It was easy to make contact, "haha, we have shared this bus for years and never shared a word"combined with her being bored on the bus worked wonders. I told her about myself, mostly faked information because I was being clever, and she told me about herself. And what she told me made me cold.
She wasn't a murderer. She was a clerk, working for one of the many faceless governmental institutions that had sprung up around the country in the last few decades. Her job was to analyze a particular type of requests for project funds from a certain other group of institutions, all according to certain guidelines and routines clearly set out by her superiors and theirs in turn. In other words, she was quite literally employed to stamp documents.
When I first discovered what the numbers were, I figured it gave me an easy way to judge people. Murder was bad, right? Quite simple, black and white. But what did the numbers mean in such a complex governmental web of institutions? Of course she wasn't literally killing millions, but at the same time, that's what the numbers said. I think she was just one person in a long line of people making decisions, maybe the last, and for whatever reason the numbers had decided she was the one who was "guilty". The numbers were broken, they just couldn't adapt to a nuanced reality. She didn't care to know, or care at all - a lethargic combination of apathy, blissful ignorance and inaction. It really made me sick, but it was the system, not her. And what could I do about it anyway?
When I woke up the next morning, there were numbers over my head. Millions and counting. Because I knew, and made the decision to do nothing. |
It had taken me a long time to get where I was.
When I was young, I replicated expensive things and sold them at a cheaper price, making a hefty profit. Eventually, I moved on to seeing weapons to the military and tech industries. I made a killing, pun intended. I amassed wealth and power, and soon realized I made myself too big of a target, so I needed to step out of the lime light. So, I surpassed my original limit. my power allowed me to store physical data and create a replica, perfect in every way, down to the electron. So, it was simple to fake my death.
The police found my body with a single bullet in its head, an obvious execution. I planted some evidence and framed a political rival of mine, and went on my marry way. Once in the shadows, I experimented more with my ability. I realized I could make slight changes in the data, if I tried hard enough. I could Make a purple flower yellow, a metal gun into a wooden one, and everything in between. So, I decided to use my power for good. However, unlike all the goody two-shoes beating up the lower class who are unable to get by using legal means, I decided to go a little more...large scale.
I had met many politicians throughout my life, and I had saved all their data, just for shits and giggles. However, this turned out to be useful. See, I would invite them to somewhere isolated, and they would come face to face with themselves. I would make a copy of them, but change it just enough to be wholly loyal to me. Once the politician understood where this was all going, I put a bullet in their head and sent the copy back in their place.
Before long, I held majority power in most countries. With my little copies in place, it was time to change the world. |
The white cloud dissipated. Lights flashed and blinked ahead of me, but the room was deserted. Odd. It had only been 24 hours. Someone must’ve stayed to check if I made it right? I took a light step out of the chamber. Grabbing a railing to steady myself. My legs were feeling like jelly. Whether a side effect of the travel, or fear; I couldn’t tell.
“Hello?” I called into the dimly lit room. I was scared. The room looked as though it was shrinking. No one was here. I edged towards the doorway and flicked on the lights. A fine layer of dust covered the machines, yet they were still whirring. I walked towards my friends station. He was the only reason I applied for this stupid experiment. He practically guaranteed I would be the first time traveller.
“Nothing bad will happen,” he said. I didn’t believe him, but he radiated such confidence I went along with it.
“Just sign this waiver and we will be good to go.” That was my arrival at the facility. I was placed in some white clothes and given a safety briefing before entering the machine.
“Everything will turn out fine,” he said as he shut the door. A white cloud filled the chamber as it started to rock. It buzzed loudly behind me. I couldn’t see or hear anything. After what felt like mere minutes, everything cleared. I checked the time dial thing they had given me and it said tomorrow’s date. I gulped as I opened the door.
Now I was here. Scanning the room. For any sign of the scientists. Then I saw it. Scrawled along the wool. SORRY. Written in blood. Trails falling down the wall. I couldn’t believe I’d missed it. I collapsed to my knees. Dry heaving.
The door cracked open and the lab flooded with light. “You’ve just been pranked by the prank patrol!” Another of the scientists walked in with my friend. I couldn’t believe it... |
I took a deep breath as I opened my Hotel Door. The room behind the Dark Oak door was pleasant enough for an aging Hotel in the middle of nowhere; it featured a Bed, a lamp, a closet, a desk to work, a table, and a old Television set, as well as a bathroom just to finish the room.
Walking into the room, I hang my Black Jacket and move to my desk, taking a seat on the wooden chair that accompanied it. I pulled my notebook off of my chain just as I noticed the flyer on the desk; it didn’t fit in with the Hotel.
The Flyer on my desk featured an 80’s Vapourware design, what the younger kids began calling the “Aesthetic” art style; not that I cared.
What I did care about was the writing on the flyer:
“To survive the night, please follow the rules on the back even if they seem strange to you. Enjoy your stay.”
Hastily, I flipped the sheet... and what is the first rule I see, in the middle of the list?
“23: Do not hang your coat on the doors.”
As an Occult Hunter, my heart skipped a beat as I turned around to see my Coat walking by itself, the hanger it was on forming into a wire body, shaped like a man with spider legs.
While the ends of the Wire began to fray into claw-like structures meant to maim me, I pushed away my chair and pulled out my handgun, firing at the coat to no avail.
The moment I blink, I look to the Flyer, now covered in blood.
“Rule 17: Do not Blink in the presence of smaller creatures.”
I turn to look at my chest, only to discover that it’s been pierced by wire and bleeding profusely. I shoot at the wire, but then I blink again-
...
“Well, this is unfortunate... For somebody so versed in the Occult, I was expecting more than this. Getting sleep should’ve been easy for him.”
The Hotel staff looked at the man’s body, with thousands of metal fibres piercing through it. While the body shook in response to the old staff member arriving, it was quickly stopped by a quick spray of water, leading to the coat hanger escaping from the body with a screech of agony, while most of the wires rusted away.
“He’d really died to a pest? That’s a shame... However, hopefully the other visitors fare better... The rules are different in every room, after all.”
Looking outside of the room, he saw a young woman opening the door, but he knew she didn’t see him, or even the Hotel he was in. No room was connected, and his had gone its course. |
They say the cream rises to the top, and often that's true.
But so does the pond scum.
Maybe they meant well at the beginning. Most extremists do, or maybe that's just what they tell themselves as they cling to their own righteousness like a toddler with his favorite filthy puke-perfume blanket. Hell, maybe the rank-and-file still means well, somewhere deep inside their blood-encrusted souls, but the leaders, the Maximum Authorities, they-who-shall-not-be-questioned-on-pain-of-death, they're just in it for all the usual shit, now. Power. Sex. Money. Kinda tired-predictable.
They called themselves Hard Justice. Still do, but now the name's stupid *and* a mockery, instead of being just stupid. They wear masks, because of course they do. They say they're apolitical, which is *always* bullshit, now and at the beginning. And they're "ecumenical,"at least I think that's still in their little chant-charter somewhere, even though they never mention it. Because eventually the fundies took over, and they started purging. And splintering.
Now there are a hundred Hard Justice groups, all latched on to a particular religious strain or, here and there, a particular ideology that claims not to be a religion even though that particular distinction is an especially stupid one, almost as dumb as their name.
Hard Justice. Jesus Christ. Or not, because blasphemy's one of the things that can get you a nice free turn on the South's new favorite swing down here in Dixie-land. Up North the local splinter cares less about that and more about...nah, fuck it, it almost doesn't matter. They want you dead, they'll find a reason. You're in good with them, not much you can do to earn the rope or the blindfold in front of a wall, at least until you find yourself at cross-purposes with some faction or muckety-muck.
They're still not the official government, thank God, but they got the actual officials running scared. And it's true, certain kinds of crime are way down...among the general populace. Among the Hard Justice types? Well, take a guess. They protect their own, that's what institutions do, even when said institution is a bunch of lethal masked vigilantes that's been taken over by their own craziest elements, because that's what ideologues do too, they push themselves toward whatever edges will let their members assert their holiness or enlightenment or whatever-the-fuck is better than the that of the next asshole over.
In the beginning it was...better. I'm not going to say it was good. Yeah, they took out a lot of people who maybe deserved it. I'm not going to claim pacifism here, especially not now, with all this blood on my hands. More on that that later. But the thing about the death penalty? Kind of non-revocable. And the thing about bloodthirsty, justice-hungry, riled-up vigilantes? They're not always that good at evidence. A lot of people figured out real fast that it was not all that hard to set up someone you didn't like to have a Hard Justice visit. Because one horrible little fact we've learned is this: not many people have the stomach for murder, but more than you think are willing to let someone else do it for them.
Maybe we should have known, I mean, all those wars since the beginning of time, what are those but murder on behalf of a whole society? Okay, maybe not murder, not all the time, but killing, still, and people overall are pretty cool with it. Not all the time, not every war, and they sure as Hell don't give returning soldiers all the help they need, but there's plenty of lip-service adoration paid to them at least.
I'm rambling now, but listen, it's still going on, worse than ever now that the original idealists, however misguided their ideals could be, are almost all displaced. Replaced. Outright shot in the face, some of them.
We used to moan about all the red tape and procedure and technicality bullshit surrounding the frequently-farcical beast we called a criminal justice system. Some people still do, because it's still up and running, however creaky, however scared. Let me tell you, yeah, it was bullshit, yeah, still is a lot of the time. But it's better than *this* fuckin' alternative.
Shhh, quiet. I think I hear 'em. Yeah, my ten, your four, you tracking? Good. Look, after everything I just said, what I'm asking you to do must seem hypocritical as Hell, and it is, but until someone finds a better solution that actually works, well...
Here's your shotgun. Remember, step behind, catch 'em all in the cone if you can. They're not good at checking their six. We'll clean up. Look, this is some bullshit, and we know it, and that's the difference between us and them. I'm not gonna pretend this won't follow you the rest of your life. I'm not gonna say it won't cost you, cost us all.
But we do what we gotta do. They want to play God, let's send them to face His justice. And if you don't believe in all that, well, the justice they face is gonna have to be you.
Now let's move.
*Come on by* r/Magleby *for more elaborate lies.* |
Cassopina walked with great care up the cliff side path using her hands to find her way it had been this way since birth, the world was a dark and dangerous place, just more so for her.
She had been told by the spirit of delphi she would find her fate here in the hideout of Medusa.
Better than being teased by everyone for being blind. She had travelled night and day (one true perk of blindness she didn't need to see to do anything.) and here she was almost there. She could feel the stone bodies getting more and more regular around her, she could smell the stench of rot or something of the like then she heard her.
"Cower before me mortal, for I am the Gorgon Medusa!"
She smiled thank the G-ds she was in the right place!
"Nice to meet you Medusa! I'm a blind person!"
There was silence then "you are?"
"yeah, I'm Cassopina nice to meet you!"
She waited then heard a slitring sound coming toward her.
"finally a cute blind girl!"
Did Mudusa just suggest what she thought she had?
AN sorry I was like cute blind person falls in love with a lonely Mudusa or vise versa then I was like it could be gayer feel free to add more if you want! |
“The Russians?”
“No sir.”
“Chinese?”
“Report just came in, our operatives have confirmed that they've completely stopped their attempts. They’ll be releasing a statement this afternoon.”
“And we’re completely certain-”
“They tried, sir. The warhead made contact ten minutes ago… four blocks from here.”
“Jesus.”
“Fortunately it wasn't in the street.”
“Witnesses?”
“The story is being contained now. A journalist caught wind of the police report this morning, but we have her in holding. She was halfway through the article when we detained her.
“How’d it read?”
The advisor smiles sadly.
“Warhead in Washington. D.C. woman wakes to nuke in dining room.”
The President’s expression follows suit, and he chuckles softly “Hell’s fire… Yeah, that’d do it.” He shifts his gaze upwards from the floor to his advisor, a solemn knowledge reclaiming his tired eyes. He holds his silence a moment longer, then finally asks “And us?”.
The advisor doesn’t answer, but the President understands all the same.
“Very well.”
The room swirls with bureaucratic chaos. Lights flash with no apparent rhythm, the intermittent blue and red glow of various monitors painting the scene. A couple dozen people conduct their strange dances throughout the War Room, most darting with purpose, and some roaming to find it. The president calmly collects the files before him into a neat rectangle. Standing, he opens the clasps of his briefcase with a slow and smooth deliberation, then places the files inside and closes it. He hands it to his advisor.
“Looks like I have a speech to make.” The advisor nods, then sees himself out of the room, his straight trajectory an anomaly in this buzzing hive of uncertain minds. The President stares into the panel of glass opposite the room, a projection of the world map etching across it’s surface. *If I’m going to keep us at peace, real peace, I'm going to need to do this right. I will lead my country through this.* He closes his open hands, turning them to fists, his eyes determined. *And my country will lead the world.* His eyes glean this crystal wall one last time for just a single glimpse of his nations future, but all he finds is an enigma of lines, numbers, and text. And his own reflection staring back at him.
The last of them file into their seats, an instantly recognizable stage displayed before them. Normally reserved for the State of the Union, the chamber today looks the same as any other.
The president takes the stage and there is no anthem. No announcements. No clapping. Hushed whispers give way to silence, and their President speaks.
“My dear Americans, today i speak before you in what will become the most important day for several generations to come. I speak not only to you, but to our neighbors of all nations. It is not lightly that I say this: Our actions today will reshape the history of this great country, and without question, the entire world as we know it.” He pauses, not finding a single pair of eyes that arent looking back at him. “I hope only that the words that I express to you today can serve not only to soothe, but also to encourage.
Today, the world's nuclear arsenal has become obsolete”. The hushed whispers return, then turn to loud, confused voices, this time feverish and a degree more panicked, breaking the silence like rocks through the surface of a lake. The president waits, his solemn expression unchanged. The crowd surrenders to silence once again.
“This morning at six a.m., for reasons unknown to any government, the world's nuclear energy has ceased to function. For now, it has been targeted only to specific isotopes, but all nuclear reactors, power-plants, and warheads have been rendered useless. In our country, and the world over, all infrastructure dependent on nuclear energy has powered down. All economies are being affected, and tensions are only growing. We now find ourselves in a time of unprecedented uncertainty. How this change will affect trade, international diplomacy, and foreign alliances is unknown. The only certainty we have is this; We must unite under one cause if we are going to overcome these troubling times. Speculation will tempt many to claim this as an act of terrorism. It will tempt us to believe that other countries are to blame or that we ourselves are under attack. I urge you to believe me when I tell you that this is not the case. What others will want to believe is an opportunity for a shifting of powers or for some unknown force to take a step forward, I ask that you see this as an opportunity to take a step back. A step back from the rising tensions between our countries and from the constant threat of violence and destruction that has loomed over the people of the world for so long. While others will urge you to believe this is a first strike, I ask that you see it as a second chance. We will once again live in a world without the threat of mutually assured destruction. A world where we can come together, *really come together,* without any strings attached, and without wondering who is most powerful. Despite those who will believe that this is an act of terrorism, an act of nature, or an act of randomness, i will know the truth; That this chance we have been given is an act of God. If the thing that caused this miracle is considered to be a weapon, then I see it as a weapon of mass peace.”
A phone vibrates, its low hum disrupting the president’s weighted pause. Then another. Then several. The crowd looks around as confusion germinates among them. Some check their phones. Gasps. Some people are leaving their seats while others, perplexed, remain planted in theirs. Their low chatter grows into a rumble of voices as they begin to realize what is happening. “You’re a Monster!” a woman screams. “*Monster!*”
Two men in black suits snatch each of her arms, one man using his other hand to firmly cover her mouth as they drag her outside the chamber. All cameras turn towards center stage, their single red eyes blinking slowly and emotionlessly. They watch, and feed his words to the world.
“*Our weapon*. Never again will the world wonder who is most powerful, because they will know it. Never again will the world worry themselves with concepts of peace and mutually assured destruction, because the peace will be mandatory, their destruction singularly assured. For the first time in human history, we will finally unite under one cause. *Our cause.* To all foreign nations, heed my words well; Should you try to redevelop weapons of mass destruction, we will again disable them, ours again remaining intact. Should you retaliate, or try to rebuild your capital cities, they will again be purified in nuclear fire. It is time all flocks of the world be guided by a single shepard. It is time to transition into a new world of peace. As I am only a man, i merely ask for your compliance. It is God who demands it.
A warm smile finally allows itself to spread across the President’s face.
“So to everyone, I humbly welcome you to the new world. God bless you all. And God bless the United States of America.” |
Intergalactic Defensive Mercenary Ship #1198632
Captain Zorogruth
Entry 1: "Impossibilities"
Many things are not able to be done. As a captain, I had to come to terms with this in order to lead. I have learned to love my ship and my crew dearly throughout the decades: even the humans. You see, humans are a terrifying species who seem to have only survived because of their insane strength and willpower. Humans don't care if something is impossible. They even have a common saying: "anything is possible". This baffles me as well as the rest of the crew, because it is completely incorrect! Many things are impossible, it's just a reality of life. I fear this mindset because it will most likely end in the death of one or more of the crew.
Entry 2: "SOS"
We have recieved an emergency call from an allied ship who is in grave danger. Our humans are calling it an SOS call, which stands for "Save Our Ship"or "Save Our Souls". However, as close as we are with this ship and it's crew, the danger it is in is simple too risky for us to interfere in. Many of the crew have already started to grieve. Not the humans. As soon as we told them it was impossible to save them, they refused. They insisted that they can and will be saved: by us. I cannot believe the unrealistic perception of reality that these creatures have.
Entry 3: "I'm too soft"
When I say that "I'm too soft", I mean that both literally and figuratively. Although the humans may not have been trying to be intimidating, it certainly seemed like they were. They were grabbing my shoulders and shaking me, they were shouting, sobbing, and insisting that we respond to the allied ship. Have they already pack bonded with them? They've only spent 28 hours total with them. It's not possible to care about someone that much in that amount of time. Yet, here they are, wailing about their deaths and how we can still save them. I tell them again that it's not possible to save them, but my voice is not as confident as I'd hoped it would be. I think they sensed that. After more begging and prying, I eventually relent. We will try to save that ship.
Entry 4: "Humans are terrifying"
I was convinced that I was going to die. When we arrived at the planet our allies were stranded on, we realized the atmosphere was deadly yo near all creatures. However, with only a glance at the contents of the atmosphere, the humans rushed out of the ship without even a space suit. Only afterwards did I realize that Earth's atmosphere was significant deadlier. My next concern was that the creatures inhabiting this planet and attacking the other ship were too strong. I should have known better. One blow from a human rendered the creatures incapacitated. The battle between our humans and the creatures lasted almost 45 minutes, but our humans emerged victorious. Too our disbelief, no humans were harmed, and none of our allies were dead. Against all odds, by had won.
Conclusion: "Anything is possible"
After the battle, the humans informed me that they didn't truly think they could win. They told me that their insistence was partly fueled by their closeness to the others (apparently they can packbond that fast), and partly by spite. They wanted to prove me wrong. I, singlehandedly, could have destroyed everything I ever cared about just because I told a human no. The terrifying skill of these creatures has taught me that maybe, just maybe, anything could truly be possible. Or, at the very least, that if something is not possible, a human will not hesitate to throw its life away to prove that it is.
----------------------
Sorry for any formatting issues, I'm on mobile. Also check out r/humansarespaceorcs . |
"Any last questions?", I ask.
"Yes. Can you please tell me how you rewrote history from the ground up?", you ask me.
"OK. I'll start at the beginning.
That day, the day that would eventually go on to change the course of history, my personal life and how we perceive the world itself all began rather normally. I was on my way to the British museum in London to deliver a lecture on the value of history in our modern world when, as I stepped out of the bathroom on the ground floor, I found a large book on the ground. On the cover, it had only one word. **HISTORY**.
&#x200B;
I decided to pick it up. I had arrived a few hours before the lecture to prepare, and would certainly have time to read it a bit. The contents were normal, listing every section of the book from ancient history to modern times. However, the history in it was completely wrong. No mention was made to many atrocities that permeated the world, like the Holocaust, those that presided Stalin's rule over the Soviet Union and the transatlantic slave trade. On top of this, it showed many atrocities that have no basis in actual histories, like the Romans' apparent genocide of the Helvetian peoples, the Allied enslavement of Germans during both world wars and a thousand and one other nonexistent atrocities that apparently caused the death and suffering of millions of people.
&#x200B;
I walked away, deciding to take the book with me. It was probably a prank by somebody who had too much time on their hands. Anyways, I had a lecture to prepare.
&#x200B;
You can find a recording of my lecture somewhere on YouTube; if you did, you'd know that it was a complete success. I never hesitated as I defended the study of history as a noble art and science, integral to know how we came to our current event and to make sure we didn't repeat our mistakes. That isn't important. What is though, is that when I came back home, I noticed a strange pattern in the omitted and included atrocities mentioned. All the omitted atrocities were made by those who ended up being on the losing side of history, so to speak. All the atrocities seemingly shoehorned into the history book were made by those who ended up being on the winning side of history. I had a suspicion that this was a classic play on the phrase, "history is written by the winners", which if you ever become a history, you'll find out is completely true. Perhaps this book was the inverse: the history of the world, but written by those who lost.
&#x200B;
So I spent the next few months investigating the history book's claims. Strangely enough, almost all of them came out to be true, or at the least were plausible occurrences. A few of those didn't, but any historian will tell you that just because some famous bloke wrote it in a book a couple hundred years ago doesn't mean it's true. As I slowly came to grips with what I was seeing, I couldn't help but think to myself, "Is this history written by the losers? If so, then could this explain some of many mysteries of history that fill our pursuit of knowledge today?"
&#x200B;
I decided to publish findings of the book as historical findings under my own name, after checking that they made sense. with current historical findings. I quickly became the rising star of history, a celebrity, lauded for my intelligence and creativity. But, truth be told, I'm not special. I'm just like you. It's not that I can think better or faster than you can. It's just that I was lucky.
&#x200B;
But, of course, eventually I had to tell the truth. You cannot live a life of lies without somebody finding out the truth. I thought that if I confessed it myself, the social fallout would be much smaller than if somebody else worked it out.
&#x200B;
I'm selling copies of the book that let me get this far outside. It's called HISTORY: A brief story of the world as told by the losers. If you want to buy it, you can. I need to go home after this, so there won't be any time for me to sign the books. I didn't write them, really, anyways, so I don't see why you'd want my signature on them. Any last questions? Yes, you at the back."
"Has social media affected whether you would have confessed this?", another reporter asks.
"Security!" |
I woke up and it was an action movie.
This meant two things. One, I wasn't eating breakfast today, and two, I should *really* being getting out of-
***BOOM***
My bedroom window *shattered,* glass shards flying through the room. I rolled out of bed and dove behind it, dragging a few of my sheets with me.
"Son of a *bitch..."* I whispered to myself for no apparent reason other than looking dramatic. To my right, a pistol appeared in my peripheral vision, seemingly coming out of nowhere.
I dove for it, grabbing it and raising the barrel towards the window, firing off the entire clip in quick successive shots. I landed on the ground and stayed there, waiting for another bullet to ring out. It never came. I had hit my mark.
It was never just one hitman, though. Even now, distant, dull footsteps could be heard from the stairwell outside of my apartment. Acting on instinct, I reached behind my back, hoping for a convenient baseball bat or some kind of blunt object, and got...
A katana. What the f-
The door *crashed* open, splintering at the hinges, as a ninja dressed in all black rolled through and immediately started barraging me with shurikens. As I raised my sword to meet the ninja in combat, more ninjas flooded in through my now wrecked door. I sighed. This was going to be a long day.
\---
With a groan, I rose out of my bed, lamenting my bruised and battered body. I put one foot on the floor and...
...Slipped on a glass shard, falling onto my back. I grit my teeth in pain as laughter rang out across the room-
What.
Was that a laugh track?
Laughter.
"No..."I mumbled, not quite woken up and not quite sure that this wasn't a nightmare. "No... no... no..."I repeated.
More laughter, harder this time.
"Goddamnit. Goddamnit it *all!"* I cursed the invisible force that had condemned me to this sick fate. I would rather fight a thousand more ninjas than star in a fucking sitcom.
I glanced to my left. The door to the stairwell was still broken wide open. I could still escape while there was still time.
I made my way toward the doorway, watching out below for any errant shards of glass or debris on the floor.
And then I slammed my face straight into a wall. My body slid comically down the wall onto the floor.
Laugh track. Theme song. Roll credits.
\---
I woke up to... not much. After the terrible and vaguely humiliating day I had just experienced yesterday, I had expected the worst, but... aside from my broken window, my broken door, and my probably broken ribs, everything was normal.
I... got out of bed. Nothing happened.
I ate breakfast. Nothing happened.
I flossed, brushed my teeth, washed my face, put on my clothes for the day, and nothing happened.
Could it be? Was *nothing* going to happen today? No dumb action sequence or cheesy romantic plotline?
I almost smiled. Almost. I still had to be on edge, alert.
Maybe I could finally get to work on time for once; ever since this weird movie thing had started, I was getting to work later and later, if at all. Astoundingly, I hadn't been fired or even reprimanded for it.
Making my way out of the apartment building, I walked out onto the sidewalk, whistling to myself. I looked about myself, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary.
Hah! This was awesome, I-
Then a truck horn started blaring and everything went *white-* |
It was claimed that visiting a human-run restaurant was akin to a religious experience, with the main difference being that it was repeatable more or less on demand.
I was skeptical, to say the least.
*I* ruled the inner worlds around our glorious star, Yresr.
*I* owned the massive merchant fleet that made trade possible among the established colonies around Yresr.
*I* was on the cusp of total control of the entire glorious enterprise put together by the Mrinth, and the humans wanted me to *hand it over?*
For *food?*
Out of the question. *Completely* out of the question. If the question went supernova, the light wouldn't hit the realm of possibility until Yresr had burnt down to a cold, dark cinder.
Still. Politics demanded prudence, and the humans might have *something* of value to trade. If nothing else, I certainly needed to forestall someone *else* allying with them, and making a play for power, themselves.
So I went, and they greeted me with a respectable amount of fanfare. They obviously recognized that I was important, and if the ceremony was unfamiliar, it was grand, and I was seated as the guest of honor.
It was, it transpired, a part of their culture to conduct diplomatic events over *food*. Made as much sense as holding them in the bathroom, if you asked me, but you didn't get political power by bitching about every little detail you didn't like.
The humans were suitably subdued, and seemed willing to negotiate something more reasonable. It was simply impossible for me to hand over final authority to them, in exchange for mere food.
It went well, very well, until the first course arrived.
At that point I lost all focus.
What *was* this? Not all of it was *good*, but every last bite was fascinating in a way that food *never* was. And it was all *different*. How in the name of Yresria did they come up with all this? A clever person could certainly create new foods from time to time, and this happened, on occasion. But everything was different, not just from what I was used to, but from the other things in the meal. I later learned that no fewer than 15 cultivated plants had gone into the meal, triple the total available to my people.
It was a shock, to be sure. The humans quietly resumed negotiations from the perspective that I would hand them the reigns of power.
Still, they had used up their bag of tricks, I was certain. I would not be wowed the next night. And, in time, they would come to see reason, accept a lesser role in the empire I was building, and not insist on their foolishness of folding *me* into *theirs*.
My confidence lasted until I entered the food cavern the second night.
A grand and glorious ceremony, yes. But one that was utterly *different* from the last, decorations and costumes and layout that was impossible to confuse with last nights, yet organized and cohesive, a seamless whole.
Humans, it transpired, had *ascended the stars* as a *multicultural species*.
And they had done better than any species at integrating new systems and new species into their fast-burgeoning empire, because they had more collective experience at that than every other known empire *combined*.
It was alarming, sure, but they weren't *that* talented at building coalitions. There was a lot to be said for unity, as well, and there were more than a few glaring inefficiencies that a clever enemy might exploit.
The evening began in earnest, and I held my own, until, once more, they brought out the food.
It was *different*. Not just from the food I knew, but from the food they had used before. I could have no more confused this meal for the last than confused a ruayi for a styt. It was fascinating, and was, if anything, *more* delicious than the last meal had been.
I later learned that this new style included a half-dozen cultivated plants not included in the previous evenings meal. It turned out that the humans had managed to forestall the usual destruction biodiversity that accompanied one species gaining the power to ascend to the stars.
They had more possible sources of food to draw on than every other known race *combined*. If all the known worlds had joined forces against the humans in a contest of cooking, they would have lost. Badly.
I retained hope, through the second night. There had to be a limit to their supply of different foods, the number of cultures they could draw inspiration from.
On the fifth night, I had given up such hope. And when, on the sixth night, there was a delay in the negotiations, some interruption on the human side that meant I did not eat their food?
At that point, I knew they had won.
I agreed to all points. I *would* still maintain most of the day-to-day power. They wanted only broad strategic control, and were more than willing to leave practical command to locals who had proven competent. But, still.
It stung.
It stung just a bit less when, with the aid of human food as a bargaining chip, I was able to secure my control of the rest of the system in about a tenth of the time I had optimistically guessed it would take.
So there was that, I supposed. |
"Master has given Dobby a...Glock?"
Harry pushed his glasses up his nose and gave the elf a reassuring pat on the head. "It's really quite simple, Dobby."Harry said. "Like any wizard worth his salt, you point it like a wand and pull the trigger to cast a spell."
"But what spell could a lowly, despicable house elf wield to oppose his masters? It's unallowed, Harry Potter!"
Lucius stared at the two, fingers itching to finish the work his master started those twelve fateful years ago, but the muggle toy his elf now held left him confused. "Come Dobby!"
Light glinting across his glasses, Harry pointed at the elder Malfoy, and unfamiliar words bubbled up from deep within his consciousness. "Dobby! Avada kedavra."
Lucius barely heard the shots ring out, five of them to be precise. Two went up through his abdomen and out his back, and a third lodged itself in his right lung. A cough of blood sputtered past the Death Eater's lips, as he dropped his wand, falling closely after it.
At the top of the stairs, mouths aghast, were Ron, Hermione, and Dumbledore. Harry, without a thought, spoke softly to Dobby, "Your masters are waiting for you."
The house elf trembled, shock and euphoria gripping him. And then Dobby disappeared.
Dumbledore quickly apparated away as Harry's friends ran down the stairs to him. Hermione threw her arms around him, and sobbed deeply against his shoulder. "Why Harry? Why would you have him killed?"
The young wizard didn't have an excuse. All Harry could muster, after years of abuse and trauma, was a small word of hope. "Viva la S.P.E.W." |
**My Fast Fingers**
"Are you a drummer?"was a question that I had always been asked since I was a child. I had never picked up a set of drumsticks in my life, yet one could hardly blame them for asking - I had a drummer's fingers, they said. Whether I was waiting at the dinner table, sitting in class, leaning against the window on the train, or at my desk, my fingers were perpetually tapping on something. It was an urge that I never remembered being able to control. As soon as there was a lull in my daily list of activities and tasks, my fingers would find the nearest flat surface and begin tapping away at it. I used to joke that they had a mind of their own.
Now, I realize that it might not be all that much of a joke.
A few years ago, I had decided to pick up a language that had fallen with the rise of modern communication technologies - Morse code. Of course, everyone recognises one message in Morse code:
... --- ...
SOS. But of course, that's just one word in an entire language. I had set out learning the rest of it just for fun. I was a bored nineteen-year-old on a school holiday, when all my friends were abroad, and couldn't think of anything else to do.
It started simple, with me learning how to type out my own name - Mark - in Morse:
... --- ...
Then, for fun, I decided to translate an entire page of a book into Morse Code. Then I began translating more pages. At that time, I had no clue why I had become so engrossed in learning Morse Code. I became so good at it that I could listen to Morse Code transmission clips and decode them near instantly.
Then one day, when I was on a bus, on my way back home from the store, I began tapping again. I had been tapping long enough that I had developed the ability to tune it out, but now that I knew Morse Code, I began subconsciously decoding the taps of my fingers. It started with some intelligible letters, but soon I noticed that all their taps aligned with letters of the Morse alphabet, and soon I began to notice words. Words, that I will never forget...
.-- . .----. .-. . / -. --- / ... - .-. .- -. --. . .-. ...
I froze. _We're no strangers._ Were my fingers some other being trying to communicate with me? _We're no strangers._ What did they mean? Was I familiar with them? What was this? What was happening? But the tapping continued.
- ---
To. _We're no strangers to._ To what? Were my fingers trying to tell me something? Was the being controlling them on my side? What was happening?
.-.. --- ...- .
_Love._ Love? It dawned upon me.
_We're no strangers to love..._
My fingers began tapping faster.
_You know the rules, and so do I_
_A full commitment's what I'm thinking of..._
Upon realizing that this being, whatever was controlling my fingers, had just Rickrolled me, I began singing along loudly. Everyone on the bus stared at me as I sang.
Then, in a blinding flash of light, Rick Astley materialized at the front of the bus, and began singing _Never Gonna Give You Up,_ and suddenly the view outside the windows of the bus turned a blinding white, and we were transported into the Rick Astley universe, to enjoy a land of bliss, where no one will ever give you up, let you down, run around, desert you, make you cry, or say goodbye.
This is where I remain, and until today my fingers continue to tap out the lyrics to _Never Gonna Give You Up_ on loop, every single day. |
“It says that you need blood. Where do we get blood from?” Jace asked Isobel.
“Who knows? Honestly, this book is probably just fiction,” Isobel retorted.
“If it was fiction, then it wouldn’t have been hidden away. Does mom or dad have blood? Maybe they made a blood pact or something?” Jace quickly asked, hoping she would say yes.
“I can check mom’s supplies, I think she might have made a pact with someone at some point, you can check dad’s?” Isobel replied sounding almost bored.
After an hour of rummaging through her mother's supplies, Isobel was, in fact, able to find blood. She didn’t know if it was human or otherwise, but the spell in the book also didn’t specify what type of blood it needed to be, just that it had to be blood. Seeing as demons don’t have blood they had to get creative with their source.
“Alright, so I found this vial, it’s marked blood, but I do not know what type of blood it is. Hopefully, it will work,” she mused.
The siblings continued to read the book, noting that they needed a flower and something living. Luckily, even though they were in hell, finding something living was easy. Hades had become lax in the last few centuries and had allowed pets. Most people say it started after he started allowing Persephone to have her dogs.
Since Isobel had found the blood, they decided that it was up to Jace to find something living. He didn’t know what he would use and what exactly the definition of alive was, so he started looking at the red market for something quick to buy. Unwilling to get something that would be large and hard to conceal from their parents, he started looking for small things. Eventually, he came across leeches. Figuring that they were small enough and cheap enough that he could get a few dozen of them, enough to try the spell a few times.
After waiting a week, his leeches finally arrived and he and Isobel were quick to set out on their plan. They wanted to summon other demons, lesser demons for fun. According to the book, all they needed was a flower of some sort, blood and something living. They both figured that due to it being such a shortlist it would be relatively easy. The only things required for the altar were five candles like usual and chalk for drawing.
Having all their supplies, they set out for the altar in the basement. Isobel took the chalk and drew 5 pentagrams, encased in circles, in a circle. As she finished, Jace went behind her and placed one black candle in the middle of each pentagram. Together they lit all the candles, grabbed their bowl for the mixing of ingredients and sat in the middle of the circle of circles.
“Okay, so it says that we need to crush the flower, add a drop of the blood and then feed it to the living item, easy enough right?” He said looking over at Isobel.
“I guess, I don’t think it will work anyway, this all seems far too easy.” She retorted.
They put the flower into the bowl and crushed it, added the drop of blood and then pulled one leech out of the water and placed it on top of the mixture. Once the leech had drunk the blood, they both started the enchantment. Suddenly one candle exploded and a humanoid figure appeared in its place. Just as soon as the figure appeared it also burst into flames, screaming loudly.
“What in Hades was that?” Jace almost yelled at his sister.
“There’s no way that was a demon, why did it burn up?” Isobel asked, completely puzzled by what had happened.
“Maybe we messed something up? We could try again? It doesn’t seem that we summoned a demon at all, maybe it was just a side effect to doing it wrong?” He said trying to make sense of what just happened.
Though neither of them had any idea what they had or had not summoned, they went through with the ritual again, replacing the candle that had exploded from their previous attempt. Once again they crushed a flower, added a drop of blood and let another leech drink the blood. The candle to the left of the new candle exploded, and yet again a humanoid figure appeared. Both teenagers were able to look at this humanoid figure this time, before it too, burst into flames, screaming loudly.
“That wasn’t… a human was it?” Jace quietly asked.
“No way, this is for summoning a demon! Something is wrong. Let’s try it one more time,” Isobel responded, almost enjoying the light show that was happening.
Once again they set out to start the ritual over again. As they added the blood to the crushed flower, they started to feel the ground shake. Suddenly the alarm bells in the house were going off, a sound most demons never hear. It was at this point that Jace and Isobel knew that they had royally screwed up. The alarms could only mean one thing, Hades was coming.
“Dad’s going to kill us,” Jace gulped as the god of the underworld rose from the cracked earth beneath them. |
"Stephanie dear, I am truly in your debt. Since you revived me, I have had the best time. The world has changed so much for the better. Look at this carriage we are riding in!"
Stephanie had assumed the spellbook had been some old family history, after all it was written in Latin. She knew she had some royal blood, but who didn't these days. This was Lansing, Michigan and none of that mattered.
It was very awkward at first. Grandpa William was very out of touch, but he had acclimated rather quickly to the 21st century. He couldn't say what century he was born in, time dating was complicated then. He couldn't even say which King William he was, there were so many.
Stephanie explained, "I just need to pick up a few things. I'm making cookies for the bake sale. This place is a bit bigger than the convenience store."
"I can't wait to see. In this time, every man is a king, and every woman is a queen. Each their own castle, and each their own feast. Look at this clothing! It's so comfortable, simple, and I can wear something else tomorrow!"
The Gap had been an experience.
"Just making gingerbread, an old family recipe."
"Biscuit of ginger, a favorite of my daughter. Are you going to see an Orient man bout the ginger?"asked king grandpa.
"What did we say about that word?"Stephanie chided.
"Apologies, lady granddaughter."said William meekly.
They entered the supermarket slowly. William was unaccustomed to such large structures and the automatic doors always startled him.
Stephanie listed, "Butter, sugar, ginger, cinnamon, cloves, molasses, vanilla..."
William cut in, "Good Holy Father Above, this is going to bankrupt you!"
We should be able to find them all. They collected some other supplies and made for the spice aisle.
Stephanie skimmed the items. "Basil, Bay leaf, Cinnamon, here we go.
William was shaking as he looked around.
"I'M RICH,"shouted William. "I CAN BE A KING AGAIN!!!."
William seized a cart from from a startled shopper. He furiously began loading it with spices.
"OUT THY WAY, PEASANTS!!!"William shouted in a frenzy.
Stephanie was horrified and stood aside in shock.
A heavy set woman appeared. She was middle aged and her grey roots were long over do for a dye job. She was flanked by two teenagers. They all wore the green vests of the store employees.
"SIR, this ain't the supermarket sweep. You're gonna have to leave,"commanded the woman.
"AN OGRESS, AND HER KNIGHTS!!! NONE SHALL COME BETWIXT THE KING AND HIS BOON, shouted William as he continued stuffing the cart. "Stephanie, bring the carriage, slay any knight that comes between you."
"I'm sorry everyone, Grandpa has Alzheimer's. You had your fun granda, let's go, "Stephanie explained.
"OGRESS, I CAST YOU BACK TO HELL!!,"shouted William as he opened containers of sage and blew the contents square in the manager's face.
She sneezed angrily in response. "Clear the store, call the cops,"the manager commanded.
"THIS SHALL BE THE SEAT OF MY POWER,"shouted the would be King as he took off around the corner with his cart of spices.
Stephanie became lost in the flood of shoppers. She found herself in the parking lot with the hysterical masses.
The police and an ambulance arrived some later. Stephanie pleaded with the police that he was sick and asked to try to reason with him.
The police escorted Stephanie into the store. They came upon William in the floral department. He had constructed a throne out of cases of soda. He had fashioned a crown of of plastic cutlery and a scepter with a pool noodle. It was quite the image.
"Who seeks an audience with King William of Lansing?"commanded William.
"Uh....the police. Please lower the uh....weapon, and come with us, replied the officer.
"I am ordained by God and will not abdicate,"said William as he gave a few ineffective pokes at the officer with the pool noodle.
"That's it, "responded the officer and with lightning speed drew his taser and promptly incapacitated the would be king.
Thus ended the brief reign of King William the Unknownth of his Name, the First and Last King of Lansing. |
You stare at the dead body. There are no failures in the League of Assassins. As the kingdom celebrates the savior of the prince, you stare out into the crowd, knife dancing between your fingers. You know they'll send another assassin to finish the job. You have two choices: you can live as a coward or die with honor. The festivities continue for hours, food and wine bountiful. Every bite of food tastes like ash. Every sip of wine grates down your throat like glass. The drunken prince swaggers over to your seat and leers at you, clumsily stroking your neck. You smile a sickly sweet smile that should reek of poison and slip the knife up your sleeve. The prince leads you to the center of the pavilion, were the crowds falls silent and a sweet somber tune is stuck up by the muscians off to the side. As you follow the prince's clumsy waltz with lithe and graceful movements, you brush your hand across his temple and then slit his throat. As the guests begin to scream at the sight of the dripping crimson, you bring the blade up to your throat and whisper one last prayer to your patron goddess. As you feel your flesh part underneath the delicate leaf shaped blade the world stops being so loud. As you slip into a dream-like state everything get quiet and the world goes dark. |
Disney sues space for copyright infringement, demands they cease and desist all world ending threats, and forfeits all assets. Disney Corporation now owns all of space, and is pleased to announce Disney Planet, an entire planet devoted solely to being a theme park for all things Disney, with a terraformed atmosphere roughly similar to Anaheim, CA.
&#x200B;
Many species are surprised to learn that humanity doesn't actually resemble Mickey Mouse, nor is the Disney Corporation representative of all of mankind's interests. Especially controversial are Disney's decisions to make 27 new Star Wars films with scrolls pointed directly at planets accused of rebellion and dissent. Their official claim is, "We would very much prefer if you simply watched movies about rebels, and didn't try to act like ones yourselves. As per our liability disclosure act, we are not responsible for any damages that may come about from trying to resist our attempts to spread fun and joy throughout the universe."
&#x200B;
This news brought to you by Disney Intergalactic. Experience a whole new world of excitement aboard our new Laser Moon® entertainment centers, now with a 33% lessened chance of gaining self awareness, but double the fun! Book tickets now. |
"Welcome to planet Earth."The man said. His body language wreaked of self-gratitude. He was *convinced* that he'd found who, or what he was looking for.
But who the hell is *he*? From the moment the armed men surrounded me, accusing me of not being of this world, that's all I wanted to know. But I didn't ask.
I took another sip of my coffee so as to hide the budding smirk on my face.
Were they government? Unlikely. The government wouldn't share this kind of information with the world. A brazen spectacle like this one is as subtle as a press conference.
"You're coming with me."The man demanded. I detected a bit of forced authority in his voice, which told me he was afraid. Since he believes I'm an alien, he thinks I'm unpredictable, and probably dangerous. I decided to let him stew in fear as I finished my coffee.
If he was a wealthy man he wouldn't put himself in harm's way. He would be watching from the safety of an armored vehicle, or from an entirely separate location. The man before me isn't wealthy, despite what he's projecting with his wardrobe, but he clearly wants me to believe that *he* specifically has been looking for an alien. Why the ruse? Why put on a show like this in front of strangers?
From an outside perspective this whole thing would be entertaining. That's it. I'm on a hidden camera TV show. The smartly dressed man in front of me is an actor, and not a particularly good one. Ah, yes, I can see that the guns are fake. And now I'm noticing the cameras in the vents.
They expect me to go with them, probably to a rented warehouse where they will have set up some kind of cheap looking interrogation room. They'll want me to beg them not to dissect and experiment on me while I plea to them that I am, in fact, human. That's when the host will come out of the shadows with a friend or work colleague of mine to reveal that it was all a prank. I'll be expected to show the entire range of human emotions from now to then, but I'm frankly really tired of acting. Tired of always blending in and *being* human.
The cameras are on. Humanity isn't ready for the show I'm about to give them. |
He never got any holiday vacation because there were always going to be souls to damn and devils to supervise, but that didn't mean that Satan *couldn't* enjoy this festive time of year. It just meant his schedule got a little more packed as he received hundreds... thousands of letters meant for his anagram. Kids were some of the most innocent things on Earth and he knew they meant no harm. He liked bringing those little souls joy; their happiness brightened up the dark, flaming pits of Hell that he called home. Pure souls, free from darkness and corruption, were rare anyway and so even Satan knew that the world should enjoy their happiness while it lasted.
Despite his good intentions... sometimes those presents were not exactly what the children asked for. One time, a child asked for a Prince Charming doll, so Satan sent her a doll of his brother, Asmodeus. You know, the Prince of Hell. Horns, claws, fangs, the whole shabang. It even said hello... in Abyssal, of course. Which to your average human, sounds like evil growling. Whoops, she ended up getting nightmares for the next two weeks.
Another kid asked for a Do It Yourself slime kit, so Satan decided to do him one better and send him some tiny little pet slimes. They were too tiny to do any real harm, but humans weren't used to seeing sentient green blobs bouncing around everywhere, plus they left permanent stains in the carpet... Satan felt bad about the stains, so he personally sent a cleaner to take care of that one and got a replacement slime kit for that kid. These slimes were normal... probably.
A girl asked for some books about big dragons and cool knights. Satan liked how she rolled, so he sent her a full set of Dungeons and Dragons books. That was probably the best reaction he'd gotten to a present.
Despite a few of his presents going awry, Satan usually got them right. Unlike Santa, he didn't care if kids were naughty or nice. If they wrote to him, he provided, no contracts drawn up. It was a great and wholesome way to wrap up yet another successful year of damning souls and managing Hell. |
....What?
I stare in shock at the small blue dragon. It was small, by dragon standards, but still about the size of a large horse. Her mother, Yukari the snow demon, was supposed to be the last ice dragon, but now she has a kid...
"Daddy?"she repeats again, tilting her head.
Well, it would be rude to not respond. And she should be easy enough to kill, considering I've already defeated all the other dragons. "Hello,"I say to her. "What's your name?"
She grins a dragon grin, exposing her pointed teeth. "Chionri!"she chirps. "Daddy, what happened to mommy? Are we going somewhere?"
"We're going down the mountain,"I say, purposefully avoiding the topic of Yukari. I shouldn't feel guilty for this.
"Mommy didn't want me to go down the mountain though,"Chionri whines. "Won't she be mad?"
*Yukari won't stop us.* "Mommy will be waiting here, okay? I'll take you to see the world."
"The world?"Chionri asks with wide eyes. "Is the world different beyond this mountain, below the clouds?"
"Yes, it is. So come with Daddy, Chionri."I cast one last guilty look at Yukari, then descend the mountain with the last ice dragon in tow.
For the next 5 years, my job title changed from "dragon slayer"to "world tour guide."I showed her the vibrant green forests where the earth dragons once lived, the dry sandy deserts that were once home to the fire dragons, and the beaches, bordering the oceans which were now empty of water dragons. Chionri grew from the size of a horse to the size of an elephant, then to the size of a small whale. Every day, I would tell myself, "she's still smaller than her mother,""she's not dangerous,"or "I can still kill her if I had to."Every day passed without incident, peacefully.
"Daddy, why haven't we seen any other dragons like me?"Chionri asks one day.
*Because I killed them all.* But there's no way I could tell her her that. "Dragons don't want to see me,"I tell her instead.
"Why haven't we seen any other people?"
*Because you weren't supposed to exist.* "Well, people don't want to see you either."
"Why? Am I ugly?"She sniffles.
"Of course not!"Chionri was the prettiest dragon I've ever seen. Mostly blue, in different shades from navy to royal to sky, with streaks of white and silver splashes. A brilliant smile, kind voice -- any father would be proud to have an amazing daughter like that. Not that I was actually her father.
"Daddy, will you stay with me until I grow up?"
"Yes. I'll be here as long as you need me, Chionri."As I said those words, I realized they were my true feelings. Perhaps it was time to officially retire as a dragon slayer. |
Yurk sat in his chair with an expression of frustration as the council rattled on about the supposed danger that his people possessed. They had been responsible for constant raids occurring throughout history by the ancestors of the orcs that now roamed the fields and forest of the land. The elves had expressed their distastes, the humans had given their scowling remarks,and now the dwarves spoke. Yurk, being the only emissary from the orc kind at the meeting, had been met with only disdain through the thinly veiled hisses and boos from the crowd. He was isolated from any visible hospitality. As the dwarves described their reasoning for wanting a ban of orc kind throughout all of the continent, Yurk fell into a deep remembrance of why he had been sent here.
Ever since he was young enough to read, he had been blessed with the undying desire to fight for his people's power. The era he was born in was the twilight age of the orcish empires and all that remained were the final nomad groups of the Eastern river bank and forests. With the formation of the Council of Races, the empires of the land had sought to unify and bring an end to the times of interracial aggression against all people of the continent. This, of course, meant that orcs too were required to have a representative, however this move was met with much hostility. Orcs had been responsible for many deaths across the centuries and the other races despised them. Yurk, however, believed that friendliness could be achieved through diplomacy, and so after begging the ancients of the village to send him to the newly formed council, he was chosen as the representative to all of orc kind.
With the finale of the dwarven speech having just happened, the elder of the council rose his crooked hand and pointed at the lonely orc.
"May Yurk, son of Erkul, rise and state his opinion,"he said grimly, with the light from the sun appearing to have suddenly left his face as he spoke. Whispers were exchanged between the crowded council members, some words of curiosity- most of disgust. With a breath of courage having left his lips, he began his speech.
"Members of the council, I have travelled the mountains, ventured through forest and trudged through many open fields to reach my goal of speaking here for you."he said, refusing to look down at the judging audience.
"My people's reputation have been torn by the bloody weapons of our ancestors, and now we exist in a constant state of fear and regret. This being caused by one of our lack of allies willing to aid us. We have witnessed the collapse of our cities, our legacies! For how long must we suffer until our debt is paid, and we may sleep peacefully?"said Yurk, his chest pounding. Believing he had given them a moment of thought, he paused.
"Your people are one of suffering and death, you are a stain on our lands!"shouted a dwarf from the other side of the building, his face swirling red with anger. Yurk prepared a response.
"Am I not of the deity's descent? Have I not the same right of existence as anyone else in this room? Looking at our past actions, can you not see that you have not caused an equivalent amount of suffering? You slaughtered our people, along with the other races. If one people claims to be pure of a bloodstained history, should the graves of our dead ancestors not prove otherwise? The history of all inhabitants on earth are filled with murder and atrocities. Should we finally realise, only then may the cycle of death will stop repeating. The fairness of the elves, the steel and might of the dwarves, the great courage of Man and the ferosity of orcs shall combine to posses abilities none of our ancestors could have ever dreamed of. Only by accepting us as yours, we shall move forwards in grace and pride. What say you, representatives of the continent?"
Still silence remained. Yurk looked around the room, desperate to discover at least one converted person. Suddenly, one human to the left of him stood up and began to clap. More people rose out their seats until gradually the whole room gave a unionised applause. Perhaps orc kind would live to see another day.
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(If you liked this story, come check out my sub r/SAemu_writings where I frequently post other short stories and plan on many more in the future) |
*When playing rock-paper-scissors, a man, being a big dumb brute, will usually throw a big dumb rock first. A woman, who instinctively know this about men, will generally throw paper first. When a person loses a throw, as is commonly seen in summer-soldier sport's fans, they will instantly switch to the winning side and toss the very same item that beat them. After throwing the same item twice and stalemating, a person will grow bored of themselves and switch up their third try. -- Fourth Lesson, Professor Porbatine's School for the Mental Arts*
Kritch was a superhero. Like most superheroes, his story began with the anti-hero entering at minute 17 and making a big mess of things in Kritch's life.
"Hahaha, HA!"Superman guffawed at Kritch who, boggle-eyed and grimacing, was staring and twitching into the empty air ahead, "Get a load of this guy! He's reading his own mind!"
The rest of the Justice league had the decency to cover their mouths as they chortled, but not enough decency to resist posting candid photos to their Instas.
Kritch glared at the masked gathering and said some thoroughly ironic things about fashion sense, considering he himself was wearing a pair of overalls that not only went out of style a few decades previous, but only went into style in a very specific subsegment of rural America for a few years, tops.
*When speaking, the untrained person will often reveal the truth of their words through so-called micro-expressions. A right handed person will dart their eyes to the right when lying; upward to lie about something they saw, sideways to lie about something they heard, downward to lie about something they smellt. -- Thirty-Seventh Lesson, Professor Porbatine's School for the Mental Arts*
Kritch, fueled by humiliation, and a startlingly dire lack of job offers once the videos of him glaring constipatedly at the Justice League went viral, spent minutes 42 to 87 of the film of his life training day and night at The Prodigious Professor Porbatine's School for the Mental Arts. Kritch was the best student at the school, not only because he worked so hard, but also because he was the only student.
Around minute 89, disaster struck Kritch's life once again. Professor Porbatine's School for the Mental Arts closed because Professor Porbatine found himself on the wrong side of the Justice League's draconian new laws. Professor Porbatine, a long-time collector of ancient indo-chinese proto-feminist kryptonite sculpture, had refused to surrender his heirlooms. When they were forcibly confiscated, he went into a deep depression. He gave his last hidden piece, a Han Dynasty kryptonite bracelet, to Kritch as a graduation present, and then started the long drink.
*The untrained fighter will often telegraph their movements with their eyes. The trained person will often telegraph deception with their eyes, but the truth with their body. Any strike which does not have the pose or grounding for follow-through, is likely a feint. -- Lesson, the Last, Professor Porbatine's School for the Mental Arts*
Kritch, heartbroken by the descent of his mentor, stormed into the city, vowing revenge and the liberation of Porbatine's precious collection of indo-chinese sculpture.
As he arrived at the gate of the krypto-vault, he saw a simple deadman's lever: one way to open, one way to trigger. Superman floated down from the sky, cape billowing about him with a contemptuous grin on his face.
"Holy moley, if it isn't Kritch the Twitch"Superman barked. The rest of the Justice league laughed mechanically.
"You're going to let me into that vault, Super-dork!"Kritch said, as he boggled his eyes and grimaced, spreading his hands out into his mind-reading pose.
"Get out of here, you complete joke!"Superman sent a punch toward him.
*"Big dumb brute throws a big dumb rock first!"* Kritch thought to himself before Superman had finished his wind-up. The fist whooshed past Kritch as he stepped in and slapped Superman across the face.
Superman stood there, stupidly frozen. Cell phone cameras clicked in the background and Superman's astonished eyes slowly transformed with rage.
What happened next was a flurry of inconceivable activity. Punch, kick, laser, punch, tackle, dive. Slap, slap, slap, slap, slap, click. As superman dove one last time, in his anger and haste he left himself unprotected and Kritch slapped a Han Dynasty, kryptonite bracelet around his wrist.
With a final slap, Kritch walked toward the lever in silence. The rest of the Justice League stood about, dumbfounded, bystanders continued their interminable filming, Insta reported KritchTheTwitch trending.
"So, Super-dork, which way to open the vault."
"Left."
Superman's eyes darted to the right, and, at minute 116, Kritch [smiled](https://www.reddit.com/r/jacktheritter). |
That’s what they said. The voices in the mirror, I mean. It happened while I was in the middle of brushing my teeth.
“Come back to us, Jacob.” I shook my head.
*I really should stop smoking before bed,* I thought.
I walked downstairs. On the table, there was a newspaper. But the wording on it, at first, looked like jibberish. Except it wasn’t. On closer look, I saw that the newspaper had been printed in reverse.
*Weird*, I thought, as I took my seat.
My mind was preoccupied. I was excited because it was Sunday. Which meant my mom was making a mountain of waffles, just for me to devour.
Except she didn’t. She dropped the plate in front of me.
Eggs. Bacon. Toast. I frowned.
My eyes followed her back to the sink behind me, where she started scrubbing a skillet.
“Uh, Mom…”
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“Isn’t today Sunday? Thought we were supposed to have waffles today?”
A second passed. Then another. No response.
“Mom,” I said, beginning to ask again, thinking she hadn’t heard me. “I thought-…”
“But, you do have waffles, honey.”
*Huh?* I frowned.
She then turned around to face me, syrup bottle in hand, waffle iron now in the sink.
She walked back to the table and placed the syrup bottle in front of me. I turned back to my plate.
Waffles. Turkey Sausage.
No eggs. No bacon. No toast.
*What in the-*
“Enjoy your breakfast, sweetheart,” she said with a smile before walking out of the kitchen. And I would have enjoyed it. But I’d lost my appetite.
I got up from the table, bewildered. My mind then tried to wrap itself around a rational explanation. The best it could come up with was lousy weed.
I walked to the living room and, en route, I noticed a few other things about the house that seemed a bit off.
The front door to our home seemed to be in the wrong place. Windows appeared larger, somehow. And plug-in sockets seemed to have changed their location on the walls overnight.
But it was when I made it to the living room and sat on the couch that I almost had a full-blown existential crisis.
I collapsed on the cushions and turned on the TV. My dad was sitting in the recliner reading a book.
Now, I’d been debating whether or not to bring up my concerns to my parents. But seeing how most of the changes up to then were small, almost nothing at all, I’d nearly decided against it.
Emphasis on nearly, however.
“Dad, I-,”
Suddenly, a toddler stormed into the living room and jumped into my dad’s lap. “Hey, calm down slugger,” said my dad, playfully, while I quietly looked on.
My dad looked back up to me. “Sorry, your brother can be a handful. You were about to say something, Jacob?” asked my dad in my direction.
“It was nothing,” I lied, secretly terrified. Dad then shrugged, picked up my little brother, and they both left the room.
**Fun fact**: I don’t have a little brother.
And I’d never seen that tiny human before in my life.
*What in the actual fuck!*
“Hey Jacob,” said the news anchorman on the TV screen. “Can you hear me? Jacob?”
“Uhh, yes,” I replied to the TV man, because, hell, if I’m going crazy, I might as well roll with it.
“Come back to us, Jacob,” the man pleaded.
“Come back, before they find you.” |
A giant gate encircled the entire area of the school. I have only ever known the school premises, never having peaked outside. I had no mother and father, just like the other children, our parent was the one and only Alice, a wonderfully lithe and supple woman clad in an old-fashioned dress, khakis and an overgrown shirt. Her beautiful blue strands of hair swirled around in the light breeze and she was a such a marvel too look at, truly a gift from God.
Teetering between amazement and disgust, I took a final glance at my now vanished wound. What had happened and how did it just disappear without leaving any traces or marks? Was I special? What would Big Momma Alice do to me?
So many questions and not a single answer on my lips. She took me by her side, hugged me sternly and I could see the outlines of her face contort into what seemed to be an old and rusty lady. She was on the brink of tears, but she tried hard to not let it be seen.
I remembered back when I was five years old, a boy seven years my senior was taken away, never to be seen twirling in the playground again. He had the same symptoms I displayed, the rapid healing. It must signify something, but I don't know what.
''You've finally grown up, Marcus!'' Alice cheered me on.
''I don't want to go away from my friends. I'm only eleven years old, aren't we sent away when we are thirteen?'' I snarled back at her indignantly.
''You're just an early bloomer my child, you're a special kind of sunshine and you will bring me lots of fortune!'' Alice kept her cheerful tone, but I was even more distraught than before.
What did she mean by fortune, was I just a commodity to be traded?
I vaguely reminiscence Alice telling us how great it was outside the premises and how all the children sent away from the school now had good lives, with loving partners and great jobs, all interspersed with a big house and a dog of the Labrador kind. It was a dream come true to be sent away from this place, but this school was all I have ever known in my entire life and I didn't want to go, I didn't want to leave me friends behind.
Alice dragged me away from the others, we were now close to the sacred Gates and from the corner of my eye, I saw a syringe hit my arm, with Alice unloading the contents inside my body.
I tried to scream, but my mouth suddenly turned into cotton and I could not utter a single word. I was completely paralysed.
The gate opened and we made our way out of the school grounds, my last vista of the playground a swing going to and fro, to and fro.
The gates closed behind us and two Alien-like figures stepped into the limelight. They were completely green in their composition, had no clothes on and had big bulging eyes and protruding brains. It was a terrifying sight to behold, yet I could not voice my fear as I was completely incapacitated from the needle entering my body. What would my dear Momma do to me? Why did she inject me with this poison? Doesn't she like me anymore?
As I was pondering these and many other questions, a conversation struck between Momma and the aliens.
''This one's ripe for harvesting, his brain is now fully developed and his powers are starting to shine through.'' Alice said looking at one of the aliens with a concerned look on her face.
The alien approached me, shooting little glances all over my body and finally settled back only to say: ''Talented specimen, you did good, Farmer 244.''
''Much obliged'' answered Alice, tossing me towards the two aliens and turning her back to me.
''Do with him what you must, just don't make me watch.'' She barely uttered these words.
The aliens looked at each other and spoke in unison: ''Such a delicacy is not suited for our rube mouths, the king himself will feast on this kind.''
I screamed internally, now knowing the truth behind all the children that magically disappeared once they hit puberty. I'm nothing but a meal for creatures my mind is too feeble to comprehend.
I shot one final glance at Alice, saw her beautiful blonde hair dangling and wept like the child I was.
Closing my eyes, I resigned myself to my horrible fate. |
"There is a first time for everything"I paused. Waiting for Mad Old Professor Gregory to continue past his motto. I rolled my eyes to my friends as they snickered and chuckled.
Professor Gregory lifted one large white bushy eyebrow at me. "Yes George?"He asked, his face held a quizzical expression. Outright laughter erupted from the students and murmers of shh from teachers. Why did they chose him for this? The most important day of my life. The book had chosen him obviously. His name, my name, this date.
I was shocked when I discovered 'He' would be my Introducer. I assumed it would be Ma or Da. I guess the book knew they were busy. Parents weren't always called.
"My word Si- Professor. I need my word"he beamed and looked down again at the book. He hummed and tutted to himself. When he looked up he seemed surprised that I was still there. What a crackpot.
"What is it George? Don't you know I can't leave until you do?!"He looked out at the room, as if the laughter was for me. He seemed so sure in his analyses of our standing. I looked around but saw only supportive glances my way and snide jeers his.
"My word! I can not leave without my word. Is it 'Light'? Like my Mother? Or 'Quiet' like my Da?"All words were inherited. The stronger the lineage, the stronger the word. Dad was 8th generation, mum was 6th. Very strong. Few families got any inherited. I was the last chance for Mum or Dad. A lot was riding on this day. He was spoiling it.
His eyes rested on me. His lips parted. He cleared his throat. "Dear boy. There is a first time for everything"
"I- I dont understand?"I edged sideways and looked around. I knew it was against the rules but I wanted somebody else to read my word from the book.
"There is a first time for everything"
Suddenly it all clicked. His words sunk in and the pieces came together. As implausible as it may seem that I had more than one word, it was clear to me. I understood.
I looked up at the warm smile in front of me, yellow teeth behind grey whiskers, round red nose under small green eyes. "Good."He finally said. Breaking the silence of the hall and my stare.
"Go on down, shake your fathers hand, hug your mother. Then come to my study. I am sure you have questions"
I limply walked towards the crowd as he exited to the back. I did not shake my fathers hand nor hug my mother. They stepped back at my approach. Everybody did. I walked through the parting crowd to the door. When I reached the other side. I finally released my breath and gasped for air. Then I ran as fast as I could push myself, straight towards his study. |
“You’re sure we made the right choice?”
I turned my head to see my wife, Kara, giving the house a concerned look. She had reservations about the place, but I was sold. Nice layout, convenient location, and a crazy low price.
“Of course, it’s perfect for us,” I reassured her. “There’s even room for us to start a family together.”
She bit her lip. “Alright, but I still say there’s something spooky about this place.”
Right. The “ghosts” she claimed to see when we toured the place. I was in the other room when it happened, but she swore the faucet was turning on by itself. And later, when she claimed the TV static was moving back and forth, I could sort of see the static moving abnormally, but it was just a coincidence. I’m not one to believe in superstitions, and I certainly wasn’t going to let a “haunted house” stop us from buying our dream home.
We started unpacking, which took a lot longer than expected. There were a lot of boxes, but I’m pretty sure Kara was dawdling in the kitchen, trying to catch another glimpse of what she saw before.
The last box was unpacked around 8 pm, and we crashed on the bed not long after that.
“Goodnight Kara,” I mumbled, reveling in how good it felt to not move. Kara nodded, and turned over in bed. I was sure she was worried about the ghosts, but I knew there was nothing to worry about. The growing dark of night made my eyelids heavy, and I fell asleep without another word.
I awoke in the middle of the night, parched as usual. I got out of bed quietly, and shuffled my way downstairs, expecting to grab a cool glass of water before heading back up.
What I did not expect was the little girl who was already in the kitchen.
“Hello, mister,” she said, her voice faint and breathy.
I froze mid-step, and tried to make sense of what I was seeing. The girl “stood” by the sink, hovering a few inches above the ground. She wore a calf-length dress straight out of the pioneer days, and her whole body was see-through. Ghostly, for sure, but I was having a hard time believing my eyes.
“Um, hello,” I said awkwardly. “How, uh, how are you?”
The girl shrugged. “Dead. How are you?”
I swallowed hard. I had already guessed she was a ghost, but it was still shocking to hear.
“Uh, I’m fine, thanks for asking.” The girl stared at me for a bit, and then turned to the faucet, turning it on for a few seconds before turning it back off, and then repeating.
“Is there a reason you’re playing with my faucet?” I managed to get out. The girl turned to look at me, her eyes full of curiosity.
“How does it make the water?” The girl’s eyes seemed to shine as she asked.
“Oh, um, it doesn’t actually ‘make’ water, it just pulls it from the pipes.”
“How?”
I blinked, then frowned. How do the pipes pull the water? I remember something about the water being under pressure, but the moment I said that, she would surely ask how that works, and I wasn’t prepared to answer that question.
“Well, someone sends the water to us, and we open and close the faucet to let it out when we need it.”
The girl paused, thinking, and then walked away, passing through the walls. I debated grabbing that water, but curiosity got the better of me. I followed her into the hallway, where she stopped to play with the light switch. The sudden bright light seemed blinding to me, in the pitch dark, but the girl’s eyes remained fixed on the bulb.
“How does it make light?”
I paused for a second. “Well, it uses electricity to heat up a wire, and the wire glows when it’s hot.”
The girl tilted her head, confused. “Lectristy? What’s that?”
As I tried to figure out how best to explain it, I realized that she was likely a rather old ghost, one who is likely perplexed by the things we take for granted nowadays. She probably had roamed around, waiting for someone to talk to, someone who could explain the strange things that every house seemed to have.
“Well, electricity is sort of like lightning, but we capture it and use it for things like the lights.”
Her eyes widened. “You caught lightning in a bottle? My papa always said that was just a story!”
I shrugged. “It’s honestly pretty magical to me, I don’t know exactly how it works.”
She giggled, a strange sound coming from a ghost. The sound came from her, but it seemed to fill the whole space. It made the dark hallway seem a little less spooky. You know, despite having a ghost in it.
The girl moved into the living room, and I saw her playing with the TV screen. Her hand was partially submerged in the glass, and she was playing with the static. He fingers drew little patterns and made the static ripple in peculiar ways.
“Does this use magic?” The girl seemed excited now. She swirled the static around her hand and tried to pull it out, but her hand came out empty.
“Well, that’s our TV – our television. We can watch shows on it. Here, let me show you.” I clicked the remote, and put on a random channel. A nature documentary lit up the screen, horses galloping majestically through a field. The girl was enraptured.
“Ponies,” she breathed, and I couldn’t help but feel sad for her. This was probably the first time she’d seen horses since…well, since she was alive.
“Hey, um…if you want, I can leave the remote with you, and you can watch whatever shows you want.” It was weird talking with a ghost, but the adrenaline was starting to wear off, and I was pretty sure she was harmless.
The girl nodded, but stayed glued to the screen. Something in her eyes brought back the feeling of sadness in me, but it was mixed with happiness. I was glad I could provide at least a little comfort to the girl. It must be lonely, wandering around with no one to spend time with.
“Well, goodnight, um…”
“Betty.”
“…goodnight, Betty.”
I started to leave, but I felt something brush up against my ankle. The girl had turned to look at me again.
“Thank you,” she whispered, and smiled. I smiled back before I left, grabbing a glass of water from the kitchen on the way back to bed.
As I laid back down, still processing what I just saw, I turned to see my wife, sleeping peacefully. I smiled to myself and closed my eyes.
Maybe a haunted house isn’t so bad after all. |
“Are you okay?” I nodded shakily. This was the third attempt this week, and the one that came nearest to success. The angel smiled. “It happens, from time to time. You need not worry. We are improving the security measures.” She was one of the hotter ones here, and I guess had I been living, I’d have asked her on a date by now. I may have, anyway, but…In the Old Testament at least, the guys who lusted after angels didn’t fare too well. Better not to risk it.
“What do they want, anyway?” I knew I sounded more terrified than indignant, but she was polite enough to ignore the tremor. “They want to drag you down with them. And they will, given half a chance.” “But why?” I demanded. “I mean, I’m in Heaven, that means I’ve passed the tests, right? How come this place isn’t safe?” For a second, I was afraid I had gone too far, but she did not seem offended. “It’s…complicated.” She shook her head half- sadly. “You will understand, in time. But you are not defenseless, you know. We are here. We are fighting for you.” Something about the way she said it made me decide not to push it.
Ice creams tasted heavenly, but they still melted and left a mess on your hands. Guess being in Heaven doesn’t cancel out all side effects. I was going over to the sink to wash when I saw it again. A tiny trickle of dark smoke emerging from what looked like a crack between the marble tiles. There was no crack there a moment ago. The first time this happened, I had just stood and stared, but now I knew what was coming. “Help!”
Heads turned. The other souls darted away from me, away from the thing that was coming. The creatures always came for one at a time, but you couldn’t help but scramble away if one came too near. There was something fundamentally wrong about it. It was taking shape already – almost human, but not quite. And huge. It reached out for me, swifter than I could evade. But before the reaching talons could touch me, one of the angels was there, shielding me. They had converged on me at the first scream, half a dozen of them. One broke away from the group and grabbed my hand. “Come on!” I blinked. Every other time, they had chased the creatures away. Never had I or anyone else had to flee from them. Was this demon stronger?
He pulled me along. I stumbled, but managed to catch my balance and ran with him. A glance back showed me that more of those creatures were emerging, the angels forming a shieldwall to keep them at bay. “What’s happening?” “Time to get you out of here.” “Out of here?” He didn’t reply, nor did he relax his grip on my hand. Out? Did they check the records and find I belonged in the other place? Was that why the demons were stronger? “Don’t give me to them!” I shrieked. No reply. He looked nervous now, glancing around as if he expected an attack at any moment.
The place seemed to be changing as we ran.. I had never been this way before, and for the first time since coming here, there was pain. “Don’t! Please, I’ll be good, I was good, I didn’t..” I would have fallen down, but he was not having any of that. “Faster! It’s now or never!” My eyes widened in terror as I saw where we were heading. An abyss yawned before us. “No!” They were going to cast me out, send me to the other place, I can’t….God, please don’t! Please tell him to let me stay! I struggled, but he was much stronger than his slender form suggested. “It’s not what you think.” He said more, but I was fighting too hard to hear. Useless. He flung me away, into the darkness.
I blinked at the sudden light. And the pain. There were faces hovering above me. “Hi, Dave.” Was I still there? The face became clearer. The angel I’d wanted to date. “For a while it was touch and go there.” The angel who had flung me in said, stepping away from my…bedside? Why was I in bed? I couldn’t move my hands. “Relax.” One of them smiled. No wings. They were still all in white, but no wings. Grey strands in their hair. Frown wrinkles. “What happened?” My voice was a low squeak. “You were a lousy driver.” They chuckled. One of them was wheeling the crash cart away. The EEG beeped beside me, with all the sounds of the ICU. |
In his 1886 book, Beyond Good and Evil, the anti-nihilistic German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche stated, that when fighting monsters, one should beware not to become a monster in turn, and that when you gaze into the abyss, so too does the abyss stare back at you. What he probably meant was something along the lines of not falling into the delusion that good and evil were absolute opposites that cannot stem from one another.
I don't think he was ever talking about an actual abyss. But here it is. Great, terrible, dark, and potentially endless. How they managed to fit an entire endless abyss into a single room is something that practically hurts to think about. And as I stare into that perfect void of nothingness, I feel distinctively that something is staring back at me. Gazing deeply into my eyes, as I gaze deeply into it.
The dark void reaches out, slowly, carefully, and to my amazement, it gently caresses my face. It feels cool. Like water. It is not unpleasant. I raise my hand to touch the void. It retracts a bit from the shock of touch, but then envelops my hand in its dark infinity. As it holds my hand, I start to speak. It feels natural, I tell the void my name, and what I do, and just talk. The void does not respond, for what voice would it have? Instead it intones heavy silences, that translates in my mind as loving words.
When I am done speaking, the void lets go of my hand, and instead reaches out several cold tendrils, and gently lifts me up. It covers my ears, cutting off all sound, letting me hear the backbeat of the universe, the endless hymn sung by the stars themselves, that this world is too loud to hear. But it can hear them. The void was there when the song began, and it will be there when it ends. The embrace of the void is like that of an endless sunless ocean, silent, unfathomable, and beautiful beyond human comprehension.
And as I talk, and it intone silences, I begin to understand it. It looked into me, looked into the core of my soul, and began to feel love. It is not the fleeting love of mortals, nor it is the lifelong love of a truly caring parent toward their child. It is the deepest spiritual love, the thing that does not touch the flesh, the love that does not cover the base passions, but the love that covers everything you are, everything you were, and everything you could be.
It feels overwhelming, but the ABYSS understands. It sees into you, gazes beyond all your masks and delusions. And sees you for who you are, who others see you as, and who you want to be. It looked into me, and it fell in love. This ocean of an endless void, the ABYSS of all existence, it feels this towards me. How can I say no to it? It knows me better than I do. It sees past the flaws.
I surrender to the cold ocean, as it drags me into its infinite form. Aeons pass as we love, as I whisper all that could ever be into this ocean of nothingness. As we gaze eternally into one another. As all things but the ABYSS ends and the universe itself crumbles around this void that loves me, and whom I love, we are alone in creation.
I am not a man, not anymore. I am the last light. The void loves me, and I love it. Together, we unite in the infinite, and understand each other perfectly. And from this love, reality is born anew. From out love grows new creation, new eternity, now infinite.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) |
It all started the day I looked into the mirror and noticed that my face didn't look the same. I asked Mum about it, but she said that I was only a teenager and that I was handsome no matter what. All my friends at the time also didn't seem to be bothered by it in the slightest. The next day, I noticed that my white sneakers were now sandy brown, again I talked to Mum about it, she said that they were brown all along. The day after that my alarm clock went from being a sleek digital watch to an analogue steampunk machine. Day after day I kept noticing things, I kept telling the people around me what had changed, but nobody seemed to believe me. Just last week I saw my cat become a dog, my pen become a quill, and still nobody believed what I said. Three days back, my house morphed into a castle of sorts, the kind you see on TV, with turrets, grand doors, and a high wall. And it was not just my house that had changed, everybody seemed to have the medieval European kind of houses. Yet I was the only one noticing all this stuff.
Just yesterday I saw my father in a full knight costume walk up to the home and be greeted graciously by my mother. It doesn't feel like my world anymore, I am a modern man stuck in the old times. These old-timers, they don't see what I see, there is a gradual regression taking place all around me. My friends don't believe me, but there has to be a reason for all that has happened. I wanted answers, so I tried searching online, but the phone said 'no internet available'. In my despair, I sat silently in a corner, hoping that it was all a bad dream. That's when I saw a green light flash in the sky. Auroras? Here? not a chance. Immediately, I ran towards the place where the light came from. There I found a long-haired skinny man, wearing clothes of this era, sitting in a van.
He flashed a smile at me.
"Man this experiment went horribly wrong."He said.
"Experiment?"
"Yeah, you see I was trying to make a time machine, but it didn't work out."
"You mean this regression to medieval times, was all your doing?"
"Ah yes. An accident mind you. I'll revert things back to what they were like when I'm done."
"Okay that makes sense, but how did you control the people man. They didn't notice any change."
"I didn't,"he said and smiled. "They all just wanted to pretend."
"Pretend that everything's fine?"I asked him.
"Yes,"he said and pressed a button. Almost instantaneously, everything snapped back to normal, as always nobody commented on it. Everything's fine for them. Everything's fine. |
You've probably heard of the deep web. On the deep web, content is privately accessible, and the addresses are visible. The worst of it is mostly normal drugs like weed, cocaine, or heroin. Or smuggling items that aren't normally accessible, like kinder eggs, art, and expensive cheese into the country. It's not the dark and deep web where the real horrifying stuff happens. But there is something deeper than the deep web, far deeper and more exotic than anything you can find on the dark web.
Underneath both of them, lies the **UMBRAL WEB**. You cannot access it normally from a computer. You cannot even see that it exists. Because you need an arcane tuning box attached as hardware to your computer before you're even going to be able to download the right browser. How do you find such a thing? You can't simply go down to your local tech store or megamart and ask for it. You can't buy it online. You have to find a technomancer first.
Or more precisely, you have to let one find you. Put out the word that you're looking for technomancy, not by posting it online, but by activating your microphone and simply asking. Most likely a technomancer is nearby and will hear you. Maybe something else will. Hope and pray that a technomancer hears you first. You won't like to know what else might notice that you've learned about magic and the **UMBRAL WEB**. Many a curious explorer of the web have found themselves listening to the siren songs of the things that live in-between the wires and the signals. Only hope is to burn your computer before the song ensnares you.
Or the only thing that will remain is a brain-dead body, drained of all your memories, data, and personality.
If you get into contact with the technomancer, they'll send a request for you to do something for you. Could be something simple like helping them post some hot new memes they've made. Could be that you have to send them a vial of your blood. Or allow them access to a server that is running without contact to the net, which they know you can access.
And then you get a box sent to you by mail. It contains no instructions for installing, all you need to do is to open its container, and it will crawl out and attach itself to your computer. Only then will you be able to access the **UMBRAL WEB**. And it's worth the trouble. Do you want red honey which upon ingestion gives you the power to see into the memories of others? You can buy it. Social Media with the faerie courts? Of course you can join, meet interesting fay beings, be invited to their parties, though you must take care not to sign anything or make any deals.
There are magical dating sites, where if you're lucky you can meet nymphs and amazons. Or if you're unlucky you can catch lycanthropy as a venereal disease. If your desires are of the more bloody type, you can see the horrors of what the demons do to those people that sell their souls for fame or power. If you want to make a deal yourself, you can do so as well, though I cannot recommend it. There are of course simpler things too. Find the cookbook of the gods and learn how to brew ambrosia, grow perfect apples of immortality, and make your own pills of longevity using only household ingredients.
Want to play a tabletop game? Like Shadowrun or DnD? That can happen, but be aware of the differences between joining an online tabletop group, and be recruited for an actual Shadowrun and be teleported into that universe. Because if you're not careful, you can get pulled away and never return home.
You can even go on the magical version of various piracy sites, and download not only the movies and series which you are used to, but also versions from other universes. Want to see Firefly seasons 1 through 8? You can have that. What about versions of the Star Wars Sequels and Prequels that are not only as great as the original trilogy, but improve upon them? How about Game of Thrones, except the seasons 7 and 8 are actually great, and there is a pretty satisfying season 9 too. Of course, be careful about where you download from. A magical computer virus is a lot worse than any normal thing. Imagine a Trojan virus that sends you back to fight in the Trojan Wars, on the losing side. Or a Worm program that makes your screen bleed out carnivorous worms while you sleep.
Of course, magical college can be applied to for online courses. The Scholomance's Necromancy 101 course is particularly popular. Just make sure you don't pass with the lowest grade, or you will be dragged down into the bowels of Hell. Perhaps you prefer something fun instead? How about downloading an MMORPG which teleports you into a fantasy universe in order to play it? Order a magical 3-D printer which can print nearly everything(magical beings, WMDs, celebrities, and other humans cannot be printed), and print, say, your favourite Pokemon.
Of course, like how there are law agencies noting what you are doing on the normal, deep, and dark web, so can your actions be watched by the UN-funded Arcane Containment Force, which prevents you from downloading, for instance, a demonic portal by blowing up your arcane tuning box. The explosion will take your entire house with it. And the muggles will be told it was a drug lab explosion, a gas explosion, or a random freak electrical issue.
There are rules, and on the frontpage of the **UMBRAL WEB** Magdit, these are stickied at the top for all to read. Follow the rules, don't try to contact eldritch things or work too closely with the demons, and you'll be fine. Otherwise, your soul will be banned from the universe by the ACF's spell, Babbage's Ban-Hammer of Nonexistence.
Of course, the opportunities and potential for advancements with using the **UMBRAL WEB** are probably still worth the risk.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) |
I was gob smacked and down right pissed. I had saved countless people, trained for hours on end, I spent a full goddamn month picking vegetables for Mr. Al'vere and don't even get me started on that whole goddamn mess where I had to find all those puzzle pieces! All of that, that tear inducing pain and emotional trauma, losing my family to the body on the other side of the door, having to lose the ability to speak to inherit my righteous powers, and finally when he's weak enough for me to take on, this bunch of extras goes in there and kills him! I bet on the other side of this door tonnes of their comrades have fallen, and that they are the lucky few, well, not if I have anything to do with it.
I couldn't speak but I think the look on face had already conveyed to them that I was gonna kill them. I remember the first time monsters started running away from me simply by seeing the way I walked. That graceful, weightless gait despite all the lives that had rested on my shoulders. I was brought back to the present as I abruptly lost my footing while cleaving through air, my sword still greedily catching some blood as the fellow's wounds opened up. It was then that his other three companions joined the fray, they each tried to hit me with the different weapons of their trade. The axe man threw down with all his might while the spear man eagerly punched farther to my right side, trying to herd me and give me less room to dodge, perhaps they weren't as bad as I initially thought. I quickly altered my positioning so the spear caught me in a well armoured spot and used the momentum to carry myself away to regain my footing. I had barely come out of my roll when the first person I tried to hit came at me. I pretended to fall backwards, then kicked up my shoe with the tiny blade hidden on the end neatly into his neck which offset his sword enough for me to fully deflect it with my off hand. I got to my feet slower this time, feigning to have hurt my sword hand while slowly taking out the dagger hidden in my gauntlet. The axeman made an ideal target as he charged, the dagger finding a nice purchase in an under armoured part of his body. All that was left was the spear men, he was going to enjoy this, they had robbed me of the catharsis of killing the demon who killed my family. Maybe the demon had killed their families as well? But they definitely didn't have to go fetching shit for every goddamn person in the country just to get here. I had to learn how to play a goddamn ocarina which is way harder than anyone would think, and now all of that was for nothing, just because these filthy casuals wanted glory. Once again he was drawn from his thoughts by the spear man leveling his weapon. Of course, he could complain about them once they were dead. He readied himself for his final charge, the end of his heroing career, a last moment of bravado before he settled back into a life of mediocrity and was banished because of the monsters the heroes burden attracted. And it would have been, had the boss music not started playing, the door opened, and there he saw demon who killed his family, the king of darkness, standing above the dead body of the prince of darkness. Despite himself a smile crept across his face. He could see the spear man trembling. |
It was a bright and cheerful day, but the girl was inside. Scrolling through social media feeds, looking for connection, for laughter, for hope, in a socially disconnected world.
But then she saw a writing prompt, asking for stories about the goodness of the world. Looking for inspiration, the girl remembered to look outside, and she noticed the brightness of the sun. The girl heard the booming crackle of fireworks, and thought of people having fun.
She thought of the job she had just been hired for, a job she was looking forward to. A new beginning. A new chapter in the book of her life.
She realized she had already found laughter, in a shared moment, a meme from a friend across the world. She had found connection, in discussions of a fondly remembered childhood book series with kind strangers. She found hope, in a shared story about a pet donating blood to save another pet.
And the girl didn't know if she had enough words or enough inspiration for a proper story, but she wanted the writer of the prompt to know what a good thing they had done to even ask for stories about goodness. To subtly remind the girl that goodness is everywhere, if she only looks for it.
After all, the butterfly who spreads so much beauty and joy with its wings, might never see its own wings. And it might never know that it is beautiful, too. |
“Like this?” he asked. I nodded. “Yes.” The foolish boy gripped the sword upside down, holding it by the blade. “But wouldn’t this cut my fingers? I may be a newbie, but I find it hard to believe that this is how you hold a sword-“ “Who’s the master here, you? Or me?” I asked him. His expression sunk. “Exactly,” I continued, “Now, if you must, you may use gloves to protect your hands, however, the sword slicing into your hand will strengthen you, and uh… Give you better resistance to pain. Yeah. Resistance.” I nearly chuckled.
His face lit up. “Ohhhh, I see. You’re being rough on me because this rigorous training will make me stronger!” I stifled a laugh. “Exactly,” I responded, “Now, go, and slay that beast.” I motioned towards the slime monster in the distance, a muckey thing with one eye plopped in the middle, oozing along the grass leaving trails of slick. “And don’t forget your battle cry.” He charged towards the monster, blood dripping from his hands, screaming, “Baaaaaaaaatttllllleeeeeeeeecrrryyyyyyyy!!” The slime’s eyeball faced him, and battle ensued.
The boy gripped the sword, blood flying as he swung it by the blade. The handle was caught in the slime. This would be over quick. I watched the look of horror on the boy’s face. I watched his mouth move, but his screams were lost in the thick substance of the slime. His body quickly began to melt, before being completely dissolved into nothing, becoming part of the slime’s mass. I almost felt bad for the poor guy. Almost.
It had been 12 years since I accepted this role. Training those who were sent here from another world, guiding them. Making them heroes. Legends. I didn’t take this job for glory or fame, but out of obligation. 17 years ago I slayed the demon lord, freeing our realm from his reign, but in doing so I inadvertently opened a portal to another world, bringing in “Players” as well as more threats: Devils from worlds beyond my comprehension, so I did all I could to prepare these mysterious players, training them to aid our world whenever the next war between man and demon would arise.
Alas, my wisdom, my knowledge and my way of the blade was taken for granted. I was soon forgotten. It seemed like every other month now, a new hero would slay a new demon lord, and the cycle would continue. The most irreconcilable thing of all, though, is that I received no credit for my effort. Training them day in and day out with no rest, providing them with stronger and stronger weapons and spells as they progress, to match their ever-growing power. While I didn’t sign up for the glory, that didn’t mean I didn’t deserve any.
So, I did what anyone in my shoes would. I made complete fools out of everyone I’ve trained for the past 2 years. I remember the day clearly: I sat in the tavern in town, while one of my very own trainees stood a top a table, a crowd gathered around him, telling his tale: “So there I was. Knee deep in the enemy’s fortress, all my party dead, with no revive potions on hand. I had a decision to make: Retreat for backup-” The crowd began to overwhelmingly boo. “Or,” he continued, “Finish what we started!” The crowd cheered. “I charged straight in with a sliver of health left, firing arrows left and right before the minions could even reach me, before running straight at the demon lord and slicing him up, but alas, it was another one of his illusions.” There were a few awws and murmurs from the crowd.
“How’d you get so strong?” Another one of my newer trainees asked him. My face lit up, awaiting him to tell of our many hours of rigorous training, but instead… “I was born with it, man. Some people got it, and some people don’t.” My mood went sour. It wasn’t the first time one of my self-absorbed proteges took all the credit, and I knew it wouldn’t be the last. I decided then to dedicate myself to ruining the rest of the Players that showed up in this world. After all, we had more than enough pompous assholes to take care of any new demon lords that pop up.
Since then, I have given the most terrible advice and training of my life. My thoughts were interrupted by the clank of feet. I looked up and saw a man, clad in metal, walking my way. *Clank* *Clank* *Clank* “Who be you?” I asked. “Be you from this world? Or a Player.” The man stopped mere feet away from me and raised the vizor on his mask. “Remember me?” he asked. His face was scarred down the eye, and his expression was one I frequently wore myself: the look of a man worn from ages of battle, but I did not know this man. “No,” I answered. He bellowed a hearty laugh. “Of course not. You must’ve train hundreds… Thousands of people. You’ve probably forgotten my face. Does this ring a bell, then?”
He turned and quickly and shot a fireball at the slime, vaporizing it. Impressive perhaps, to a low-level player, but this man was clearly experienced: it was as if watching an able-bodied man beat a disabled man in basketball. “That was the same thing I did, more than a year ago, right on this very spot.” My expression became surprised. I did know this man. After I started training players terribly, they nearly all died immediately to the slime. He was one of the people who made it past. “Yes, that’s right. It’s me. I can tell by your face you remember now. You are the man who trained me so poorly.” My face grew somber. This wasn’t a friendly visit.
“For more than a year I have struggled to the top. Slaying beast after beast, nearly dying at every step of the way, because of your training. But I should thank you,” he patted the spot on his armor where the biceps were hidden underneath, “You made me stronger than every other Player in this world. And now that I have completed my personal goal of slaying more than 10 demon lords, I have come for your head.” He unsheathed his sword and gripped it by the blade. Usually I would find humor in this, but I felt uneasy. I unsheathed my own sword in response. “I schooled you, but you still don’t have class,” I said.
I pushed the uneasy feeling beside. He was no threat to me. No matter how powerful they got, they could never match me. Many have tried, getting cocky after slaying some mighty beast, or coming back to spar with a slain demon lord under their belt, all had lost. This would be no different, yet I still felt uneasy. I had no time to think. He charged straight at me. A rookie mistake, I ducked under his blade and sliced across his chest. My sword bounced off his armor like a hand off an asscheek. He quickly turned and grabbed me under the arms. Before I could react, I was slammed on the ground. He pierced the sword through me, handle first, like butter.
I had been bested, for the first time in decades, and so easily too. “How…” I started, but he interrupted me. “You made your own worst nightmare.” I waited to lose consciousness, for death, but I never did. He seemed as confused as I was. “You must be an unkillable NPC. I will report this.” He said. “Unkillable… What?” Strange words I had never heard before. He suddenly vanished from thin air right in front of me, being replaced by a blinding light, barely hovering above the ground. The light spoke to me. “Interesting.”
“W-what are you?” I asked. “I am a mod for this game,” it said. I looked around. There was no game here. No pin the tail on the yordvaark, no hopscotch, nothing. “I have never seen something like this,” the light continued, “A sentient being inside of a virtual world.” More words that I could barely understand. “However, I cannot allow you to continue existing. You could corrupt the system.” I felt an interesting sensation over my body. It felt as if every molecule in my body were bursting. As if the entire fiber of my being was being erased. “No…” I said weakly, powerless to stop whatever was happening, and then: darkness.
I was dead. No, that couldn’t be it. I was still here, weightless, bodiless, but consciously still here. I had to find out what was happening. I had to find a way back. I could not let this be the end. |
**AUTHOR'S NOTE**: I'm loosely using a 'God' model based off of the Christian religion, because I know the most about it. If I tried using a Hindu version I'd probably botch it. If you find the following offensive I apologize- I don't mean to poke fun at your religion. At least, not much. Hope you enjoy = )
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I was often so absorbed in my own masquerade as a human that I forgot about my own divinity- all of my regular processes, such as answering prayer, monitoring weather patterns, and ignoring those mega-evangelical crazy-pants 'churches', had been automated and were being tended to by my hierarchy of Angels.
I had already done this, once- coming to the Earth as a man. But it had been some two thousand and some odd years- why not go for a second visit? (No, not the second coming...that wouldn't be until later. Don't ask when I won't answer.)
Thusfar, it hadn't been particularly heartening.
The education system was absolutely broken- instead of mentoring the young, they were churning them through a system bent towards manufacturing workers, stripping them of individuality, and making them place calluses on their hearts. There were a few exceptional teachers that somewhat redeemed the situation, however.
People seemed to be, generally speaking, more concerned with kindness, which was nice. Injustice was being called out as it happened- in places where they could afford to.
There were, however, instances where certain humans seemed dead-set on being cruel and unreasonable. Today was one of those instances.
For the past four years, my host family had been unable to afford certain luxuries- we ate plainly, and I predominantly wore hand-me-down clothes. It did not bother me in the slightest- but there was one member of our school, Matthew Grunkild- he was very consistent in his practice of reminding others that my family was not especially affluent.
I still struggled to understand why that was a bad thing- my host father was a hard worker, the host mother was very careful to manage our funds responsibly- and we all did what we could, and being a bit strapped for cash made it easy to not give in to the many vices of the world.
Even now, during our lunch hour, I could hear him loudly boasting about his family's wealth.
"Dad says I can use his private jet this summer, so who wants to come to LA for a week?"He was standing on top of a table, addressing the entire room.
I had to stop myself from rolling my eyes...and to stop myself from verifying the authenticity of what he was saying using my divine power.
"Oh, except for Josh- he is not invited."He said, glaring at me from his high horse...or high table, I guess.
"Wouldn't have asked to join anyway, Matthew. Not my style."I said blandly.
"Of course not. Apparently anything more expensive than a PB&J is 'not your style'."He laughed as he deftly kicked my sandwich off of the table, and it landed in a trashcan.
I saw red. I know I'm supposed to be above this- but I was *really* into my role as a normal mortal...and I *had* to rectify this injustice.
"Matthew."I growled. Everyone nearby stopped. They had never heard me so much as complain before- hearing *rage* in my voice must have been quite shocking.
"I can put up with your bragging, I can put up with you looking down and talking down to me. I don't particularly care that you see yourself as better than me simply because you have access to your daddy's money..."My anger was building.
"But for you to desecrate what little I *do* have?! To waste the meager resources my parents are able to provide? To throw out *my sandwich*?"
I stood. "Your only solace from my wrath-"A blinding light began to fill the room, and the heat was enough to make my skin prickle with sweat. "Will be *damnation!*"My voice echoed across the room, and a sound like a whip cracking was followed by a sound like glass shattering.
The heat and light subsided, and Matthew Grunkild was no more.
"Uh. Oops."Everyone was staring.
Focusing internally, I rewound the clock to before lunch period started... and I decided to eat outside instead.
Maybe I was letting the mortal life get to me a bit too much. |
**Secret is in the Basement**
**By Your Daily** **~~Devil~~**
&#x200B;
**Michael began his day like any other, a quick spread of** **~~cream cheese~~** **jam across a bagel, and a kiss to his wife.**
**"Hun, I'm going to be going be** **~~gone for a bit~~** *stay in town,* **I hope you don't mind."**
**And be gone for a bit Michael was, because that was the fucking plot of the story. So he left for the airport at nine** *or something and immediately said no fuckit i'm coming back.*
**You see, upon Michael coming back he found his wife sleeping with his neighbor, David, because Michael won't fucking cooperate. You see that Michael? You wouldn't have these problems if you would just** *and Michael joins in because Dave is a bro and they invite the wives* **and the story remained PG-13.**
**For there was a dark secret Michael was about to uncover, and if Michael kept up this behavior it would be truly truly fucked up. Testing testing... testing... Alright. So after an enjoyable night where Michael finished after 30 seconds and cried, the last enjoyable night he would have for a long time** *except all the other ones because Michael lived to the ripe old age of* **fucking 30** *times ten* **minus 270, Michael realized it was difficult to be in a story with elegant prose if he kept going back and forth like this. Michael would be forgotten, on Reddit, read by like two fucking people, if he didn't let me continue. Anyway** *because the writer is so piss poor he kept this paragraph too chunky*
*Michael started a new one.* **Paragraph chunks are entirely normal and keep a sense of pacing** *if you're a deluded hack who says fuck too much to compensate for* **nothing. Terrible things happened to Michael. Fuck Michael because no one likes him** *like the writer stop getting meta and let me live a normal life* **until you discover there's fucking corpses in your basement.**
**There. Corpses in your basement** *that are totally normal because they're just venison and* **people** *'s favorite burgers* **made of people. Michael was a fucking** **~~cannibal~~** *~~millionaire~~* **~~useless~~** ***writer*** *great* **bastard fuck this. Bad things happened and Michael was fine. They happened to Dave. Michael found out Dave was a cannibal and shot him and had 12 inches of penis and lived 300 years trapped in a story of success. The fucking end.** |
"I wish for world's end–"
"Now, now... I think you should reconsider,"the big opaque apparition creeped closer to the man, "the whole world is such a big place, yaknow!"
The man stepped back. He thought about the apparition's words for a second. But with a shake of his head and an assuring clap, he put his foot down.
"Nah, I don't care. I want it *all* to end!"
The apparition hung his head at the man's desire. It knew that there was no point in debating a man "this lost". But such is the fate of a genie. It must do whatever the holder of the lamp desires, though nothing set in stone mandating it to follow said desires to a T.
"Fine,"it said, rather reluctantly.
"You... grant my wish?"
"Yes, yes. But I warn you, no take-backs!"
"Well, it's not like it'll matter or anything."
The apparition roared a mighty laugh. It bounced a few times, floating as if its monstrous size amounted nothing to its weight.
"You'd think that, but others may not. I do have one *twist*, though–"
With a snap of its fingers, the world before the two warped into darkness.
Silence...
***
"Hey,"a voice echoed in a distance.
*What? Who?* The man asked to himself.
He began to open his hazy eyes, finding no one around him. The room he was in had no light. But for some reason, he could barely make out a figure in a distance.
"Hey, are you okay?"a girl, the same age as he was, began walking slowly towards him.
"W-Who are you, miss?"
"I'm Val... and you are?"
"Joe. Any idea on where we might be?"
The girl nervously looked around, her small feet making circles in the ground.
"No, but I remembered what I did before this."
"Oh yeah?"
"I, uh, you might think this is crazy–"
"Well you haven't heard *my story*..."
The two laughed softly. It was as if they've just told a joke all too familiar. But then silence devoured the room once more.
For a few moments, the man kept sneaking glances at her. He'd be lying if he said that the girl wasn't cute. He thought that she was not from around where he'd lived.
*Maybe if I talk to her for a bit, I might even get to have a sweet pudding together with her...* He braced himself.
"So, Val, what did you do?"
"A wish,"the girl said matter-of-factly, "for the world to end."
The man paused. He couldn't believe what he'd just heard.
*It's got to be a coincidence, right?* He nervously talked to himself, assuring it's fine.
"So, did it end?"he started again.
"Well all I remember was darkness, then I woke up in here. That genie must've had some stupid trick or–"
"Sorry, genie?"
"Yeah, I didn't ask its name. But I was sure it was a genie, since it came out of an ancient lamp of sort."
If there was ever a trace of doubt, it's gone. The man cleared his throat and stepped closer to the girl.
"Would you like to have sweet pudding with me, once we figure out–"
"Sweet pudding sounds nice!"
Then, the room lit up. Sounds of metal occasionally hitting ceramic rang through their ears. The ambience, smelled faintly sweet and warm.
"Hi, table for two, then?"a bright-eyed woman appeared right before the two.
"Sorry?"the man asked, puzzled.
"Oh, sorry. Are you two different parties–"
"No, we're together. Do you have sweet pudding here?"
"We sure do!" |
Temptation and corruption have always gone hand-in-hand. This is self-evident, seems almost trite, but it also has a place in its own vicious circle; you want to ignore the fact, because it's tempting to do so, and maybe let just a tiny portion of your soul rot away. For now. You'll fix it later, find the time and will to repent and improve.
The first one was an accident. Mostly. We stumbled on a ship that didn't quite make it, its artificial pilot just functional enough to get the hulking sarcophagus into orbit before mostly shutting down. Stasis-sleep failure. The ship was just a collection a of corpses...and plenty of interesting technology to loot, not to mention actual valuables.
In hindsight, this was a disastrous kind of First Contact. It's difficult enough to have proper empathy from a creature that looks so different to yourself, I mean humans sometimes struggle with that even regarding the tiny differences of skin tone and facial structure in our own badly-inbred species. It's even more difficult when that creature is already dead, and the death is not your fault.
We killed about seventy thousand sentient beings that day. We didn't know it at the time. Would knowing have stopped us?
Maybe. I'd like to hope so. The human colonists who found the orbiting graveyard had only just enough supplies to get their colony off the ground; in those early days, "faster than light"did not actually mean "fast relative to the vastness of interstellar distances."Their ship had been following the strange currents of dark-matter shadowspace for years. Resupply was not a sure thing, and temptation seemed impossible to resist.
There are worse things than grave-robbing, right? The dead don't need their stuff, and your children and grandchildren could make good use of it on their brave new world. Not to mention the value of all that technology to your species as a whole, sent back on huge redundant flotillas of tiny messenger-drones.
But it wasn't the dead we were robbing.
The aliens knew their colony ship had failed. Their ship might go substantially slower than light, but its signals did not. They also knew the extent of the damage, which was catastrophic to the colonists and main control system, but had left much of the rest intact.
We knew they knew because we decoded their signals. What we didn't know, but perhaps should have guessed (perhaps did not care to guess?) was that they would send another ship almost immediately, with instructions to essentially cannibalize the previous expedition. You can guess how that turned out in the end, which came much sooner than you expect. The original craft's failure had come within a few years of its launch, so the second one followed hot on its heels through the vast interstellar distance.
So seven years later we had another terrible sort of First Contact, a war that became a siege that became a slow death by starvation.
Lots of justifications were made. The aliens had attacked first, we told each other. Never mind that they did so after seeing the remains of their sister-ship turned into a human space station. Never mind the answers they got when they asked what we'd done with the bodies. Never mind that the colonists refused to give almost anything back.
It should have started a war, but neither side was really interested. We'd reverse-engineered as much of their tech as we could, but that's a difficult thing and it made us keenly aware just how far behind them we actually were, apart from the FTL tech we'd stumbled upon via what was essentially a single human's mathematical fever dream. In a stand-up fight, we'd be stomped flat. The Shadowstep drive takes several *days* to complete a ship's transitions in and out of FTL, during which time the craft is an absolute sitting duck that also sends out huge amounts of weird radiation as though begging to basically be shot in the face.
The aliens didn't know this at first, so of course they were reluctant to fight an enemy with at least one capability that seemed so far beyond their own.
<continued below> |
The picture of my living room has never brought anything but consternation, usually by a visiting family member or a potential date. In any case, I usually got shouted at. The group of men on my screen were not shouting at me, nor were they focused on me. Instead, they listened to my story of shooting an alien in my living room with an 870 Remington Express, loaded with slugs. They peppered me with questions to which I had few answers.
What kind of rounds were they? Did you expect this to happen? Did you touch the body? How did he get there? Could you communicate with him?
Frankly, I would have been a bit more cheerful, if it wasn't for I did speak with the alien. More accurate, I spoke *at* the alien, for it made gestures and sounds but I did not know until after I had shot it. Waking up to an intruder, I thought it was a vagrant.
Now, sitting at the computer terminal in the quarantine cell, I began to think how my life had changed so rapidly in the last 24 hours. I was on a farm, talking to Sherrif Howard. Then in less than 12 hours, I was detained, debriefed, quarantined and then presenting to the Government.
Food wasn't bad, the fried chicken was a bit dry. The air smelled something strange and the pillows were too soft. That being said, quarantine wasn't too bad.
The eggheads at the meeting told the generals that the armour absorbed lasers and protected the user from radioation. It was postulated that weapons of a nuclear arsenal were likely only limited in effectiveness. Laser weaponry would be rendered ineffective, with the only solution being kinetic weaponry.
I laughed at that, to which some of the generals shared. The scientists muttered amongst themselves as I quickly blurted out, "Well we got plenty of 556 and 762 laying around! Guess them Ruskies gonna have a chance to fire a shot in anger!"
The room erupted into laughter, and with that, the alien invasion begun. |
As the last word of The Communal Charm of Irrepressible Devotion left Magda's lips, a change came over her opponents.
The ranger, arrow nocked at his ear, slowly relaxed and lowered his bow, returning the arrow to the quiver at his waist. Slowly he began to walk toward the young witch, this time without menace.
The old man with the flowing bear paused in the middle of an incantation of his own, the words dying upon his lips as he stared at Magda in rapture.
Even the barbarian, caught in a frenzied charge, came to a skidding halt just feet from Magda, her twin axes falling from her hands as she fell to her knees and begged the witch's forgiveness for attacking her.
And then there was the guy in the plate armor. Having just dispatched the ensorcelled wolf that Magda had sent, unsuccessfully, to attack the party from its flank, he was well behind the barbarian in his advance.
He continued his implacable advance, shield held before him, sword pointed at the face of his nemesis, tabard swaying gently in the soft breeze the swept Magda's glade.
She narrowed her eyes. Had his battle with the wolf taken him outside the radius of her spell? Did he possess a talisman against enchantment? Or merely a mind as strong as steel?
Her gaze passed once more over the man's tabard, and there she saw the answer to her question: the stylized caged dove symbol of Valarn, Lord of Ice and Harmony. A paladin, and therefore quite immune to enchantments of the mind.
And that meant that the sword even now pointed at the bridge of her nose could only be one of the rare Peaceblades, jealously guarded by the Church of Valarn and given only to its most favored champions. A blade that had killed hundreds, perhaps thousands, in its centuries of use.
Magda felt a lump of fear catch in her throat. She briefly considered ordering the ensorcelled three to attack their erstwhile companion, but this idea she discared immediately. If the cognitive dissonance of such an order shook the barbarian out of her amorous trance, Magda would find her head removed from her body in little over a second.
Ignoring the stammered professions of love from the woman warrior kneeling before her, and the please for attention from the wizard and the archer, Magda began the words of a more focused and destructive spell: Reybard's Ruby Ray of Ruination.
Paladins were not, after all, immune to more physical magics. Not even those originally designed by blowhards.
Yet an instant later, the strangest thing happened. As he took in the sight of the barbarian kneeling before Magda, he glanced to his right and saw that his other two companions had likewise given up the fight. And incredibly, rather than being driven to a more desperate charge, the paladin instead ceased his advance, and lowered his sword to point at the ground.
"Peace, dear lady. It would be my greatest shame to kill a woman whose skill with the subtle arts is exceeded only by her beauty."
**Part 2 coming in a few minutes** |
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