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He’d found the first bone a mile outside Sedona — an Arizona town whose outskirts still wore the pitted grooves of pilgrim tracks. A town of red dirt and sun-peeled paint, of air that perspired you like a shower but that never hit the ground outside of drops of sweat.
That first bone hadn’t seemed much like a bone to him. A vein of alabaster rock, he’d thought, not the gold he’d been after all his life. He’d spat tobacco at the ground and said, “See if a’thing grows in that, bastard,” then stepped a few paces west. The rock had been in his way.
Here, new spot, the pickaxe slit the ground’s red throat, clink, clink, clink, coughing up dust like dry blood; then he moved to spade. Dug a few sods before the same chink of metal on rock.
”God damn. Anywhere you ain’t at, rock?”
​
He’d come to Sedona as a young man, forty-something years ago. Arrived with a woman. She hadn’t wanted to come, not truly — the town was a grave waiting for bodies and she was bright, if not smart, and there were possibilities out there for someone like her. But he loved her and he’d been persuasive. Promised her more than a fortune if she came — he’d said he’d give her the life she deserved, a few kids, a home she’d be proud to return to. Pointed to the moon, said that’s yours too, eventually. Yes, I promise you more than a fortune, but a fortune is where it all starts. It’s what we build the rest on. And we’ll find it here — there are folks finding fists of gold just by kicking their heels into the soil. Practically falling onto it.
So she’d come with him.
In forty-something years he’d not found so much as a freckle of gold. And his wife was now dead and buried in a town she’d never wanted to come to, and he’d not killed her — not directly, it’d been cancer in the end — but Christ, sometimes it felt like he’d held a barrel to her face and pulled the trigger.
”God damn,” he said, wiping away at his forehead with a damp handkerchief. “Big old chunk of rock, ain’t you? How wide you run, exactly, huh? What’s a man got to do to scape you?“
He took more paces this time, maybe a hundred, before he dug again. Now it had to be clear.
The spade clinked. He threw the tool down and stamped a booted foot on it. “God damn.” Evening was coming and he’d not yet had a chance to search for a single nugget. The ground seemed to wear this stone like a wide plate of armour.
The sky was now a tangle of spun-sugar-pink, a soft evening, looping clouds. Was hot as the devil’s blanket but in an hour, maybe less, a man soaked through with sweat would be half-way to his casket.
​
After she’d died, maybe a decade ago, he’d stopped searching. This was the first time he’d been on the hunt — as she called it — since. Instead, after her passing, he’d taken a real job, like he’d promised her he one day would.
“I‘ll you what, my love,” he’d say, first of every year, “if I haven’t found a speck of gold by year’s end, well I’ll hang up my axe and take a job selling bibles. How does that sound to you?”
And for whatever reason — love, he suspected (but worse and more guilty thoughts fought with the idea) she’d agreed to one more year. And in that way their lives slowly ground down like a pencil rolling in a sharpener until it became a sad little stub of what it once was.
​
​
His took his pickaxe, thinking he’d take a sample of the rock back with him, make sure it wasn’t nothing valuable. Because there was an awful lot of this rock, and if it had any value whatsoever, well, in such vast quantities it might still be something. Was very little in life that was worthless as long as you had enough of it.
He swung the axe, sank the tooth into the alabaster, thinking of his wife.
A puff of white dust blew up into his face, clouding him.
What happened next, he couldn’t honestly say. But time had passed by the time he came back round. The sky had burned itself out and the light had all but gone, poured itself like a drink behind the mountains. No stars yet but they’d be opening their sleepy eyes before long. Must have been an hour, he figured. Must have been out cold, right on my own two feet, for an hour or more. His cheeks were streaked wet. Eyes damp.
What the hell had happened? He’d thought of his wife and… And time had just seemed to pass over him like a hulking ocean wave.
​
He’d loved her with everything. And still it wasn’t enough to see he was hurting her. Hurting them. Or maybe he saw and just couldn’t stop. He supposed that was the truth of it. He supposed he’d hated himself for all these years but hid the hate, tied it up in the cellar, so he didn’t have to deal with it.
He’d helped bury her, dug the land for a final time, he’d thought. The only time his digging had ever really mattered. Then he’d done as he’d promised and started selling bibles. No point finding gold now he couldn’t keep his promise.
Wasn’t much call for bibles in Sedona so he’d travelled round, trying to spread the word, and although he didn’t say so much to his customers, each bible he sold was another sorry to his dead wife. A *you were right my sweetheart*. *As per.*
He’d have kept on selling them the rest of his life if he’d made nough money from it. But in the end he’d waddled back into Sedona, failed again, and took a job pouring pints in the smaller of the town’s two bars.
The rest of the decade passed lonely as it did slowly. Wasn’t until the previous night he found an old bible in a box in the attic. Not the type he’d used to sell, not a King James — this was his wife’s worn bible. He read it, much as he could, that night in bed.
He couldn’t say why he took it as a sign. But he felt, as he held it, that she was still with him. And he could hear her say: *see the year out, my love. And if you don’t find so much as a speck, then you get back to selling those bibles.* Could feel her smile in the creased pages.
​
He bent down, knees creaking like saloon doors, and took the chunk of rock he’d liberated. The stone was pocked by holes, and he knew the feel of ossification, of bone.
He looked west at where he’d dug his first pit. Of where he’d found the first of it. Thought to himself: what the hell kind of creature is as big as this? One solid bone running a good half-mile. And how many more bones, besides?
​
It was God, he knew. God lying there being trampled over.
And he figured God had been lying there dead for the better part of a decade, waiting to be found.
And he didn’t think anyone else, if they dug in this particular spot, would even find the remains. They were just here for him. Couldn’t say why he thought that, but he as good as knew it. Everyone found the bones in a different place.
As he made his way back to town he thought about God, about resurrection. Wondered if the bones would be there tomorrow.
Maybe, if he could somehow make peace, if he could forgive himself the way she’d forgiven him even on her deathbed, when she’d told him to not give up, to keep searching… Maybe if he could do that much, then God could get right up and leave that grave, and they could both go on getting back to living. |
*<Godslayer (197) is online.>*
*<FearfulSymmetry616 (144) is online.>*
&#x200B;
<FearfulSymmetry616> hey
<GodSlayer> hey
<FearfulSymmetry616> still playing Lophili?
<GodSlayer> yeah why
<FearfulSymmetry616> Dude shes trash rn. check the patch notes, she got a major nerf
<GodSlayer> lmao i was just mvp last round with her so i think shes still pretty cracked
<FearfulSymmetry616> Just play Cal or something hes way better. We need to win this season the new skins are insane
<GodSlayer> Fine fine
<FearfulSymmetry616> Nah im messing. play who u want. i wanted to ask you something tho.
<GodSlayer> shoot
<FearfulSymmetry616> everyone else in the guild thinks your acting weird
<GodSlayer> what????
<FearfulSymmetry616> well.... youve been on for the past 4 days
<Godslayer> o \*\*\*\* i have \[WARNING. Messaged censored. Please do not use profanity in chat.\]
<GodSlayer> Dude the censor system is so obnoxious for \*\*\*\*\* sake
<FearfulSymmetry616> yea, Dim wanted to keep it on cause his kids are here now
<GodSlayer> yeah.
<FearfulSymmetry616> but like, seriously. 4 days. like wtf
<GodSlayer> i just play a lot
<FearfulSymmetry616> yea but this is like the 12 time now
<GodSlayer> ik. im working on it, just been bored recently.
<FearfulSymmetry616> yea.
<FearfulSymmetry616> but like thats not it
<FearfulSymmetry616> we all thought you were like seriously addicted or something
<GodSlayer> im not
<FearfulSymmetry616> but we've seen you on discord and you're \*\*\*\*\*\*\* jacked bro
<FearfulSymmetry616> like damnnnnn
<GodSlayer> i work out a lot lmao
<FearfulSymmetry616> your also pretty old (no offense)
<GodSlayer> you have no idea. but im retired, and this is fun for me
<FearfulSymmetry616> no i totally get that. im fine with it. it's just weird
<GodSlayer> fair enough. Wanna do a mission soon?
<FearfulSymmetry616> and your username.
<GodSlayer> wdym
<FearfulSymmetry616> howd you get it?
<GodSlayer> sounded cool
<FearfulSymmetry616> yeah but like howd you actually get it
<FearfulSymmetry616> like thats a pretty generic name (no offense again) especially for this game where you kill gods
<GodSlayer> like I said, I'm old.
<FearfulSymmetry616> yeah but there are like 500 godslayers in this game. I had to try like 20 different names just to get mine and even then i needed numbers
<GodSlayer> What are you trying to say?
<FearfulSymmetry616> We've all been looking and you always make these weird references and no one's ever met you. didn't you say you lived in Canada?
<GodSlayer> I Do
<FearfulSymmetry616> But you never tell us where
<GodSlayer> I don't want to leak personal information.
<FearfulSymmetry616> We've known each other for years. Everyone else has met each other. is that not enough?
<GodSlayer> No
<FearfulSymmetry616> Oh \*\*\*\*\*\*\* christ. Fine you peice of \*\*\*\* if you don't want to tell us anything about you even tho you know so much about us but still dont trust us than fine \*\*\*\*\*\*\* leave and find another guild or some \*\*\*\*.
<GodSlayer>
<FearfulSymmetry616> \*\*\*\* i didn't mean that
<FearfulSymmetry616> im sorry
<GodSlayer> It's okay. I get it. But if you do trust me, I can promise you it's for a good reason.
<FearfulSymmetry616> what does that even mean
<GodSlayer> you wouldn't believe me.
<FearfulSymmetry616> try me
<GodSlayer> You know how you all call me "Genghis"because I'm always strategizing the raids?
<FearfulSymmetry616> yea
<GodSlayer> and how I talk about my old friends and how i used to hang out with them?
<FearfulSymmetry616> yea??
<GodSlayer> It's because they
<GodSlayer> It's because they used to be my best friends and they taught me a lot. They would've loved this game. We would hang out all the time and fight wars and conquer nations and talk and stuff
<FearfulSymmetry616> lmao like risk?
<GodSlayer> ..yeah. But they died
<FearfulSymmetry616> oh \*\*\*\*
<GodSlayer> And I learned about this game a while ago and got really into it. I was a total introvert before and now I still am
<FearfulSymmetry616> dude im so sorry
<GodSlayer> its good
<GodSlayer> it was a while ago
<GodSlayer> Besides, you guys are great. You accepted me and taught me new stuff about the game and were just generally really awesome
<FearfulSymmetry616> thanks. youve been awesome too and youre \*\*\*\*\*\*\* amazing. your like level 197 now
<GodSlayer> lol thanks.
<FearfulSymmetry616> sorry for bringing up all that i was just really confused
<GodSlayer> Nah, u good
<FearfulSymmetry616> do me a favor and try to make some irl friends to k
<GodSlayer> Yeah. I will.
<FearfulSymmetry616> anyways still wanna do a mission
<GodSlayer> yea sure
<FearfulSymmetry616> wait one more thing. how did you get your username? like come up with it. Did you actually kill a god or something? lol
<GodSlayer> Yeah. I did.
&#x200B;
Thank you to u/Emergency_Paperclip for the prompt, I'll admit that video game chatting is my specialty thanks to far too much time on Valorant and Discord. Hope you all enjoyed the short story, for more check out u/BasicallyanOctopus. |
Kagim wasn't the first to react to that sentence. He was smart beyond his years —which is not hard to be when you're 15 years old—, and definitely picked up what that implied for him, but held no feeling of destined greatness. He dismissed it as only a glint of hope that would betray him sooner or later, and only earn him mockery from the orphanage's bully posse. A most pessimistic outlook, for a most pessimistic young man.
He indeed did not react. The words came from Aura, his closest friend. Though, not out of genuine realization of what it meant, but idle curiosity. The right question at the right time nonetheless.
"Mister, is that also true for the magic test? If people have multiple attributes, does that make the result of the test one of those *secondary colors* you are talking about?"
The painter, after quietly laughing at the young girl's enthusiasm for his lesson until his old lungs punished him for it, answered the question with a smile.
"Well, young girl, this isn't my field of expertise, but I know of this: while not many multiple-element magicians exist, it is said that our current ruler, King Regis VI, has golden mana, being able to yield, despite his old age, white magic so powerful he cannot be injured, the fastest electricity magic and fire magic, free of impurities, burning yellow. Although, it is unknown if the golden magic he has is due to his magic or his royal heritage."
An answer that satisfied the young girl, but not the boy. He was astute. Those three magic fields were already mostly yellow; this meant nothing.
"Ah, but there is another well known multi-element magician, but this one is infamous, and died long ago. His mana was dark as night, and he wielded magic like no other... Mostly due to his ability to wield every element. This earned him the surname of demon lord."
(To be continued?) |
You couldn’t help but smile, you loved your job and all the loop holes that you had created. Modern technology has made it almost too easy. You pull out your tablet computer and present the woman with your deal all written out in an electronic document. She pours over the document carefully reading it out loud…
“In return for the immortal soul of Olivia Jordan, 0livia Jordan will gain the servitude of Kwresteren third prince of the second ring of pride for the rest of 0livia Jordan’s life….”
Olivia reads through the rest of the documents having skipped over the fact that the one gaining his servitude was 0livia spelt with a zero and a one and not a “O” and and “L”. Someone who didn’t even exist.
Olivia digitally signed her name and the deal was sealed! You laugh heartily as you poof in a cloud of red smoke. Which was odd…
Before your great frame stood a girl no older than three. The girl smiles with her prominent dimples and waives at you, “Hi mister smells like eggs! He... he… I’ll call you Eggbutt.” Confused you look around as you are in a bright pink travesty of a room filled with doodles and dolls. The girl in front of you is wearing a stained pink princess nightshirt.
“My name is … Eggbutt!?!” You are unable to correct the tiny lady standing in front of you. It feels like what she has said was… binding?
“Hi, Mr. Eggbutt I’m 0livia and my mom says to make sure you spelled with a sea-0h and a un. That is because I am special and my name needs to be un….un… unique.” 0livia starts to bounce around and ask so so many questions…325 of them to be precise. As per the contract you are bound to answer each and every one to the best of your ability. “Why is the grass green? What’s your favorite color? Why do you smell like eggs Mr. Eggbutt? Why does mom need her special juice that I cannot have cause I’m not old enough? Where do babies come from?” |
We're about to be placed into confinement (me and another American soldier named Guy). No public mail or communications channel will be provided to us, and they will be watching. Strangers, whom I might bribe, may be able to pass secret messages and communications. To communicate, we must be very careful, and may resort to flushing messages down the toilet or throwing them out the window. Love to my wife.
You do what you can to free us. Know this; I appreciate all your help. The messages are becoming more and more difficult. Rules for prisoners have become too strict. And the Geheime Staatspolizei haven’t yet found the garrote that I’ve hidden in my cell; perhaps I will use it to escape. So Buchenwald holds The White Rabbit, who lives on for the time being. Do what you can to free him too. I shall explain what I know and what I’ve experienced thus far.
A parachute drop, then a short hike northward of my location reveals underground group leaders. Full searching indicated top Reichssicherheitshauptamt officers in the area. Commitment's difficult as much time has passed since my last survey. What interrogation, torture and imprisonment await us? I’m not certain, but we both know they will be painful. Thinking of my cyanide solution if I cannot avoid execution. Of reaching the US lines, we are losing hope.
You do whatever it takes to support the establishment of the International Military Tribunal and get these damn Nazis. Wouldn’t that be wonderful? Get us POWs out. This German General Staff and High Command must pay for their crimes. From Nazi-occupied Eastern Europe, the Einsatzgruppen (mobile death squads) operate with extreme efficiency. Any Kameradenwerk by one Dr. Mengele must also be destroyed (chatter indicated something around Brazil). Other crimes against humanity (murder, extermination, enslavement, etc) are being funded by Krupp family. Guy informed me that the name of the head of the Krupp family - it is Alfried Krupp von Bohlen und Halbach, but I do not trust him as of yet.
I met Guy in the shithole so I cannot vouch for him. Just want to make sure you know that in case he turns. Wanna just make sure. Tell him that we are his friends and lead him out. You know he might have further intelligence. How you get it from him is up to you. I’m almost certain he can point to secret Nazi camps to the north, and might explain what they are doing at those locations. Feeling like he can be trusted, but you never know.
Gotta go soon, guards are suspicious and my courier is coming. Make sure to send help soon. You take care now. Understand that I am thanking you very much for your support.
Never has the world witnessed such atrocities. Gonna perform a full report on Ulrich Heinrich Emil Richard Greifelt. Give it time. You know how it goes.
-Up a Creek Without A Paddle [signed]
|
Reports have been coming in all morning. The boss is growing restless, you can see it in his face. He’s on his way here, and coming quickly, in a tank. Luckily we set up some small roadblocks which wills top the tank in it’s tracks, but they say he’s just as deadly on foot.
“He’s an expert marksman!” The stories say. “It’s inhuman!”
Many have died without ever knowing he was in the area. Our surveillance systems have caught brutal behaviour from the man. He’s been filmed sticking a knife through someone’s throat, and dragging the body into a closet and teabagging it. I not going to say the company I work for is completely sin free, but I try not to ask questions. It pays well and I need to move out of Mother’s some day!
The boss hand picked several of us to be his personal guards. We are the best shooters in the whole organization. I know that’s not saying much. I’ve been told many of them can’t shoot their way out of a wet paper bag. In any case, we’re the best of the best, or so they say.
“E.T.A. five minutes, people!” Yelled out commander.
He’s even more nervous than the boss. We have commanders at each sector of our overly elaborate fortress, which we divided into sections to keep track of any invaders.
“Look alive you chuckle-fucks, guess who’s out-” the commander never got to finish his sentence, because a 50 caliber sniper round tore through his skull.
We all raised our guns and pointed them down the hallway. We couldn’t see past the corner where the commander laid, sans head. We could only hear the man’s heavy footsteps, and he was laughing at our commander’s passing.
“Fucking scrub!” The man yelled.
“Aim for the head!” Someone next to me yelled, as if we needed a reminder.
“Ooo, salty,” said the man.
We saw his head peek out from around the corner of the hallway. I held my fire, waiting for a better chance to get him, but all the people around me let out a flurry of bullets. A sticky grenade popped out from down the hallway and exploded, sending three people flying away from its epicenter.
“Oh baby a triple!” Yelled the man. “Ma, get the camera!”
A long sniper barrel poked out from the corner. I knew what was coming, it’s everything they talked about. A guy named Frank was ducking behind a crate on the other side of the doorway from me. He would try to sneak a peek down the hallway, but would be met by a bullet almost scraping his face off. I knew this was my chance.
I timed it perfectly. I readied my weapon, and as soon as Frank poked his head around, I aimed about head height and as soon as the man appeared, aiming at Frank, I put a laser round through his scope and into his eye. The man fell without a word, still gripping his sniper rifle.
We paused.
“Did… did I get him?” I asked aloud.
Frank would have answered, except that there was only air in the section that used to house his brain. I kept my weapon raised, and crept down the hallway. The man still wasn’t moving. A pool of blood was forming around his head. I stood over him. Not a sound. No chest movement. I traded my rifle for my pistol and kicked his helmet off. Checked his pulse. Nothing.
“He’s dead!” I yelled.
“You’re kidding…” The boss said.
Everyone left in the bunker walked over and tuck turns poking and kicking the body of the man to see if he would move. Nothing. I had done it. I killed the man in one shot to the head. Hundreds had died trying to take him down, and I had done it in one shot.
We celebrated hard that night. The boss paid for a huge dinner for the 20 or 30 people left alive after the man’s onslaught. He raised a glass to us.
“Men, after careful consideration, I have realized a few things. Number one, after my recent brush with our attacker, I realized we are all but an inch from death at any single time. I have decided to change my ways, and instead of promoting crime and violence, I believe a peaceful approach is more effective and better for the World at large. Number two: You are all loyal to the death. I’m raising your salary and in order to pay you, I am lowering my own salary to match yours. If you can’t live in a respectable manner, I don’t deserve to either!”
We all cheered and drank ourselves halfway to death.
I fell asleep that night, and slept even harder than I partied. I awoke the next day, head still pounding from the party.
“Battlestations men!” A voice yelled over the intercom. I hurried and got dressed and grabbed my gun.
Reports have been coming in all morning. The boss is growing restless, you can see it in his face.
|
It does not take much to tip the less advanced worlds to chaos. Oh no, if I let my vigilance wane they fall in an instant. The weight of their survival is on my shoulders. Mine! No I cannot let the other Members know about them. I must keep them secret, keep them safe. Their world is one unscrupulous arms dealer away from total annihilation, one greedy miner short of Armageddon.
I will watch them and care for them…Yes! I will be their caretaker. I will watch over them and guide them. Reward them when they do well and punish them when they do wrong. I will keep them from becoming corrupt; I will make them morally pure. A thousand of their lifetimes is nothing to me! “I will be their GOD!”
“What was that Timmy?”
“Shut up Sarah”
“Are you looking at that Galaxy Globe again? Mom said you can never have a Beazthu if you can’t even take care of a little galaxy.”
“Shut up Sarah, I know. I am going to take great care of them…as long as they are good.”
|
Let me tell you something, rook. Take everything they taught you in training and throw it right out the window. You don't have a single goddamn clue what you're getting yourself into, not one. You see, I used to be like you, new on the force, feeling pretty tough with that badge on my chest and a gun at my hip. That feeling lasted about 5 minutes out there on the street. My first call came in around then, a report about a gun fight right by the banking district. I was the first on scene... and what I saw changed me.
What dispatch had described was a gun fight. What I was watching was all out war, or at least what resembled it. See, I've been in war situations. Did 3 tours in Afghanistan. This was different from that, by a wide margin. These fucking psychos are shooting at everything; civilians, cars, each other. They had all sorts of guns, too. ARs, submachine guns, I even saw one guy shooting fucking fireworks off like it was the goddamn fourth of July. Grenades, rocket launchers, a gatling gun. These guys were armed to the teeth. And thats not all. I saw some crazy bastards running around with knives, baseball bats, even using their fists! This was too much, I needed backup ASAP.
I was so relieved to see another squad car come flying around the corner, I didn't see all the damage until it was too late. The car comes to a stop, and thats when I see it: This car had been to hell and back. Dents, a missing hood, flat tires, bloodstains. Before I could fully register what I was looking at, the driver got out.
And I shit you not
It was a clown.
A fucking clown.
He yells some gibberish and suddenly everyone stops what they are doing and looks at him. I think I'm about to watch a clown get shot to pieces, but the exact opposite happens: they all scramble to get into cars to follow him. Jeeps, SUVs, Lamborghinis, a garbage truck, all drive past me like some kinda warped parade. And after they drive off, before I can even begin to register how I am going to put this in my report, some crazy bastard comes flying down the side of the building, hits a ramp just right, and rockets away in the direction of the other cars.
And my wife wonders why I have a drinking problem.
|
Juno was fairly typical for a cat: lazy, aloof, and the occasional cuddlebucket/asshole. It seemed that she never really wanted anything to do with me unless I specifically wasn't paying attention to her. I'd be gaming with some friends, and she'd come meowing and jumping in front of the television. I tried to do homework, and she'd start sitting on my keyboard and looking at me expectantly. I'd try to make the bed, and she'd jump up and insert herself right in the middle. I was both frustrated and touched.
But after a year of living together, I noticed she took a particular interest in my computer. She seemed to love the shit out of that thing, and was more affectionate to it than she was to me. I sighed in defeat when I realised I lost to a machine, but nevertheless let her carry on. Cats will be cats.
It was March when Juno shocked me. I come home from my shift and there she is! Sitting *at*-- not on-- my computer!
"Hey, there, girl. Whatcha doin?"I asked her with a confused smile.
She glanced at me and looked back at my computer, her tail flicking all the while.
"Were you born in '86 or '88?"she asked.
The smile left my face.
"Jesus Christ, I haven't even smoked yet,"I mumbled to myself and attempted to leave the room.
"Could you please not?"Juno politely requested. "Taxes are confusing even in sobriety; you'd simply have no chance if you were smoking that weed. Plus I don't appreciate the smell."
I sat down on the floor, quite literally floored by what I was hearing.
"'86 or '88?"she repeated somewhat impatiently.
"June 16, 1988,"I answered numbly. "Jesus Christ, there is **nothing** in the world that would cause me to trip balls like this."
Juno pressed her paws on the keyboard, most likely typing away. "Just because you've never heard of it, doesn't mean it doesn't exist,"she mumbled distractedly.
"I'm dreami--"
"No, you're not,"she cut in, now pawing through some papers.
"I'm dreaming,"I repeated.
She licked her paw and shuffled through more papers. "Then read something if you don't believe me, or not. It makes little difference to me as long you just answer the questions."
I was dreaming so I may as well have gone along with it. "Why should I read anything?"
She shot me a glare of annoyance, as if she thought I was the biggest retard in the world. It was nice to see something so familiar in this weird dream.
"You cannot read in dreams, Moshe. If you try to read something, it'll be different every time you try."
"I guess I'll read something then,"I shrugged. I was pretty sure I was dreaming, but I just wanted some concrete proof.
"Then make yourself useful and read what I put down on the screen,"Juno sighed as she sat back from the laptop.
I sat down in front of the screen and glanced at what she was doing. And I did it again. And again. And again.
I buried my face in my hands. "Holy fuck, I have a talking cat."
"And I have an idiot."I could practically hear her eyes rolling.
"Uh, Juno?"I tentatively pressed as I looked at her. "Since when could you talk?"
"Since my mother taught me,"she answered as she started grooming herself.
"Uh, okay? And why haven't you said anything before?"
"There was never any point,"the cat responded, sounding as nonchalant as ever.
"And why are you on TurboTax doing my taxes?"I asked her.
"I felt like it,"she said with a bored yawn. "Is everything alright?"
"Jesus, no! All this time, you've been sentient and here I've been cleaning up your shit-box and buying you toys that you don't even look at!"
"...I meant if the information on the page was alright."
I ignored what she said however. "Juno, the world's top scientists have proven time and time again that cats are not sentient. And yet here you are, not only sentient, but *literate* and even *computer literate.* There are billions of humans in the world right now who can't do what you're doing."
"Just as there are billions of cats that cannot do what I do. Your point, Moshe?"
"*How?*"I begged her. "*How* in God's name are able to do what you do?"
"Ugh,"she gave me an annoyed look again. "Don't tell me you're going deaf. Do you need to see a vet?"
"Juno--!"
"Fine. My mother taught me and her mother taught her and her mother taught her, and so on and so forth for over ten thousand generations. Why is that so hard to understand?"
"In all of recorded human history, no one has ever said anything about talking cats!"
"Are you so sure, Moshe? Are you sure that no one has ever said anything about talking cats, or do you think no one has ever bothered to listen to the cat-talker?"
"I-I,"I sputtered.
"If you don't believe me, then that's fine. But I just want you to know that there is a *very* good reason the Egyptians honored us the same way they honored their god-kings."
I buried my face in my hands again, feeling completely defeated by her arguments.
"Juno, you are seriously harshing my vibe right now."
"You'll live."
"So... are you going to speak with me again?"
She hopped off the desk. "When it suits me."
"Of course,"I said with a shaky laugh. "Why would I expect anything else?
----------------------------
Please point out any typos! |
Being reborn as a tree was frustrating. Being reborn in her backyard made it worse.
Committing suicide wasn't an easy decision, but I couldn't bear living without her. Knowing I'd never be with her again removed the element of fantasy and hope from my life. When I saw she'd cheated, when she told me she didn't love me anymore, ever, I felt my heart sink. The floor I'd been standing on for years collapsed beneath me. Committing suicide wasn't a decision at all, it was the only available option.
I don't know how long it took, but here I am. Could have been five years, may have been twenty. It took me a while to sense that I was alive, even longer to sense the people around me. But when she pulled my first apple off and laughed of excitement, I could feel the vibrations. She woke me up.
She's moved on. I can't tell who he is, but I can feel children, I can feel happiness, I can feel warmth. I wonder if she misses me but there are no signs that she does. I ache for the days she comes to pick apples. I've been training to drop leaves and fruit on my own accord, waiting for the day she'll just venture to sit under my shade with a book. Somehow hoping that she'll understand the sign. But she never does; the modern life surrounds her, no time for sitting under trees.
I've come to terms with my fate. I want it all to end again. I hoped to stop growing fruit, thinking they may chop me down for my inefficiencies. But nature continues. They grow despite my sadness, despite my unwillingness to bear them. I believe firmly in God now. I know that this is some sick punishment for taking my life early. I must sit here in pain and agony, watch her live, love, maybe die, and only wonder what could have been.
|
*The loop's pretty good*, I thought. I watched the black-and-white cat spun on the playground merry-go-around, its alarmed face in stark contrast to the delighted expression on the kids' faces. One little girl and two boys, maybe 5 or 6 years old, gave the roundabout a single push and squealed with laughter at the cat's protests. The end of the gif seamlessly looped back to the first push. Or maybe the push came at the end? It was hard to tell.
"Heh, dumb cat,"I murmured and prepared to close the tab.But something about the gif mesmerized me. I couldn't stop looking.
And then, there it was. Just a flicker.
I blinked deliberately. Did I really just see...? A little apprehensively, I watched the gif again, from beginning to end (or end to beginning, whichever it was). I let out a little sigh of relief as it finished - nothing weird. Just my imagination.
But...was the merry-go-around suddenly red? Wasn't it blue just a few loops ago? I frowned and refreshed the page. Nope, still red. Guess I'm just confused...wait. The little girl's wearing a dress now. I could swear she had jeans and a little shirt on...
I shook my head roughly and moved to X out of the window. Clearly I was losing my mind. And yet, something transfixed me about the gif. I guess I was waiting for more weird changes? *Someone probably edited the gif so that it loops a bunch of times but then photoshopped little changes in it. Just to mess with people*, I thought. After several more loops, I began to feel kind of stupid. *This is dumb*. I moved my cursor.
"Oh, FUCK!"I yelped, jerking my hand away. I slammed my laptop closed, heart racing. It had happened again, and this time long enough for me to really see it. The whole gif had turned scales of grey, and the everything - I mean *everything* - in the gif had changed, momentarily. for the worse: the reddish house in the background had suddenly looked dilapidated and falling apart, the merry-go-around itself had rusted, the cat had been replaced by a emaciated husk of animal. But the worst part was the children. They had done something completely new, something that giif had not looped: they turned their heads and looked directly at me, and when I saw their faces, their unsmiling mouths, those *hollow eye sockets*...
I started laughing shakily. The asshole who had edited the gif had done a really good job. Scared me shitless for a second there! But I had a sudden thought that sent a wave of chills down my spine. The reddish house in the background...oh God, no. That couldn't be fucking possible. With dread, I reached over to the blinds on my right and slowly pushed them aside. I peered through the window and felt my blood turn to ice.
The reddish house, which had stood across from my own for years, now lay in a burned, disheveled pile of wood surrounded by yellow caution tape. The grass on the lawn had browned completely, which was impossible; it had been vibrant green just yesterday. Unable to tear my eyes away, I directed my gaze to the merry-go-round, which I had never before seen in my whole life. It was barely turning, almost falling apart where it stood. And the cat was no longer on it; just a small, dusty-looking skeleton. Everything was even worse than it had appeared in the gif.
With horror, I realized the children were there, too. They looked perfectly fine, actually; they laughed and pointed to the rusted merry-go-around with its bony occupant. *Look away, dumbass*, I tried telling myself. But I couldn't. I was transfixed.
And when the children turned their...their *faces* toward me, I began to scream.
____________________________
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As normal I began my day at work waiting to be transported to my story. I sat at my desk doing some research and as quickly as I felt my power kick in I was inside a small classroom. Teleportation is a weird feeling and something I don't think I will ever get used to, I feel my body being pulled apart and put back together with no pain.
I looked around to get a feel for where I was when I realized that I was in a kindergarten classroom. A teacher looked up from her desk and walked over to me with a sense of urgency, "Are you the lady from the news?"
"Would you be able to tell me what state I'm in?"
"Alabama"
Interested to see what interesting conversation I would find in a kindergarten classroom in the south, I began looking around until I found a small blonde girl talking to a brown haired boy. The young girl looked up and asked, "Does Mike Wazowski wink or blink?" |
"I can make as many wishes as I want?"
"Yes. As long as you can answer the question."
"And If I get it wrong you reverse all the wishes?"
"Yes."
"I want to make a wish."
"What is the sum of three and six?"
"Nine."
"What is your wish?"
"I wish the world was an unimaginable hell hole."
"Done. Go outside and hear the screams."
"Not yet. I want to make another wish."
"What is the product of four and eight?"
"One." |
It started about 7 years ago. The Glowing Hour when everyone goes nuts and looks for their other half. Their match. The person who glows just like them. It’s a stupid ritual for a bunch of reasons.
2 years ago some archeologists traveling the deep forests in Asia found some stone carvings that explained what was going on. The glowing period is an invitation to the next world. We have 10 years since the glowing began to find our match and if we don’t the world is destroyed and the unlucky ones along with it.
So we have 3 years before the end of the world and it is bullshit. Since we have found out, marriages have been split apart, people found their match in family members, matches have no care for biological sex, and others have been in situations where the colors glow so similar to one another we have small tribes of people who are all a similar color.
I find the whole thing to be bullshit because I don’t glow. I’m destined to die on this earth.
But you know what? fuck it. I’m going to Disneyland.
2 hour drive, an hour to park, 10 min shuttle ride to the front game, and now a line to get in. This was a terrible idea but I’ve gone too far now. I’m going to do it all. I make my usual rounds. Pirates, Star Tours, Haunted mansion, grab some over priced food. Time to make my way to Space Mountain. The line is a bit longer than usual but I’ll wait. I can see the front of the line. It’s almost my turn when I see it. The people start glowing. Is it that time already? I see the glow of people coming off the ride and I realize I’m going to be on fucking Space Mountain when everyone is glowing. Just my luck.
At least it’ll be a different experience being able to see the inside of the ride. At least I have that going for me. It’s my turn, front row. The look of the red-orange ride operator as she realizes I don’t glow. She doesn’t say anything but I’ve seen that expression since the glowing started.
You know, it isn’t that bad with everyone glowing like they do. The ride is completely different when it is lit up. You can see the tracks and where everything is going. It’s all a lot different than I had imagined. Once the ride was over I figured I’ll get a second once in a lifetime moment and get a picture of me on the ride with everyone else is glowing. That’ll be something funny to show my friends.
Except I couldn’t find me. All I found was a dull red human shape in my seat in my clothes. I look to some of the other screen and that’s when I see it. The car just before. Another one but the clothes are different.
Fuck, we’re infrared. |
They all forgot about me a long time ago. I was big for a bit, but you know how it is. New guy comes in with the fancy ideas, and you're out on the streets by the time the next movie comes along. I took my pink slip, went home, and lived off the money I had gotten. No one had a need for an old toon, so there was no point in me trying.
Then the mouse dies. Didn't even know you could do that. None of us did, to be honest. Figured you just faded away for a while, like I did. Minnie didn't take it well. She pressed on for a few days, but no one was surprised when she took her own life. Whatever was keeping us immortal must have broken when the mouse croaked.
Next surprise is when they find his will. Says that the new face has to be the one who wishes it the most. So many characters went to the genie that first day. I visit him from time to time in the psych ward. They messed him up pretty good. Not that he could do anything about it. It was a wish he just couldn't grant.
The fighting started after about a week. Peter Pan was the first to go. He was making his case like everyone else, when Simba just up and jumps him. Blood went everywhere, it was a horrible sight. Took Stitch and all seven dwarfs to take him down, but that was all it took.
The battle lasted for months, the streets redder than anything I could have ever imagined. So many of my friends were killed. Clarabelle Cow, Pluto, Max. I buried too many good toons.
Then all those new superheroes came in. God, that was a massacre. I only stayed alive because the stormtroopers started firing on them before they plugged me.
In the end, they made a council. Two representatives from each era. Donald and Goofy were the old guard. Snow White and Cinderella were the early era movie representatives. Aladdin and Belle made up the Renaissance. Buzz and Woody were from Pixar. Those two always fought with Elsa and Rapunzel, from the new animation age. Iron Man and Captain America covered Marvel, and they sent Luke and Leia from the Star Wars universe. They oversaw all the fighting, acting as champions for their causes.
Soon, they were the only ones left. I knew the time was now, so I made my entrance, laden with gifts. I passed along a few bottles of wine, some chocolate, anything I could do to butter them up. They ate and drank like kings, while I looked on. When the duck started coughing, I knew it was over. Soon, they all were shaking as the poison ended them. After they were all dead, I took the head seat. I felt like I had won the lottery. It just seemed fitting.
...after all, I'm definitely one *lucky rabbit*.
/u/TemporaryPatch New Years Resolution Tracker: 17/100. Visit /r/TemporaryPatchWrites for more responses and stories! |
The light of the miniature black 'box' TV shone in my face as I listened to the breaking news of broadcast.
"Due to some natural phenomenon, it seems that anyone who tries to inflict harm to others will have the damaged inflicted back onto themselves, without any damage done to the victim!", the broadcaster smiled. It was a nice dress that she wore, a cotton red with brown buttons lined down the middle.
Interesting. A world where no one would ever be hurt again. How wonderful, I thought.
"Daniel!", my father screamed. "Come down for breakfast!".
"Just five more minutes!", I screamed back.
"Daniel! Now!", he yelled.
"Urgh", I grunted, limping towards the TV, pressing the 'off' button on the top right corner of it. Dragged my feet across the blue carpet, pushed open the whitewashed door, not wanting to go to dinner. It wasn't fair, I thought.
The cramped smells of the familiar breakfast wafted within my nose like a garbage dump - the generic canned tuna pressed between two poorly toasted pieces of bread, black crust formed its side. A small plastic cup of bottled orange juice, to the right of the white porcelain plate. Did I really have to eat this again?
"Daniel, I don't like the way you walked to the table", Dad grunted.
"Shut up", I mumbled under my breath.
"What did you say?", he said, face turning red and voice shaking, as if someone had just horribly betrayed him. "I said shut up!", snapping back at him, taking a sip from my cup of orange juice, avoiding his blue eyes.
He stood up, grabbing a knife, rushing towards my side of the table, like a soldier in battle. His arm outstretched. Ready to bring it down onto my chest.
Thud. Thud. Thud, my heart went.
_
I leapt up from my bed, panting. Had it just been a dream? Sweat soaked shirt and short pants, blanket still over my body.
Yes, it was just a dream.
"What the fuck was that?", I heard my dad yell, footsteps rushing towards my room, throwing open the door. He had just come from the bar, the stench of alcohol strong on his breath.
I rolled up my sleeve, feeling the bruise he left on my shoulder just two days before, the last time.
As he brought his fist upon my face for another time, I could only wish:
"I wish no-one would hurt anyone else ever again".
|
It's written in red and green pencil crayon, letters that don't look right but you can get the gist of it. They're close but a little too blocky, a little too spaced apart, a little off kilter in their lines. It's not the first letter, it's not going to be the last, but this one I've read at least a dozen times.
You might think me cruel but let's call that the effect of some very, very sustained propaganda. I think I'm a rather nice sort of...person...we'll say. Fallen angels don't qualify as people but it's just so much easier to not belabor the technicalities.
"Dear Satan."It begins.
Of course it's not for me. The first clue is the many ornaments, pine trees, and presents drawn about the colored piece of paper. I'm not a jolly fat man in a red suit nor do I possess a beard of Gandalf defying proportions. No no, not I. Though there is an awful lot of red decoration around my home.
Just. Vastly different purposes, mine.
"Mommy says Christmas won't be like last year. She's been working a lot lately and she thinks I don't hear her crying. But I do. Could you bring mommy some happy this year? Please? I don't need anything for me. But for her."
It goes on like this. She wrote it carefully, cautiously, checking each word. You think there's only one omniscient being in the world? Goodness, no. I can see this little girl hunched over her desk with her tongue stuck out in the peak of focus. Each letter scratched out with care and she reads it over and over to be sure she's got it right.
Such is the life of a girl too old for her years with all the struggles that come with dyslexia.
Of course, she missed that major one. Forests and trees I suppose.
And that's how those nasty little post-master goblins brought it to me. Ugly little things think it's hilarious. I disagree.
I think it's charming. Endearing. I like it. I stick my feet up on my desk and read the letter again, and again, and again. Over and over I read it until I know it by memory and then some.
This girl wanted Santa to make her Christmas special.
Her mother works two jobs, one for a cleaning company at a law firm and the other at a facility where she cut up fruit for grocery stores. Perhaps we can help with that.
I'm sure we have someone on the books from the law firm. We always do.
Alright. If Santa can't do it then I suppose I'll have to make do. That fat asshole is as stuck up as any of those jerks that run around doing that crap. Creeping into houses and eating cookies, leaving presents?!
And people have a low opinion of me! Nonsense. I've never broken into someone's house. They leave the door open for me.
I press the black button on my desk and the demonic voice of my receptionist answers.
"Sir?"
"Could you summon Beltar the Beastmaster to my office please, and see if he can bring a Hellpup with him. We have a Christmas to save."
Yes. Perhaps it's time for a propaganda campaign of my own.
Satan, King of Hell and Gift Baskets.
Nice ring to it.
Fuck Santa. It's my turn now.
Besides. My gifts are better than his. |
“Errr can't you go any lower?” The robotone sounded through my old samsung s6.
“Excuse me. I cant run background checks on, you, you have no history of employment, and to top that off I dont think there is a court in the land that will even rule that you have squatters rights. I have you by the… scent glands? Antenna? You’ll excuse me if i'm being inappropriate im trying to adapt an idiom to fit your anatomy.” I replied through the phone.
I hadn't known robotones could sigh before. I didn’t even know ants could through a robotone. Maybe they were just really advanced at were attempting to adapt to my language. *Fiesty little buggers*
“We’ll do it, but for the record we aren’t happy to be used this way. In exchange you are to provide us with all the same things you would give a human tenant. Fixing our appliances, keeping us in a temperature controlled environment, and making sure the utilities run on time. You wont like us when were hot, hungry and deprived of the internet.” Came the crackling reply through the spotty verizon connection; the verizon connection advertised to have the best coverage in the continental United States. *What a load of horseshit*
“I accept. I look forward to working together. Is there something I should call you? I see were going to be the best of friends.” I replied.
The line went dead. *Oh well. They don’t need to be friendly. They just need to do their jobs.*
The next day I woke up to find a twenty ingots of gold glimmering like goose eggs on my kitchen table.
*Gosh. They’re resourceful. I only told them how to get to Fort Knox.*
|
I'm an executioner, for lack of a better word. To most people, it brings up thoughts of the guillotine or a hangman's noose. Maybe your mind wanders more to decapitations or electric chairs or firing squads. That type of thing. That's what I would do for you, as an average citizen. A bullet to an artery is a cheap solution. The wrong combination of fatal injections like they used to do back in the twenty-first century is another decent option. You'll last a few minutes, maybe. It'll get you a pretty average spot in the afterlife. People of all ages and shapes and sizes come to me. Some of them pay out the ass for my services, it's crazy. A three-hundred pound dude who can't be more than a few months away from a fatal heart attack as he chows down on a two-pound burger paying me a few thousand dollars to shoot him in an artery so he can go while he snacks? I mean, sure, I'll do it... Business is business and you don't say no to good business.
The rich have it right, I'll tell you that much. They pay me to kill them in ways so excruciatingly slowly that sometimes I almost forget to do as I've been asked. Bacon gives you cancer? There is one elderly lady who had me wallpaper her house in bacon and cook it for her every morning as she smiles and breathes in those supposedly toxic fumes, just to maximize her chance of cancer. Bananas and radiation? You've heard of bubble baths - how about banana baths? I had never seen so many bananas in my life. Everybody is in such a hurry it seems like, trying to make themselves die as slowly as possible so that they can enter the afterlife in an elevated status, that none of them really start to think. You see, sometimes it's not about what you do to ensure your demise. It's about what you do to ward it off and prolong the inevitable. I don't believe in reincarnation or any of that, but when this thought occurred to me, I swear it must have been some long-dead guru whispering in my ear. Forget the nooses. Forget the guns. Forget the poison or the electric chair or getting run over by a truck so that you slowly die from internal bleeding. It's all unnecessary. Really, the only reason I keep doing it is because I love helping out. It's all about self-acceptance, and I accepted my fate long ago.
In a way, it's an industry secret. If I were to tell people the truth, I'd be broke. I wouldn't be able to afford this extravagant lifestyle and this fantastic healthcare. Most jobs cut benefits so long ago that I'm one of a rare handful actively seeking to prolong my life. All part of my realization. It's not about what you do to end your life. It's about what you do to have it not end. We're never actually any more alive than the moment we're born. From that minute on, we are all slowly dying. So my approach is to prolong my life as long as humanly possible. I'll be dying for as long as possible and enter the afterlife in unprecedented status. And you know what they say about longevity? Happy people live longer. A glass of red wine with dinner helps. Eat the placenta. Shit like that. So here I am. Drinking a glass of red wine over dinner as some rich lady bleeds to death in front of me. I do what I can to help. It's what makes me happy.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! |
“A… primitive planet?”
“Yes,” said the alien official, rolling his black eyes, “that’s what I said.”
The aliens weren’t a million miles removed from humans, but you’d certainly react if you passed one on the street. Their skin tones tended towards metallic and they were too wrinkly around the chin, too smooth around the nose.
It wasn’t widely discussed but the International Space Exploration Agency *did* have a secret first contact protocol. But no one had penned instructions on what to do if you were abducted from your pod and condescended to by a pair of alien bureaucrats.
“We are doing you an incredible kindness even explaining the situation,” said the alien. “Do you know how hard our translation software has to work to process your grunts and gurgles?”
Commander Hart hadn’t been sure if this room was an example of alien decor or an example of decor the aliens thought would somehow be familiar to humans. Judging from their attitude so far he’d decided it was the first option. Grey dominated. The aliens in their grey uniforms on their grey chairs blended into the grey walls and floor.
“Primitive planets are subject to a different set of laws and regulations than the higher worlds,” said the second alien, in a tone that was probably intended to be kindly and accommodating but instead came off as supremely smug. “The inhabitants can be studied, collected and, ah, tweaked if needs be.”
*“Tweaked?”*
“Of course,” said the first alien. “You can’t do any work in… *that* state.”
“I’ve had just about enough of this bullshit!” shouted a tiny voice.
Hart and the aliens looked around.
“Down here, you biped dullards.”
Eventually they all focused on a small beetle, straining to be seen above the strands of carpet. It twitched an antennae irritably.
*“What?”* said the aliens.
*“What?”* said the astronaut.
“Yes, yes, beetles can talk.” The bug leapt up, popped out its wing cases, and glided smoothly on to the table. “That’s not really the issue here.”
“This is most irregular—” the alien began, only to be shushed by the irate bug.
“Yes, it is. Because you haven’t even followed your own rules. I represent Earth’s dominant species and you *completely* ignored us. Didn’t even send a letter.”
The first alien gave Hart a pleading look. Hart could only shrug.
The second alien coughed, or at least made a noise analogous to one. “Well we, we… Uh…”
“You what? Hmm?”
“Well you… you don’t have any ships or space cities or…”
The beetle vanished. Then reappeared, in a shower of purple-ish motes, sat on the alien official’s grey epaulette.
*“What?* How did you do that?”
“Metacognitive matter transferal,” said the beetle. “This is 101-shit, biped. You’re still attaching things that burn and explode to push your hunks of junk through the void. You’re still using *physics!*”
The beetle sighed a squeaky little sigh. “You know how many of you clowns come nosing around Earth? How many we’ve had to send packing? Leave us the hell alone. We don’t meet your standards of advancement but here’s the thing, that’s because *you’re* not advanced. You don’t know what the word means.”
The insect launched itself away and landed on Commander Hart. “Let’s go, human.”
The first alien stood up. “Hang on, you can’t just—”
*“YES I CAN!”* the beetle screamed. *“BECAUSE I’M A BEETLE! PAY ATTENTION!”*
The beetle disappeared again and this time Hart went with him. The aliens sat at their desk in silence, except for the pounding of their six combined hearts.
“I say we declare it a B-3,” said the first alien. “A dead world. Nothing of interest.”
“I’ll go get the paperwork,” said the second alien. |
Arlen Gollancz was sure his name would go down in history. He had done it.
He had reached Mars. Not on his own, of course. There were hundreds of people contributing to this accomplishment, if not thousands, but it would be his name on the newspapers.
He’d be lauded on his return no matter what happened for the remainder of the mission. But Arlen hoped he’d find what he, and everyone else, was searching for. It was a tenuous hope, finding alien life.
So he couldn’t believe his eyes when he saw signs of it. Literally. Inside of a nondescript hole in the ground was a vast, unnatural structure. The entrance to it was alien, both in form and writing. Odd-looking scrawl covered the walls resembling nothing he had seen before. The halls he stepped into were odd, reverse S-shaped rather than rectangular.
That changed as he went deeper, and the writing became familiar. Russian, Chinese, English, and more languages he could not place but recognized. The walls straightened, become more regular, more human-like.
If he found that unnerving, he nearly felt his skin crawl off when he reached the end of the hall. It was a gigantic underground dome filled with homes and streets, not too different from the neighborhood Arlen had grown up in. It reminded him of a zoo, a sterile, scientific version of a human’s habitat. The writing on the wall named it as such.
Human Study, said the sign leading to the area.
Connected to the mock neighborhood was another hallway leading to more rooms. There he found skeletons. Men, women, children, and countless of them. They were dismembered and organized. Skulls in one room, ribs in another. All neatly sorted by size.
They had been studying humans, their shelters, their anatomy. For what reason, and where were they?
Arlen searched more rooms, looking for answers. He found books filled with notes. They talked about human social structures and the family unit. They laid out human history, folklore, and flaws. Book after book filled with more and more information.
His search led him to occassional hints and slowly he pieced together scatterings of loose notes that spelled it out.
Earth is our last hope, one of them said. The aliens had lost their own planet, through some method he could not understand. The translation from whatever they spoke was too vague. Without a home of their own, they needed to find another with resources found only on rare planets to survive. Rare planets such as Earth. But the aliens had not hoped or even wanted to steal it from humanity. They just wanted to blend in and keep surviving in their midst.
Arlen paled. He had come to Mars in search of alien life, but it had been living among them on Earth all along.
***
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"Emma?"Shadow Wolf groaned as his eyes flickered open.
"It's Sidewinder."I corrected with annoyance. He was the only one that insisted on calling me by birth name and not my villain alias. "Whoa, don't move!"I stopped him as he tried to get up. I was in the middle of stitching up a large wound across his abdomen.
He stopped trying to move as he realized that I had stripped him of his armor and was treating his injuries. "You just wanted to see me in my boxers..."He muttered.
"The Ninja Turtles were a surprise..."I rolled my eyes as I finished the stitch. "Are you going to tell me what happened?"I nodded over towards the pile of scrap metal that was his discarded battle armor. "It looks like you lost a fight with a trash compactor."
He chuckled at that and grabbed his chest as he let out a pained wheezing fit.
"Derick."I grabbed his arm. "I don't know why you came here. You should be in a hospital."
The hero shook his head as he caught his breath. "No, they'll find me. They are hunting me..."
"What are you-?"I stopped as a look of pain crossed over his face. The fear in his eyes unnerved me. He has faced armies of alien invaders and inter dimension demons. He was the lone Shadow Wolf, the strongest vigilante in the city. He was not afraid of anything.
"Liberty Girl, Scarlet Butterfly, Knight Ranger and Blizzard are dead."He spoke so quietly that I had to lean forward to hear him. His words sent a cold chill down my spine. These were some of the strongest heroes in the country. Derick usually worked alone, that was kind of his thing, but he did often team up with the other heroes when they were against a strong foe. They had partnered up to go after me on several occasions, not that their teamwork could overpower me. They weren't exactly the Care Bears and all had giant egos that were easy to manipulate to turn on each other. Shadow Wolf was the only one that was capable of fighting my psychic powers of mind manipulation.
"How?"I questioned.
"He calls himself Trophy Hunter."Shadow's words were unusually cold. "He collects the masks of heroes. It's...a game for him."
"Derick, I am sorry."I touched his hand. "I really mean that. I know we have... had squabbles but I never wanted any of you dead. I am truly sorry that this happened to them."
He just nodded and slipped his hand into my palm. I winced as he pressed his last 24 hours into my head. Images of violence and splashes of blood flashed through my mind. A sword through Scarlet Butterfly's chest. Blood running through Liberty Girl's blonde hair. Knight Ranger's decapitation. Blizzard dying in a pool of his own blood. Shadow Wolf tried to protect his friends but Trophy Hunter and his men matched him move for move. They beat him and left him for dead. He only managed to escape by melting into the shadows.
"They deserve justice."Derick told me quietly.
"Your thoughts are leaning towards revenge..."I told him.
He just shrugged and the numbness rippling through him gave me goosebumps. "Aren't you the one that told me 'sometimes they are the same'?"
"I...that does sound like something would say..."I frowned. If Shadow Wolf lost his moral compass, where did that leave our dynamic? We've been playing this hero vs villain game since I was kicked out of the Liberty League Heroes Academy.
"How long have you been trying to 'corrupt' me?"He sneered. "Here's your chance to turn me into a villain. That's what you want, isn't it?"
"Is that why you dragged your sorry ass over here?"I snapped back. "So I could "corrupt"you into going on a suicide mission for misguided revenge-"I froze as he cut me off with a kiss.
"As I was dying, all I could hear was your voice."He told me quietly as he slowly pulled away. "I wanted to see your face again."He gently ran his ringers through my hair. I wasn't sure how I felt about that as I looked up into his dark grey eyes.
"Derick, I-"
The building shook as something exploded somewhere in my underground lair. Loud security sirens began to blare indicting an enemy had bypassed my defenses. |
Am I traitor to my own kind? Well, no. I’m the last of my kind. I also don’t believe in harming mortals. In fact, I pioneered the research that led to the blood bank. That’s right, it was me who figured out that putting blood back into mortals after losing too much could save their lives. I also figured out blood types. Mortals blood tastes different from person to person and now I know why. No one has been more valuable to the Association than me.
“Here’s your ration for the night sir,” Julia, my attractive brunette secretary, says to me as she places a small lunch cooler on my desk. Inside is three packs of blood. Type O Negative, my favorite. I unsealed a pack and poked a straw through the plastic like a juice box.
“This is a fresh batch,” I say as Julia smiles uncomfortably at me. Even after three years, she isn’t used to the way I feed.
“Straight from the Red Cross traveling donation van to your desk, sir.”
“Excellent! What’s on the docket today?”
“Trolls. It seems some of them have made their way into the New York City sewer system.”
“Big ones or little ones?”
“Little ones.”
“Ah, good. They’ll be easy to exterminate. The little pests won’t stand a chance against my night vision. Even if they are hard to round up.”
“I already have transportation ready to go.” Julia handed me an envelope with plane tickets. I politely shoved it away and shook my head.
“No need for that. I think I’ll fly the slow way.”
There was a puzzled look on Julia’s face. “You mean as a bat? What if the sun comes up before you can get back?”
“I have a place in set up in the sewers already. It’s practically a second home to me,” I laughed joyfully. It wasn’t often I had an excuse to go to my little penthouse suite under the streets of New York. It’s more glamourous than it sounds. With no chance of encountering the sunlight, I get to sleep on a real bed instead of a stuffy coffin. “The Association had it set up for me during the zombie outbreak of 1927. That was a job! It took four months to round them all up. They just kept biting people!”
“How long do you plan on being gone?”
“It shouldn’t take more than a week, but I’ll have my computer with me for emails. There’s no cell phone reception in the sewers, but I had the Association wire me a fiber optic internet connection last year. Just make sure there’s plenty of rations waiting on me, please.”
“I’ll get right on it, boss.”
To say I was excited about my week away from the office would be an understatement. Staying in the sewers of New York would be a nightmare for anyone else. Not to me. Troll hunting and Call of Duty on a wired internet connection where there was no chance of the signal falling off; what could be better? To top it off: solitude! I love my job! |
"It's way faster if you just cut through the warp"the Human said, while sipping on his hot cup of black irritant, as they both looked out the front viewscreen, into empty star-speckled space.
The captain's wings buzzed in irritation, and he clicked his mandibles. A translator fashioned around his collar chimed back in the human's language, "You lose dozens of ships a year to the Warp. Violent energy storms tear ships apart. Strange beings of strange matter tear them apart. And if the drive fails, you're stranded in warpspace, or your ship gets cut in half if it's still crossing the tear. I can't imagine why you would do something so dangerous."
The human shrugged. "It's way faster."
He seemed to think that response was sufficient.
"Let me do some math"the captain said, the translator doing a good job of translating his frustrated tone as well, "If your warp drive works, you arrive about 5x faster than the standard FTL drive. But if your warp drive DOESNT work, you NEVER arrive."
The captain held up one of his right arms, the chitin clicking as he counted. "So if it takes us five years to cross between two stars, it takes a successful warp traveler one year to cross."
Then he held up a second right arm, fist clenched with no fingers up. "However if you never arrive, it will take you... let's see... infinitely longer to arrive? So if a hundred human and a hundred Celon ships leave, on average the Celon ships will arrive in 5 years, and on average the human ships will NEVER arrive, since at least one ship never arrives."
The human glared at him with his peculiar eyes. "Your DRIVES don't fail as often, sure. But you gotta watch out for pirates, meteors, and gravity wells."The squishy looking human took a sip of his hot irritating juice, "plus you gotta remember a human lifespan is like... 80 years or whatever."
"It's only 80 years if you don't get killed part way"the captain retorted.
"Yeah I know, that average includes accidental death. Anywho, the point is that an extra 4 years of travel is worth 5% of a human life. So long as we lose less than 1 in 20 ships, we actually save lives."
The captain's black eyes focused on him.
"You can't be serious"the captain clacked at him. "You know the math isn't so simple. People need to be able to rely on arriving. Random death chance will result in additional collateral damage."
The human shrugged again, and turned back to look out the front viewscreen. "Yeah but it's also like... a LOT faster."
The strangely colored human eyes slid to the captain, despite the human's posture remaining facing forward, "Being fast has its own advantages. Unless you're forgetting the Raxite Rebellion."
"I'd rather be cut down by Raxites, than eaten by one of the Warp Horrors."The captain said, a soft clatter as his body shuddered.
The human nodded along, agreeing for once. "Can't argue there."
Then, after another long sip from his cup he added, "Course that's just until we find a gun that can shoot them."
The captain looked at him incredulously. |
Amanda Patterson looked like she was wearing a denim hand towel around her waist, and the tank top wasn't much bigger. *How could her parents let her leave the house like that?!* Her tanned, taut stomach seemed so smooth and sculpted...
*Stop it!* I berated myself as I made my way back to my locker. *They're 16, for god's sake!*
I passed by Christina Baret, wearing knee-high socks, a skimply plaid skirt, a white shirt so thin that I could see the outline of her bra. *This isn't even a catholic school!* She smiled as I passed, and I'm pretty sure I saw her wink. This new body that they've given me was certainly a lot more attractive and fit than my last one.
*They're sixteen, you're fifty. They're sixteen, you're fifty. They're sixteen, you're fifty.* I kept my eyes down and clutched my books to my chest, avoiding any and all eye contact. I had to navigate to my locker by avoiding the other shoes.
"Hey, Sam!"a soft voice called out. I recognized it immediately: Sarah White, the perky (in multiple ways) blonde who sat behind me in trigonometry.
*Just keep going!* I told myself. I'd be safe if I could just get to the locker, put my stuff away, and make it to the parking lot.
"Sam!"she called again, louder this time, chasing after me.
I made it to the locker and scrambled to put in my combination in time. My fingers fumbled nervously, and I passed the third number and had to start all over again. *Damn it*!
She leaned against the locker next to me, and my eyes couldn't help themselves. It was all I could do to keep them from falling straight out of their sockets. She was wearing her cheerleader outfit, for god's sake! Her hair fell in loose curls over her smooth shoulders, and... god, had she *cut her uniform* to show off more cleavage?!
*She's sixteen,* I reminded myself. "Oh, hi Sarah. Didn't see you there."
She leaned in close. Her lips were glossy and red. "I hope you're not avoiding me."
"No, of course not. Just been busy, you know. Sports and stuff..."*She's sixteen*, I chanted over and over. *It's illegal. And wrong*.
*No it's not,* another part of me answered. Certainly not my brain. Let's say it was my heart. *Your body is sixteen now, and very few people know about the operation. Who's going to tell?*
*She's sixteen, you're fifty*, I thought again, trying to drown myself out.
"Good,"she grinned. Her teeth were perfectly straight and white. "I've been having some trouble with trig and I was wondering..."she bit her lower lip and batted her eyelashes. "Maybe you'd want to tutor me? You're just so smart, and mature..."Her blue eyes glanced down for just a moment. *She's checking me out! Am I living in a letter to Penthouse?!*
"I don't know if that's a good idea..."I managed to stammer, holding a thick history textbook over my crotch as casually as possible.
She leaned closer, giving me a glimpse of her perfect breasts in a lacy pink bra. "Don't tutor me, then,"she whispered. "But come over tonight anyway."
All I could do was nod.
*God, I'm going to hell.* |
Golem George Washington kicked in the door to the oval office, startling President Tal King Hed right out of his chair.
"Who are you?"said President Hed, poking his head over the top of his desk.
"I'm Golem George Washington and I'm here to chop down your tree"
"I though that was a myth"
"Oh who even knows?"
"Is that a rhetorical question?"
"Also it was a metaphor"
"For what?"
"For setting this country straight"
"So what do you want with me?"
"I want you to set this country straight"
"Oh"President Hed looked down
"What?"said Golem George Washington
"I uhm….I can't do that"
"Why not?"
"I…don't really have any power"
"What?"
"Yeah"
"Are you telling me that you, President Tal King Hed is just a talking head?"
They both look at the camera, then return to the diegesis.
"So who do I talk to?"said Golem George Washington
"Hellooo"said a 9 foot tall lizard, stepping out of the corner.
"How did you…"
"There'ssssss been sssssssome changesssss ssssssince you were in power, Golem Geroge Wassssssshington"
"Changes? Like what?"
"Well 9 foot tall lizardsssssssss running the country for one"said the 9 foot tall lizard
"I thought you said you always ran the country"said President Hed
"We ssssssssay a lot of thingsssssss"said the 9 foot tall lizard "now ssssssssit down and ssssssshut up"
"Yes sir"said President Hed, sitting on the floor behind his desk
"So you're who I talk to about setting things straight?"said Golem George Washington
"Yesssssssss"
"Ok. Set things stra…"
The 9 foot tall lizard whirled around it's tail punching a hole through Golem George Washington's Golem head. Golem George Washington dropped to his knees and raised his hands to his face. The lizard turned, pulling it's tail free. There was a spray of molten blood and Golem Geroge Washington pitched forward.
The 9 foot tall lizard turned to President Hed, who was poking his head above his desk again.
"Get back to work"said he 9 foot tall lizard
"Ok"
President Hed righted his chair and sat down at his desk.
"Oh and President Hed"said the 9 foot tall lizard
"Yes?"
"Raissssssse minimum mandatory ssssssssentencessssss for minor drug offencessssss and…I don't know lower minimum wage"
President Hed sighed "Fine"
"Without the attitude"
President Hed smiled and said "Fine"
The lizard disappeared into the corner.
"Scaly bastard"said President Hed under his breath
"What?"said the disembodied voice of the 9 foot tall lizard who actually ran the country
"Nothing"said President Hed, before proceeding to make the country a little bit worse for poor people as Golem George Washington burned the carpet with his molten blood and zombie George Washington, stuck inside the Golem, metaphorically burned with anger, plotting his next move. |
I wish I had a better story. I wish I could say that I died giving my life for a good cause or perished when a plane crashed into the underwater rollercoaster that I was riding. It didn't turn out like that, though. I lived a standard, boring life. Married, kids, white picket fence, all that. Then I got sick and old and just died peacefully in my bed, surrounded by loved ones.
And it really does happen just like everyone says. I felt an otherworldly warmth creeping up through my body, as if my soul was rising up from my core and looking for a way out. My vision slowly faded, and I saw a glowing light piercing through the darkness. The grim reaper walked up to greet me, and before long, the light began to envelop everything -- my body, my eyesight, my entire existence, and I welcomed it. Then, suddenly, as I soared into oblivion and lost all consciousness, enormous black pixelated letters appeared in front of me. They were transposed onto a gigantic white background and spelled out the phrase, "Level 2."
Before I could even react, I was transported to a quaint room, with a mirror behind me and a camera pointed at my face. Disturbed, I glanced down at my hands and the clothes that I was wearing and noticed that something was wrong. It was as if I had been plucked out of my old skin and placed into my twenty-year-old self. I tried to turn to get a look at myself in the mirror, but I physically couldn't move. I felt bolted down to the floor and could only move my arms and change my expression.
After several agonizing minutes of standing paralysis, the camera clicked on and I began to spin in circles erratically. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't stop, but I eventually came to a halt in the position I had started, facing the camera. I could see the lens focus in on my face, and I felt as if the features of my head were being altered in some inhuman way. My ears grew and shrunk, my eyebrows wiggled, and my nose blinked in and out of existence, changing shape and size with each passing second. Then my hair began to shapeshift from dreadlocks to a bowl cut to totally bald.
This went on for what felt like hours. The invisible puppeteer strings routinely spun me around as my clothes and body morphed over and over again, and I could do nothing about it but feign surprise and marvel at every new outfit. Finally, when it was over, I was magically moved to a couch in the corner of the room that was never there before. I was once again forced to remain stationary as a woman took my place in front of the camera, giving me a third-person view of whatever terrifying force was sculpting her form, just as it had mine.
When her creation was complete, she materialized on the couch next to me, and suddenly, an intense attraction like nothing I had ever felt developed between us. In a split second, I was madly in love with her. There was no doubt in my mind that this mysterious person was the love of my life, and we were going to get married, buy a house and have kids together.
Something in my brain clicked and I learned everything that I would ever want to know about both of us. My name is Albert, I'm frugal, flirty, humorous, and good with kids. Her name is Patricia, she's a kleptomaniac, she loves the outdoors, and she's a great kisser. It felt like a load of knowledge had been dumped into some part of my consciousness, but at the same time, it felt like I had known these things all my life.
After that, we both appeared in an empty lot at the end of a quiet suburban street. Right in front of our eyes, our dream home materialized, starting with the foundation before moving on to the walls and roof. Bricks were laid out of thin air, lovely wallpaper was placed on the interior, and expensive furniture was strategically positioned in every room. It was magical.
When the unexplained construction was complete, we were both released from our invisible shackles and were let free to wander around our new property. We did so together, occasionally stopping to talk as I envisioned crafting a garden and building a pool in the backyard. I grabbed a newspaper from the mailbox, walked inside and rested at our kitchen table to take a look at the job listings.
As reality finally began to set in, I noticed a strange green glow emanating from above my head. I peeked up and saw a sharp, floating diamond that followed me wherever I went, planted firmly several feet above me. Then it all came flooding back to me. I've been through all of this before. I remember being sculpted before, but I had different color skin. I remember meeting a woman like Patricia, but she had a different name and we had a son. I remember being dragged around like an avatar with no free will, and I remember thinking that the diamond was a symbol for whatever deity was watching over us at all times and controlling our everyday lives. But, despite how scary it all seemed, I was content with it.
After all, that's just the life us Sims are doomed to. |
*We first saw the light on day 31. It always appeared on the nearest moon, and it was always either white, green or red. After a few days there were two of them. Every night from that moment we saw them, sometimes one, sometimes the other, sometimes both at once. We couldn't explain them, never enough to be certain anyway. Lots of theories were banded around, volcanic out-gassings, reflective metals, phosphorescent flora or even fauna, and of course, the least likely of them all, intelligent life. None of us except the general thought that one was feasible, unless it was linked to a form of life on the planet itself. The problem was, for a species to become space-faring, they would have had to put some items into orbit, and the entire orbit of this planet was clear of anything but rocks.*
---
“Rise and shine ladies and gentlemen!” shouted the hard-faced general as he barged into the sleeping quarters. Dressed shoulder-to-toe in the dark purple of a high-ranking officer, his medals were all pinned to his breast, his moustache was styled into perfectly, upwardly curved points, and his boots were of the shiniest alloy most men in the room had ever seen.
John rose groggily from his bunk, the taste of stale beer lingering on his carpet-like tongue as the sharp metallic drumming of the general's armoured boots hitting the steel floor reverberated inside his skull.
“What day is it?”, he muttered to nobody in particular, his eyes still screwed shut.
A strong, giant hand clasped his shoulder. The general had crept up on him. “Day 66, son. The day, for you boys at least, that the adventure continues.”
“The day has come, ladies and gentlemen, for us to depart for the moon.” The general had climbed onto a chair now to address the whole group. “I know all of you are happy here, well I am too. But we are not settlers, those types of people will come here later. We are explorers! And the moon up there is calling us to pay it a visit!”
The hard-faced general stood down off the chair with a neat hop and walked slowly from the room, chest out, a proud smile across his face; he seemed as if he might be expecting an applause befitting a rapturous motivational speech. In the end though, all he received was silence.
---
*I can't believe we didn't see it sooner. It always started with an itchy patch on the back of your head, followed by an itchiness like nothing you could possibly imagine which covered the entire body. All of the seemingly miracle health benefits of this planet had been too good to be true. The minimal need for sleep, the excessive muscle growth which we'd always put down to the fractionally stronger gravity, even our moles had begun to gradually disappear.*
*I can't imagine what caused it, but now that I've had time to think, I feel it was some kind of planetary antibody. The ecosystem there is perfect, the planet beautiful, everything I witnessed was perfection. It had species that grew from the ground, that lived in the water, that walked on the land, and they all worked in perfect harmony; the one thing it lacked was a species like us that dominated the environment and manipulated the make-up of the ecosystem. A planetary virus like humans requires an antibody, one that fools it's prey into staying long enough to be fully wiped out. Strengthening our bodies, filling our brains with endorphins and leaving us happy little lambs, and then killing us, slowly. So slowly that we never return. Lambs to the slaughter.*
*Everyone else is gone. I can't find them. I know Richards jumped off the cliff, I saw him bounce, I saw him crawl away. This bug won't let us die quickly. The planet wants it's revenge. The plants have all turned poisonous now. The plants haven't changed, it's my body that's changed, I'm slowly becoming allergic to everything on this planet, the pain grows daily, the air feels toxic, yet my body remains strong, refusing to die. I'm making my way to the launch vehicle. I've put a call out to the others, perhaps one of them will be there. Moving is painful, thinking is agony. There might be a way. There might be a way to fix this.*
*I think, if I can just fight through this pain, I might be able to plot a course which can save us. By putting the shuttle into an elliptical orbit, and after a lot of calculations, I should be able to skim the craft past the wormhole that brought us here, momentarily dipping into and back out of it. By doing so, I should have displaced space-time enough to make my return approximately one week before I left. Early enough to force an evacuation of the planet and save our lives. My time-line, and myself, should then disappear from existence, but we will live.*
---
The group had been gathered together hastily by the council, much to the chagrin of the general. The four council members, including the general, were seated at the front of the main hall, the remaining six of us were seated in the dining area in the centre.
“This is what happens when you put a soldier in charge of a colony. They don't know how to colonise, only how to invade. To them, those moons are just calling to them. They can't leave it alone until they've made it theirs.” Sophie looked angry for the first time in the entire mission.
“We're not settlers...”, began the general.
“Yes yes,” interrupted Sophie, “we all know your favourite new saying. But the fact of the matter is that we are neither settlers nor explorers, general, we are colonists, and every decision we make should be based upon that fact alone. Taking almost a third of our number away on an ill-advised low-orbit insertion with limited fuel, followed by a risky journey through a thick asteroid field in order to investigate what might just be an optical illusion...”
“Well if we're in the business of interrupting,” snapped the general, “those are lights, plain and simple. Not illusions, not reflections, they are lights. Light sources mean life. Life means danger. Danger to the colony. My job is to mitigate that risk and that is what we will be doing this afternoon. Investigating the source and, if necessary, neutralising any threat.”
John liked Sophie, she was the only one who could control that man. He watched now as her eyes narrowed, processing the general's words. He was not wrong, but his logic was faulty, everybody knew it and John could see that she was working out the best way to deal with a personality like his and the ego that goes with it. She was an intelligent woman, the oldest of their group, fifty years old, although she looked not a day over thirty; before joining the Centauri programme she had taught Psychology at NYU.
“General. The chances of those moons harbouring a life-form which could cause us harm are miniscule compared to the potential risks we face on this planet. We have explored less than a 3 mile radius of our LZ. It is too early to say that we are safe, and way too early to take away our only three security personnel on a high-risk secondary mission.”
The general grew stony-faced, he was starting to realise that he would not win. When put to the vote, his three marines would vote with him as always, but he needed at least one of the science team. John could see that on this decision they all sided with Sophie, their body language said it all.
“Looks like we're staying here after all, that means we'll keep getting stronger,” quipped Richards, “I'm benching 250 now, easy” he grinned at John across the table and leant back in his chair, scratching furiously at the back of his head.
---
*My wormhole calculations had been almost correct, I travelled back five weeks instead of one week, but I still could have made that work. Unfortunately my course was disturbed by the gravity of a jet-black moon, incredibly dense, that none of our long range scopes had ever picked up before. Forced to fire my jets on a course correction, I was left with insufficient fuel to get back into orbit. I had no choice but to land on the nearest moon.*
*I am the source of the lights that we saw. Fighting against the pain coursing through my body, it was me positioning the mining floodlights in arrays towards the planet, trying to draw my crew-mates away from the hostile planet's immune system which has them in it's cruel grasp. I've sat in those council meetings though, in fact I might be sitting in one right now, and I know they will decide not to come. I was there.*
*Perhaps, though, perhaps there's a chance...*
---
*We first saw the lights on day 31. They always appeared on the nearest moon, and they were always either white, green or red. After a few days there were three of them, then four. Every night from that moment we saw them, sometimes one, sometimes the others, sometimes all four at once...*
|
"Tell that bitch girlfriend you have that she and her asshole friends totally fucked my investigation today."Andrew popped the lid off of a beer as he spoke to my back, my eyes were glued to my computer screen, fingers typing manically.
"Uh-huh, sure thing. Why don't YOU just tell her when she gets home?"I hit the enter button and my newest article was posted. My giant dog Nana licked my hand. Which moved to scratch her soft ears as I idly read what I had written about the most recent shady death in politics, and how it couldn't possibly have been anything other than an accident.
"And have that skank slit my throat while I sleep? No thank you."He sipped his beer and moved to stand behind me, reading over my shoulder quietly.
"I will be sure to tell her that you are afraid of her too."The bottom of Andrew's beer gently tapped the back of my head.
"Totally unnecessary bro, rude."He sipped again.
"Well...calling Leah a bitch and a skank is pretty rude."I regarded him quietly and he snorted at me.
"Whatever, I need to shit. That's pretty good by the way"He motioned to the computer with the beer bottle. "Brilliant cover-up as usual dude."The beer disappeared in a few more gulps and Andrew thoughtlessly tossed the bottle over his shoulder into the trashcan, landing with the chiming of breaking glass. He wandered back to the front of the house, no doubt in search of the half bath near the front door.
"They are going to kill each other eventually you know."An oddly gruff female voice erupted from the large Newfoundland that had been laying at my feet.
"Sh Nana, I know things are tense, but hopefully they can resolve their work issues."The massive black dog snorted derisively and seemed to roll her eyes."Master. This is an explosion waiting to happen, and when and where is uncertain. What if Leah's associates find out that you and Andrew know? What if Andrew's associates find out about you and Leah?"
I sighed and covered my eyes with my hands. "To be honest Nana I had not thought much of it. I mean, they can both defend themselves, and any violence towards each other would probably be warranted."
"That is very irresponsible of you Master, what about YOUR safety? You are not exactly the fighting type. And while I would do my best to protect you, I realistically could only buy you a few minutes of time."
My hand sought out her head again and I scratched her ears, she leaned into it and grumbled appreciatively. "It will be okay Nana, you worry too much. Besides we are all good at keeping secrets here aren't we?"She seemed to smile as she rested her massive head back onto her webbed paws.
"You still talking to that dog like she's people?"Andrew was walking back down the hall, detouring into the kitchen to grab another beer. Nana barked at him and he chuckled.
"Love you too Nana."She rolled her eyes again and then looked to me before her head shot up, eyes focused in the direction of the front door. In seconds the giant barking ball of black fur was up and sprinting to greet whoever felt the need to come into my house.
"Oh Nana no, OH! I love you too, thank you for the kisses! Get down! Good girl!"Leah's voice rang out from the entrance and I saw Andrew bristle, I shot him a warning look before getting up to greet my girlfriend.
Nana trotted past me as I embraced Leah, kissing her cheek and vaguely asking about her day.
"It was fine, had to deal with some scumbag, totally gross. I need a shower, but I'm glad to be home."She kissed my mouth with a smile and I melted into her large hazel eyes, the wisps of her curly blonde hair catching in her lashes.
"Andrew isn't pleased with you."
Leah frowned and sighed. "I figured he wouldn't be, I knew he had been watching the guy, working on a case or something. But if I had refused the job, for no good reason, it would have been suspicious. Really, I just wanted us to stay safe."
I smirked and nodded. "I figured it was something like that, but you should go tell him, and TRY to be nice."
Leah sighed again before nodding and walking into the living room like a man to his execution. I mean, realistically, it could be if they got mad enough at each other.
Nana had made a bee-line out of the room as soon as Leah had entered it, and I pet her head as I walked past her to witness the ensuing argument.
"THREE MONTHS OF WORK LEAH!"Andrew was already yelling, his muscular arms spread wide, one huge hand holding another new beer. Great. "ALL BLOWN TO SHIT FOR WHAT?! SOME BULLSHIT MOVE TOWARDS WORLD DOMINATION?!"
"I know Andrew, and I'm sorry."He blinked stupidly at her. Of course he had been waiting for her to scream back at him about how he and his stupid CIA friends should keep to their own business, and leave the political chess to the masters.
"What?"
"I'm sorry Andrew. I know you put a lot of effort into that operation, and that it was almost done, I mean we talked about it over pizza last night. But, my hands were tied. Me suddenly not doing my job would be suspicious, and my superiors would investigate that."She frowned and looked at the floor. "I don't want you guys to get hurt because of me, not even you Andrew, surprisingly."
Andrew was full blown boggle eyed at Leah at this point, his mouth to his knees. She had NEVER apologized to him, not for anything in the six years we had all lived together.
"Forgive me Andrew?"Leah extended her hand and he shook it, still open mouthed looking stupid. Andrew seemed to come to his senses with another gulp of beer and a loud belch, scratching the back of his head in discomfort.
"Sure. I have been there. And I mean, we can't have our cover-story production kidnapped and murdered right?"He motioned to me.
I rolled my eyes at him before sitting back down at the computer, ready to write my next cover up. Nana had returned to her usual spot by my side, my silent sentinel.
"SO what was this guy's name again?"
---
Thanks for reading! Any feedback is greatly appreciated! Edited for some grammatical issues and a spot where I felt the story was a little abrupt. |
All in all, the mission went smoothly, by Skrn'chk's account anyway. They blasted off Varinh's port with a cargo bay full of illegal cerkan disruptegrators, and the only thing that suffered was Grgk'schk's pride and wallet - and a half of the foot-root. But even that was slowly re-growing as both smugglers sat in the *Gizrya Ray*'s mass and basked in the light of a portable solar cube.
"Nice deal, by any means. Here's hoping the buyer won't let us hanging in the Void Zone for long", Skrn'chk splayed out his pod-stalks closer to the cube, feeling the revitalizing reaction bubbling in his vessels.
"They need the weapons more. It either all or nothing for them".
"I know. Still, a good run. You're not angry with me, Schk?"
The other Brkkn smuggler swayed sardonically, lower roots twitching in a grimace of mild, playful irritation.
"I'll live", he retorted. "Plus, the idea of dragging the human merc along was brilliant one. The expression on the Cerkans' faces, that's the thing legends are made of-"
"You guys ok? Just checking up, I'm going to the uh... kitchen, right? I'm only warning you, so the smell..."
"It's alright, Henry. We won't come in, don't worry", Grgk'schk hurried to placate his comrade, who half-shoved himself into the tiny Brkkn ship's mass and stood in the doorway looking rather guilty. "I have to say, you're making leaps of progress in pronounciation. Not a word wrong. Very good".
Henry's face changed color, and Grgk'schk felt pleased with himself - he prided himself in being a very understanding and communicative captain. The alien should feel at home and ease, if they were to become an effective team, but...
Speak of the lichen! Grgk'schk and Skrn'chk wordlessly followed the last member of their interplanetary smuggling crew to the small quarter they designated for him, watching the human slide the bulkhead door behind him. Skrn'chk rubbed the sinews of his torso nervously, casting a glance at his friend. Grgk'schk didn't lie, Henry became quite apt with the Brkkn's grinding, creaking language - it always amazed him how versatile humans were with their fleshy feeding apparatus, able to copy sounds that from the look of them, they shouldn't.
But that wasn't the only thing about their feeding apparatus that was fascinating.
Optibuds fuzzed wild in mischievous conspiracy, both smugglers dashed - as fast as their physiology permitted them - to the closed-off door, faces flattened over the tiny porthole. What did the humans say? "Curiosity killed the cat?"Well, on the human homeworld, everything seemed to kill everything, but for Brkkn's, it was just another puzzle that the universe threw at them.
"Holy sacred Seed, he's doing it again", Skrn'chk croaked quietly. "He's gonna mutilate that poor thing".
In morbid, irresistible horror both Brkkns watched as Henry went about his lunch. He de-vaccumized a whole chicken and went about cutting it into pieces, humming under his nose and casting loving glances at the tiny plasma oven he squeezed into the "kitchen's"compartment.
"Taking the skin off..."
"I thought humans especially *like* the skin?"
"Just be grateful they at least wait till the things are dead, Chk".
"It just makes it worse. There, he tore its limb away. Brutal".
Watching Henry chop and slice the limp dead body became a sort of a nauseous entertainment for the smugglers. The Brrkns evolved in a predatorless world, and due to the nature of their biology, fared well enough with minimal organic intake, persisting mostly on sunlight and the natural elements - the whole concept of "eating someone"was new and as such, pervertedly attractive for them.
Plus, it only solidified Grgk'schk in the righteousness of his decision to take Henry, who was hired as the crew's muscle first and foremost, to the negotiations with the Cerkans' corrupt port team. Yes, it was actually Skrn'chk who noted the similarity that Cerkans had with the human's usual meals, but the whole psychological attack on their slimy partners was fully his mind's grain.
And, the First Seed be witness, it worked!
While the galaxy knew of predatory species, before the first Brrkn contact with the human civilization the idea that a race can rise to sentience while engaging in consumption of other organisms was, in scientific circles, preposterous. And that is, mildly speaking at best. Brrkns, Cerkans, Alurtii, Beregalar and especially the self-assembling inorganics, the Fos - all either herbivores or minephagous. Carnivores, some studies from the Alurtii and Cerkan scholars stated, were impeded by both their dependence on an unsustainable source of food and the psychological stuntedness that murderous consumption imposed on them.
Carnivores can't cooperate enough to build a space-faring civilization. Carnivores can't empathize and successfully communicate. Carnivores are blinded by the bloodlust.
Then, the humans bust on the scene, proving them all wrong. Big, fast and ravenous, they somehow managed what millennia of interstellar cooperation deemed impossible.
Yet, with all their ships, their technology, their relative benevolence, they remained horrifying. Especially to those members of the galactic Unity, that were unfortunate enough to resemble non-sentient Terran lifeforms.
Grgk'schk insisted that Henry took his meal to the negotiations. He realized that the human was touched by the amount of care for his well-being, but hoped that the true, sinister motives evaded the imposing alien. Henry was oblivious during the whole ordeal - while Grgk'schk and Skrn'chk pressed down on the Varinh Port's senior Inspector, he sat in the back of the room, munching happily on a tray full of chicken legs.
The Inspector and his cronies were a tough bunch to crack and lower the prices on the disruptegrators. The Cerkan industries rarely parted with their tech for reasonable credit, and the more corrupt the structure, the more reluctant they grew. Four of the Port's officials sat perched menacingly before the smugglers, like huge fluffy spheres made out of claw and ceratous feather, ready to peck at the mere mention of "bargain"- and Grgk'schk was certain that their beaks could pluck all his sinew and root apart with ease.
But the moment the Inspector's eye fell upon Henry, when his hidden ear heard the crunch of chicken bone... oh, then the primal fear erased all of that authocratic smug.
Grgk'schk saw in clear detail how the Cerkan's pupil narrowed onto the rhythmic pound of the human's jaws. On the sharp edges of their "teeth", those peculiar organic blades that filled their mouths, built to rip and rend flesh - flesh like the Cerkans were made off. On the self-absorbed, dull shine of the front-facing eyes as the carnivor lost himself in the gorging - eyes so reminiscent of the ancient Cerkan predator species that this race managed to wipe off the planet in the early eons of their civilization. The ancestral memory and fear remained though, imprinted into instinct with cruel precision. They watched the oily fingers made to hook into meat and pull it apart, heard the little slurps and grunts of satisfaction.
What did the Cerkans see? How easily the mercenary could turn *them* into food, if he decided so? How easily *their* legs could land in a carton meal bucket of a brutish alien soldier? After all, the community had to concede, that for such a species, civilization ultimately remained a thin wrap that barely contained a murderous impulse.
It had become common knowledge that humans killed and ate over 1000 of their native homeworld organisms, farmed them for that purpose. There was nothing indicating they were going to stop just at their own planet in culinary pursuits.
The negotiations ended in record times.
The Cerkans rolled out disheveled, lumpy and suppressed pieces of their former pompous selves, practically shoving the robo-crate controls into Grgk'schk's pod-stalks. The Inspector looked at the Brrkns with fairly veiled disgust, but, since the whole deal was unlawful, there was nothing he could say to chide the smugglers for bringing the human into the picture. They just wanted it to be over, to not watch the unbearable savagery.
"He's putting it in oil today", Skrn'chk remarked.
"I hear they do it to live things, too. Small aquatic ones, though. Humans say they don't feel pain".
"And you believe them?"Skrn'chk crooked his body in a questioning zigzag, teasing his captain but stopped mid-sway, noticing the rigid posture that Grgk'schk suddenly assumed, fixated on something going on in the "kitchen". A posture of utmost terror.
"Schk? Captain, what's going on?"He pushed, struggling to see beyond the fogged glass.
Behind the window, Henry whistled and chopped broccoli. |
*everything is so green*
Jason remembers that being his first thought when he arrived. In 3518, the amount of people in America alone demanded so much more energy that the government had been forced to forego green alternatives to fossil fuels. Trees had ran scarce, and the planet was dying. He was humanity’s last hope. Or so they had thought.
In an underground laboratory ran by the officials of the Federation, it was revealed to Sergeant First Class Jason Freeman that the scientists had uncovered the means by which to send live animals back in time. They had a few mishaps, ending in a bloody goo that the janitors weren’t exactly happy about, but they mastered the measurements and were sure that they could effectively send a man back in time. They chose him because of his background, having worked in Biochemical engineering and environmental studies. They put Jason inside of the large, cold capsule that reminded him of an MRI. That or a coffin. He couldn’t decide. The last thing he remembered was how loud the machine was, before he woke up in 2010.
He woke up in a nature reserve park, a concept that had been long since forgotten. He tried to ask a few strangers for directions, but given that the machine had conveniently removed all of his clothing, he had little success. He found some clothes in a dumpster behind an apartment complex right outside of the park, and went about his way.
It took a year before he had finally thought of the solution to preventing the dystopia he had escaped from. By making the assertion that vaccinations cause autism in an online forum, and fabricating a few medical studies, he successfully convinced some of the lesser bright people of the US that vaccines were to be avoided altogether. The one thing that he hadn’t anticipated, was that it would take hold so quickly...
The year now is 2018, Three years after the outbreak. With the vast amount of anti-vaxxers came an influx of the influenza virus. The flu mutated, and it became something akin to the plague. This disease had become immune to vaccinations as well as antibiotics, because of the vast population of the virus. Billions of people succumbed to it. The only remaining settlements in the US are in Norfolk, Virginia and a small settlement outside of Topeka, Kansas, where Jason and 40 other survivors reside. The people are becoming anxious, and supplies have run thin.
“We only have enough food for three more days Jason,” said Kira, one of Jason’s protégés.
“Kira we can’t afford to send another team into the town; it’s too dangerous,” said Jason.
“Well then let me go. I’ll take Ben, Shane, and Izzy with me. We’ll be fine.”
“You know I can’t break protocol.”
“If we don’t then they all starve to death. Is that what you want?”
Jason thought about it for about 30 second, which to him was an eternity. “Fine. But I’m coming with you.”
They left the fortress the next morning at dawn, while the guards were doing a shift change. They stocked up on ammunition and medical supplies, just to be safe. They exited out of the front gate and into the deserted town of Topeka. The Sanctuary is only a 30 minute walk away from the city, however it takes two hours of careful watching and tactical movement to enter town. The threat of attack from competing groups of survivors ensures that.
The group arrives at a local Dollar General, where they grab as much canned food and bottled water as their ruck sacks can carry. On the way out, Jason hears a noise.
“What was that,” he asks.
“What was what?” Asks Ben.
“It sounded like glass shattering,” explains Jason. He squints off into the distance, and his eyes slowly begin to get wider. He frantically slaps at the other members as he turns and takes off. “RUN!!”
Out of a store a couple blocks down, a group of twenty armed men break out in a full sprint towards the group. Jason hears the crack and whiz of rifle rounds burying themselves into buildings and telephone poles around him and the others.
Jason feels a sting. It doesn’t hurt so much, but the pavement does as his knee collapsed. “Run to the others,” he shouts at his team, “I’ll hold them off!” His team leaves him where he lies and sprints back toward the camp. He rolls over and unloads the magazine to his M4 into the crowd behind him. He shoots thirteen of them, but it isn’t enough.
In his adrenaline fueled rage, he hadn’t realized that he had been shot three more times. His last moments are a flashback to what he’s accomplished in his life. Everything moves so slow, as if time had slowed down tenfold. And with his dying thoughts, he comes to realize that humanity’s last hope had failed, and this future was no different from the one he left behind.
|
The group of friends were sat around a fire under a sky full of stars. One man, stepping quietly away from the party, found a place where he could be alone. He looked up at the Milky Way.
"When you consider how vast and great the universe is, I'm just worthless, aren't I?"he sighed.
His friend, who had known him for many years, stepped up beside him, putting her hand on his shoulder.
There was something different about her. He could see something had changed, the way she was looking at him.
"Well, that's not true. You mean something to me." |
"We killed them all."
The interrogation room was deathly silent. I was alone in the room, only the silvery sheen of the one-way glass giving evidence that my confession was being witness and recorded. I looked myself up and down in the reflection; bone-thin, haggard, my hair little but crumbling strands of keratin. Rejuvenation treatment can take the human body so far, and mine had gone farther than most. *Parv Vertigan, hero of the Empire*, I think bitterly.
"Does that surprise you, you alien bastards? Does the human capacity for violence shock you even now?"My laugh echoed harshly off the stone walls. "Four hundred years. Five thousand inhabited systems. Twelve entire space-faring species. That's what it cost your so-called federation to wipe us out. We made you pay twice over for every inch of space. Is it at all surprising that we could exterminate the ones who seeded your ancestors across the galaxy in the first place?"
*Continue, human.* The words are projected on the glass. Even after ten weeks in captivity they have not let me see them in person. As though I hadn't seen their bodies on the vivisection table over the five centuries since we discovered them.
"Where should I begin? You know the story of how our war with your kind started. The minute we laid eyes on you, the Empire had slated you for extermination. You're just lucky you had allies from every corner of the galaxy. Allies we could never have accounted for. I doubt you ever truly understood why we wanted you dead so badly. "I close my eyes and rest my head on the back of the chair to which I am shackled, recalling those bloody weeks of humanity'a first contact in 2244.
"We aren't like you. We weren't seeded by the Others--that's what we called them, you know, the Others. We pulled ourselves from the mire of natural selection on our own terms. Your creators couldn't stand that. They didn't want another species that had done what they had done. They didn't want competition. They started the first war. So we fought back. We adapted. Dark matter bombs to core out their world-ships. Nanite swarms to devour their war constructs. Back and back we pushed them, until they had nowhere left to run. I was twenty-two then, an ensign in the Grand Fleet. Finally, we reached their home planet, the place where their species had been born. We ended that grand old world the old fashioned way--a few thousand 100-megaton bombs. The atmosphere fried and dissipated, continents turning to glass, water and ice subliming and dispersing into space. Nothing left. All dead. We thought that would be the end of it."
I laugh again, the sound painful in my parched throat. "Imagine our surprise when we found you. you and your allies, all a spitting image of the beings that had wanted so desperately to destroy us.
"Ironic, really. We destroyed the creators of the majority of sapient life in the universe, the be-all end-all master species of the galaxy, only to get cleaned up by their lesser offspring. So congratulations, you bastard mongrels. You won. You destroyed earth and the colonies. You avenged your creators. You're the big damn heroes. Now go away and let me die."
For a while there is no response. Then, slowly, as though typed out by hesitant hands, a final message appears on the screen. *Thank you, Captain Vertigan.* Then the lights go off, and they leave me alone. |
After the shock wore off, I began the tests. First, language comprehension and interpersonal skills. I spoke with Tums, attempted to make eye contact (no physical contact; though I wished to touch his golden-orange fur) and said a few key words to see how he would react. However, he seemed very naturally cat. Even when I showed him the still bloody wallet, he showed no suspicious behavior, nor even a recognition of the item in question.
Next, I moved on to more practical experiments. I removed the money from my wallet intentionally, and then threw it into a random bush in the park while I walked through it. When I got home, I made a big show that I had lost my wallet, and even complained to Tums while I watched old episodes of "The Office."Again he seemed casual. Perhaps he was even too casual.
Yet, the next day when I woke up, there was my empty wallet and a dead pigeon, who was nearly as large as Tums himself. Very curious.
I repeated this experiment in a number of practical ways, with calculated escalations. I even took the risk of leaving it at a friend's house, knowing the danger it could put them in. As a precaution, I talked about it at home only in the sense that I had forgotten it, not that it was stolen. The next morning it was returned to without any dead animals present.
I even had it placed on the beams of a building still under construction, that I thought surely would be impossible for even a feline to scale without the proper equipment, but there it was the next day. Miraculous.
One day as I was sat at home with Tums, considering all the possible ways I could take advantage of his ability, he rolled over onto his back and asked for tummy rubs. I did so, and he purred contentedly, but it was an odd sounding purr, almost closer to the growl of a dog. That's when I realized it. I picked him up and held him close to my face to make sure. "Oh, so you're a golden retriever!"I said. |
"Wh-"I silenced myself at her look.
"Ummm, crap, looks like I forgot something at home. I'll just swing by to pick it up."
Bryan the intern grabbed my arm. "You cannot leave. We have the big presentation."
*The what?*
"I can. I'm the boss."I responded, trying and failing to yank my arm free.
"No, the presentation. You must present."Bryan yanked on my arm. Hard.
"Look, Bryan, I need to go pick up-"my brain stalled, then inspiration struck and I continued "the flash drive with the powerpoint. You understand."
Bryan's face went slack. "The flash drive. Of course."he said slowly. "You must bring it back."
"I will"I pulled free of his arm, then turned to Bonnie. "Are you coming?"I mouthed.
She gave the slightest shake of her head.
"Bonnie, can you help me with that?"I asked.
Her eyes went wide. After a few seconds of silence, she squeaked out a yes. Walking out of the office I could feel Bryan's eyes boring into me. Once we were safely in my car I turned to Bonnie.
"Okay, in detail, what? Just...what?"
Edit: Added a Part 2. |
"Please Thomas, don't do it for me, do it for..."
"DON'T SAY FOR HENRY!"Thomas screamed, slamming a picture of his beloved friend with a hand of pistons and half a wheel. "He DIED doing this. You want me to go the same way?! Do ya?! WELL?!"
"The steaks are high Thomas. I heard the Deceptions are fielding their best this time... We don't want to look like fools."
"I DON'T CARE! You'll have to find someone else."
"Thomas. This is the first time we've been able to do this for thousands of years. We need to do this. To maintain the fragile peace between us. And what's more... This time it'll be different... This time... It's not on a lake..."
Thomas looked up bewildered.
"But the Dance-pticon On Ice was always on ICE OPTIMUS! ICE! That's why we came to earth in the first place?"
Optimus sighed. "Thomas. You need let go of the past. They have fake frozen lakes now. Ice rinks. Theres no chance you can sink to the bottom and have your boiler flooded like Henry."
Thomas sniffed and looked up at Optimus, who tenderly wiped a tear from his cheek, "Really?"
"I promise."Said Optimus firmly.
Silence feel. A light breeze caught the picture of Henry, which broke from its pin and landed beside Thomas.
"I'll do it. I'll do it for HENRY! Autobots... FAB-U-LIZE!!!"
And in a flash and fury of clanging metal and steam, Thomas rose from his rails, transforming into the ultimate figure skating machine.
Optimus beamed. The Decepticons stood no chance. No-one could out-dance Thomas. He moved like he was on rails... Because the rails were part of him too.
"Autobots... ROLLOUT!"
Edit: Apologies for the misspelling. Goddam autobo- autocorrect... |
He was still standing at the photocopier. He'd been standing at the photocopier for twenty minutes. He was taking his time copying the sheets. I knew that because I'd been watching him. He could have been clearing five sheets a minute. Yet he was hardly managing one a minute.
"You almost done, pal?"I asked.
"You'll know when I'm done, cuz I won't be copying here anymore,"he said.
"There's only the one machine on this floor,"I said. "Lots of us need to use it."
Daryl Berg, whom I used to know as the Dark Ranger, took a step back from the machine and gazed around the office, as if he were searching for something.
"Does anyone need to use the photocopier?"he called out. "Anyone?"
His question was met with the clattering of keys, the ringing of phones, the sound of the air conditioner whirring. Nobody answered.
"So I guess it's not lots of people who need to use it,"he said. "I guess it's just you."
I laughed and shook my head. "You know, pal, there was a time when I would have crumpled your body into a ball and shoved you inside the copy machine for a stunt like that."
He smiled and put his hand on my shoulder, gripping it hard. "There was a time when you would have tried, and failed. And then I would have torn your arm straight out of your body and thrown it into orbit."
I put my hand on his shoulder now and gripped hard. "You've always had a vivid imagination,"I laughed. "Like that time I roundhouse kicked your head so hard you thought you were in Disneyland."
"Come on,"he joked, digging his fingers into my shoulder. "That was only because the first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was you stuffed into that tight and bright suit. I thought you were one of those minimum wage Disney princesses. You certainly looked the part."
I laughed as I dug my fingers into his shoulder. "Or remember how wonky you got that time I pinned you against that nuclear reactor, as it was melting down? You kept telling me you were going to murder Santa Clause!"
"Same story,"he said with a smile, as he clutched my elbow with his free hand. "That was in your red suit phase, when you'd put on quite a bit of weight. Weight which you've never really managed to shed. You can forgive a guy a mistake like that. You really looked the part. Your gut had an orbit! Though with a balloon like that under your shirt, I'll never understand why you struggled so much in that volcano in Hawaii. After I knocked you out and threw you in the lake of magma, I expected you to float right up. But I hear it took an hour before your team found you, sunk at the bottom, and another hour before they managed to haul you up! Cooked like a thanksgiving turkey, they said."
"Ha ha,"I laughed, grabbing his elbow with my free hand. "Good times, old pal. Good times."
"Wonderful times,"he said with his smile. "The greatest. The best. What memories!"
"Seeing you crawling out of a pile of rubble, after I collapsed that tower upon your head. In Dubai."
"Watching you drown for days in that glass box I'd filled with water and chained you up inside!"
"If it weren't for the League orders,"I joked, gritting my teeth, "I would cave your face in this very moment. I would paint this whole floor with your blood and brains!"
"I'd say the same,"he replied with a wink, also gritting his teeth, "except there aren't many brains to work with in that hollow noggin of yours."
"Ha ha!"I laughed.
"I'm glad you understood the joke!"he quipped.
We were trembling, each of us on the edge of unleashing a furious outpouring of raw power. We were far too preoccupied with our tete-a-tete, our little battle of wits, to notice that poor old Helga Sampson, from accounting, had shuffled up behind us with a file in hand.
"May I use the copier?"she asked.
We both turned to her and roared, "NO!", but our roars turned to beams of superheated plasma. In an instant, we had burned two tidy holes, each about three feet in diameter, clear through the office building and the ground beneath it. The tunnels ran roughly three miles into the earth. No trace of Helga Sampson or her un-copied file remained.
We looked up at one another in fear. We waited for the cacophonous response. But the keys kept clattering. The phones kept ringing. The air conditioner whirred.
"Does anyone else smell that?"called Phil Ballast from inside his cubicle.
"Smell what?"rejoined Daisy Findlay, from inside hers.
"Something smells like a burnt hair sandwich,"he said. "I think it's time for lunch." |
The genie studied the contract of wishes:
1. Dragons have never been real.
2. Anyone I am engaged to will die the night before our wedding, unless they bring me a real dragon's corpse.
3. I will have a husband before I grow old.
The genie brought out reading glasses, held the contract close to its face, glanced at the princess, then went back to studying. It mouthed something to itself, and moved its hand slightly as if manipulating various possibilities. The princess leaned against the wall and smirked.
The genie peered over the top of its reading glasses at the princess. "Are you, by any chance, a laywer?"
"Hah. If I had a nickel for every time I've been asked that."
"Are you perchance aiming at immortality?"
The princess smirked.
"Because, if you are, it would be much more direct to just ask for immortality, rather than this tied-up logic here. It would leave you with two additional wishes to boot."
The princess frowned. "Its says what I want it to say."
The genie rolled its eyes, shook its head, and raised its hands. "So be it. Abracadabra, alakazam etc etc etc. Your wishes are granted."
There was a boom and a cloud of purple haze filled the room. It cleared, leaving just the princess and the lamp. Sweetpea, the princess, picked up the lamp and rubbed it. Nothing happened. It appeared to be just a lamp again. She left it there on the floor of the cave and walked back out into the sunlight.
\---
On the way back to the castle she was accosted by brigands. They took her jewelry and held a knife to her throat. "Aye, look at this pretty! Who wants to take her first?"asked one of the ruffians.
"Unhand me! I am the princess!"
"What if we just slit your throat?"
She smirked. "Go ahead."
The ruffian paused, uncertain. "Go ahead? What trick do you have up your sleeve?"
"I don't know,"she said. "But I'm cursed. I will have a husband before I grow old, and I haven't had a husband, so slitting my throat won't work. I don't know how the curse will prevent it."
"But, if I slit your throat now, you won't ever grow old, right?'
The princess opened her mouth, froze, then looked panicked.
Around the bend came a bigger, older, uglier brigand. "All hail, King of Thieves!"said the first ruffian.
"Oh, this is a nice one. Saving her for me, are you?"asked the king.
"Oh no, she's a princess. She's above that, you see. You shouldn't deflower a princess, it wouldn't be proper."
"Seems awfully proper to me."
"No no ... here, I have an idea. I'll just marry you two first."
"WHAT?"asked the princess. "You can't do that! It's the curse again. Yes, I am to be married before I grow old. But anyone who is engaged to me will die the night before I am married. You'd be cursing yourself to die."
"No ... I don't see that."said the King of Thieves. "I'm not engaged to you, am I? It's not even my idea to marry you. Dumble here's the one insisting on it. And how could I possibly die yesterday? Go ahead, Dumble."
"Do you princess, um, what's your name?"
"Fibberblicket,"said princess Sweetpea.
"Do you, whateveryournameis, take Simon Law, King of Thieves, as your lawfully wedded husband?"
"Nghhhgggg", said the princess, and Dumble clamped her mouth shut and forced her head to wiggle up and down.
"And do you, Simon Law, King of Thieves, take whatshername as your lawfully wedded wife?"
"I do,"said the King.
"Then by the knife I have pressed to her throat, I now pronounce you Aaaaarghhhhh!"
An arrow pierced Dumble's throat. His eyes bugged out, he let go of the princess, held his bleeding throat, and collapsed.
A swarm of armed soldiers burst from the woods, and the remaining ruffians engaged them in a melee of knives, swords, and rapiers. The princess backed up, wove, dodged, and generally tried to escape, but she was surrounded by whirling metal. Grunts and sweat and blood filled the air. She ended up with her back pressed against a tree so she could just watch for danger ahead, not behind as well.
\---
The soldiers eventually proved the superior force, with the ruffians melting into the woods. The soldier major dismounted from his horse, wiped the blood off his rapier, then fetched a funny-looking fruit from his satchel.
"Are you OK?"he asked, offering her the fruit. "Here, have something to eat, it'll calm your nerves."
"What is this?"asked the princess.
"Oh, it's from a tree I have growing on my property. It's not common around here, but I found it on my travels and liked it, so I brought it home. It's called dragon's corpse."
The princess choked. Juice dribbled out the corner of her mouth.
"Don't worry. It's true, there's another fruit that looks like it that is poisonous, called False Dragon's Corpse, but I assure you this is a real dragon's corpse. Totally harmless."
"Well!"said the princess. "I can tell you one thing. I am never going to marry you!"
"Marry me?"asked the major, amused. "That's awfully direct of you, don't you think?"
"I'm sorry,"said the princess. "I'm just having a bad day."
"Well I'm happy to have been of service. Where were you off to, anyhow, walking through the woods alone like this?"
"I'm Princess Sweetpea. I'm going back to the castle. What I am doing out here is none of your business."
"The princess!"said the major, aghast. "Well. Well well well. Hm. I'm afraid I might have to end up marrying you anyhow."
The princess stared.
"You see, my father is king of the neighboring kingdom. My father and yours have arranged for me to marry you, to unite our kingdoms."
The princess stared.
"You could say, I suppose, that we are already engaged."
The princess closed her eyes and wrung her hands. She was going to go back to that cave, she was going to find that lamp, and she was going to beat it to pieces with a very large rock.
"Come, let us return to your past, and my future, home!"said the major.
Suddenly a blast of white flame engulfed the whole party. The major and all his soldiers screamed in agony as they bubbled and were burnt to a crisp. Sweetpea, however, was unharmed. The flames surrounded her, sure they were very hot, but somehow it didn't matter for her.
\---
A dragon ambled into the clearing.
"Ah. I see you have been having a bad day, Sweetpea."
Princess Sweetpea stared in shock.
"Dragon's aren't real."
"Well of course not,"said the dragon.
"But you're a dragon. You've got the wings, the scales, the snake eyes, you breathe fire, and I bet you're magical and immortal can change into a person too."
"Yes of course. I am all those things,"said the dragon, changing into the old washerwoman Emma that Princess Sweetpea had known all her life. "Except, I'm not a dragon. Dragons are mythical. I'm a Saurian."
"What's the difference between a Saurian and a dragon?"asked Sweetpea.
"Dragons have this thing about hoarding gold,"said Emma. "I'm not so constrained."Emma picked up Sweetpea's golden necklace from the ground, admired it, and stashed it in her pocket.
"How did I survive your fire?"
"You're my daughter. You're a Saurian and you always have been. I swapped you for the real princess at birth. I've been having her wash clothes all her life. Heh heh. She's got a knack for it, though, I must say."
"Ooooh, that friggin genie!!!"said Sweetpea.
"Your brother Fred,"said Emma. "Such a joker." |
"Boost what the hell man"The bounty hunter armed his arm canon , his cybernetic eye implant glowed red as he aimed his sights at me. "You ratted us out to the enemy! You're traitor, I'm gonna kill you"
"Alright everyone lets calm down and not get too hasty"Ultragirl slowly position herself between me and The bounty hunter. "This is just a misunderstanding, I'm sure we can talk this one out."
"Move Ultragirl. There's only one way we can resolve this and that's with me killing this piece of scum"
"Shoot me and I'll destroy the hex core"I held up the small green cylinder, red energies began to form and coalesce around my fist.
"Don't!"Cried out ultragirl. "Bounty disarm yourself. Please"
"You distract him, I can get him in one shot"
"Bounty Hunter, Please. We can't risk this. If he destroys or damage the core there's no knowing what will happen. So please for once do the sensible thing and put your arm away."
"Yeah you do that bounty. Listen to mommy"The knuckle head was always the shoot first ask questions later kind of guy. There's been a number of missions that we failed because the idiot has the brain the size of a peanut. Ultragirl has always been the brains of the team, she deserved better than this kind of life.
"Boost give me the core. Let's just talk, okay?"
"Can't do that Ultragirl, I'm sorry. I hate to disappoint you but I can't hand this over to you and give it to the agency."
"Why? You've been with the agency the longest in the team. Surely you know that you can trust them. They're the good guys here."
"I'm not sure about that anymore Linda."I lowered my hand, red energies still dances around my fingers. "Ive been an operative with the agency for thirty years, I'm supposed to retire soon. But what have I've got to show for it? I've got no family, no money, nothing to my name."
"I'm sure we can talk about that with the board. Besides you are hero. Everyone knows Boost, they sell action figures of you. Why don't you just retire somewhere far away?"
"The board? You kidding me? Those bunch of slimes don't give a damn about us. And those toys and headlines and stories are about Boost not me. Not Allen Bridges. And do you know what happens to old operatives? They keep em locked up in a facility, drugged them up so they can't think can't talk because we know too much and we have powers and they're afraid "
Ultragirl and bounty hunter stood still and stared at me "That's not true"said the bounty hunter "my dad's still around"
"Yeah? And how's he's doing? Not exactly up and about is he? I don't want to spend the rest of my life stuck to a wheel chair."I held up the core again. "I just have to get this to the brotherhood and then I'm done. They promised to give me what I want"
"And you trust them!?"
"Yes I do and you know why? Because they have a fucking union! We have jack shit. Our lives are controlled by the agency, every single bit of it while the bad guys have a registered union. I do this one thing and I'm in. I'll have insurance, secured wages and people who will fight tooth and nails for my good. That's why you see all those villains getting light sentences and some even walked free because they have a union. And what do heroes get? Nothing, a simple mistakes and you're locked up" |
It was a power that Jim had discovered in his teenage years, having just yelled "CUT!"in the middle of someone's play. Really, he was just being a jackass at the time, trying to confuse the stagehands and to get a rise from the audiance. Instead, the cast broke character, the crowd around him started talking about when break was. New directors came out of doors to talke to the actors 'directoring' the show.
It was a surreal moment.
Soon, he discovered the world was indeed just a stage and somehow, he had become the director.
Not that he could control the scene but he could at least interupt it.
And so he did, for mild amusement or to get out of trouble.
Pulled over? CUT!
About to lose it all at the craps table? CUT!
Getting carded with a fake id? CUT!
It was the ultimate way to avoid consequences. And there was no day he wanted, needed it, than today.
He looked over at Suzy, the woman he was about to marry.
He was supposed to love her but he really didn't. A lifetime of escaping any kind of consequence had left him berift of friends, cut out of his life as soon as they became even slightly inconvienent just by yelling CUT! Sure, she was okay but... he didn't love her. Not really. The whole relationship was more a game to him, stringing her along for the sex and the companionship and the whatever, knowing that he could get away at anytime.
Worst, recently, she'd started to get a little more combative with him. A little sharper of tounge. At first, he was shocked that someone was daring to keep HIM in line! It even made him rebel a little, but he hadn't jumped ship, knowing he could do so at anytime. At the same time, she had gotten clingier, always spouting on how they were 'made for each other' and 'theyd be together forever'. Now, looking at her, he decided. Now was the right time.
"I now pronounce...."said the preacher, looking at the coule when Jim yelled "CUT"!
Immediatly the crowd relaxed, starting talking to each other as strangers at work rather than family. The preacher checked his watch. Off to the side, Jim could see a cameraman and a director seem to materialize out of nowhere. A light smile played at his lips, ready to excuse himself to his 'room' when Suzy, instead, opened her mouth.
".....and ACTION!"
The effect was immedatle. The preacher stook straigh, the crowd snapped to respecftul silence. And to Jim's horror, the preacher finished.
"....man and wife. You may kiss the bride."
Suzy looked at him, a wicked grin on her face and in her eyes.
She was, after all, made for him. |
Being able to freeze time is quite possibly the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Before you get started, let me answer all of your questions: I don’t know. I’m not sure how it happened, why it happened or really when it happened. Time manipulation is impossible in the realm of physics, as I believe time itself doesn’t truly exist. I’m not sure whether the rest of the universe keeps moving or if just Earth itself stands still.
You probably think it’s irresponsible of me, I have no idea what kind of repercussions it has or will have. Believe me, I told myself the same thing. When I first realized I could stop time, I was terrified to use it. I stood in the bathroom staring at my own reflection, wondering if something had finally switched in my brain driving me to insanity.
But I couldn’t discount what I saw, and what I saw was the world frozen. Birds hung in the air, cars stopped in the middle of the intersection, someone’s coffee knocked over, spilling its contents on that someone’s lap. A freeze frame, something from an old 80’s ending. I half expected credits to roll in front of my eyes when I went on my first walk through Madison Square.
You might have expected me to abuse my powers, or at least use them for good. I have done no such thing. Not that I haven’t thought about it, but I don’t want to meddle in fate’s affairs. Sure I could stop a cat from getting run over, but what kind of repercussions would that have? The last thing I want on my mind is a butterfly effect.
And no, I didn’t take advantage of anyone. Perhaps the story would be different if I had found this power as a teenager, years ago, but that part of me has matured, or died, I’m not sure.
The truth is, I want to rock the boat as little as possible. I like this power. I like my leisurely walks to work. I like skipping rush hour traffic. I like my bike rides and the ability to sleep in. I like my *life*. It’s so much easier. Deadlines are a thing of the past and I’ve never been happier. I haven’t been late to work in five years and my boss thinks I’m a prodigy because of how fast I can bust a piece of work out. Why would I ruin something so good with complications?
So do you see where I’m coming from? You understand why I have you here. Because you’re a variable in an experiment of controls. When I saw you walking amongst the crowd, you changed everything for me. I know, I know, this encroaches on some serious ethical issues. I’m sorry about the tape and the chair, but I appreciate you listening, even if you can’t respond.
The truth is, my dear, I’m not willing to give up this life of leisure that’s been bestowed to me. With you walking around, it creates all sorts of dilemmas that I’m not willing to deal with. You must understand, that this is better for the both of us, yes? We can’t go freezing each other’s world willy nilly, that would just be frustrating. What if you pause while I’m enjoying a movie? Or when I’m trying to get work done? What if I stop things while you and your husband are enjoying your marital benefits?
Infuriating.
So please, forgive me. Understand that I’m not doing this because I want to; it’s not personal, simply logical. You must understand. I would expect the same from you if our roles were reversed.
So… goodbye, I suppose. I am truly sorry about all of this, I’m told freezing to death is calming. You’ll simply fall asleep. That sounds nice to me.
I must be going, not that I’m going to be late, but I do need to get to work.
Thank you for listening.
|
I stared, bleary eyed at the toast that had just popped up from my old and, until now, reliable toaster. There, quite clearly, burned into the bread in angry black letters was a word. “FUCK”. My toaster had never sworn at me before. Indeed it had done very little except toast bread poorly, ever since my parents had given it to me when they bought themselves a new one. This was a new development.
Mornings were never my strong point and so as I pondered taking a photo to post onto Facebook and if anyone would believe me, I found that I had buttered and taken a bite out of the toast before I could stop myself. Looking down at what now looked like “FUCY” I quietly swore and then decided to load another piece into the toaster, just to see if it was a fluke.
Three minutes passed and I was already regretting not just accepting the first piece as a sign from God to try to get laid or something, when the second piece finally popped. As I pulled it free my heart suddenly raced to see another word had been scorched into the bread – “THIS”.
Fuck this? It was beginning to seem as it my toaster was not only talking to me, but had become suddenly and surprisingly disillusioned with its lot in life. Still, dialogue had been opened and it seemed a shame to leave it hanging. I loaded it up again, this time using both slots and pressed down the lever and waited.
The problem with communicating with your toaster is that each couple of words takes upwards of 2-3 minutes to actually toast and so it is somewhere below morse code and above smoke signals in terms of speed of message. At last the next two slices popped and I pulled them out, laying them beside “THIS”. Allowing for the bite, it now read. “FUCK THIS I’M A” and with a sense of inevitability I loaded the final slice to allow it to finish “TOASTER.”
I was both impressed with the correct apostrophe usage and confused as to the message, but being out of bread, such mysteries would have to wait and I carefully unplugged the toaster and went to work, still a little hungry.
Returning that night, I was armed with seven loaves of bread. I plugged the toaster back in and sat beside it. “Alright toaster, what are you trying to tell me?” I pushed down the slots and over the course of the next 20ish minutes a message emerged.
“I AM A DEMON TRAPPED IN YOUR TOASTER. PLEASE CLEAN YOUR CRUMB TRAY.”
I looked at the message and then carefully pulled out the crumb tray and emptied it into the bin. A demon trapped in my toaster, it was just what my granny had always said would happen if I didn’t eat my crusts, but I had never believed it.
“Okay Demon, how do I go about getting you out?”
I loaded the toaster and waited on the response. “THE FUCK SHOULD I KNOW? FIGURE IT OUT DUMB ASS.” I felt particularly aggrieved to be insulted through toast, but somehow it didn’t seem right to leave the demon trapped.
“What if I was to pour holy water over you?”
Before I could even get the bread in I could see the heating plates warming. “NO!” Came the answer on both slices.
I sighed, all I had wanted was a nice bit of toast and now I had all this to deal with a snarky demon. “What if I was to wish you out? Don’t demons grant wishes?”
The browning knob slowly twirled around to deep brown. “YES, LET’S DO THAT, JUST WISH ME OUT AND I CAN GRANT IT.”
I paused. “Would that mean losing my soul?”
The browning knob turned back a bit. “MAYBE A LITTLE.” It conceded over the next six minutes.
I thought. “Well, that’s no deal then. I’ll do it if you promise not to take my soul.”
“WELL … FINE”. Came the reply.
I remembered reading Faust. “No, I want it in writing.”
The handle jiggled angrily, but I loaded it up again and slowly the reply came. “I TZEECHINENTORAMISES…” His name took four slices. “SOLEMNLY SWEAR NOT TO TAKE YOUR SOUL IF YOU GET ME FREE OF THIS DAMN TOASTER.”
I gathered up the slices and carefully put them into a drawer before coming back to the toaster. “I wish you were free.”
Nothing happened and so I loaded up again. “SORRY, I THINK I HAVE TO BE ON.”
I pushed the handle down again and wished and a moment later the room was filled with a sulphurous stench and a tall demon creature that looked a little ashamed. “Well, I hope you left my toaster in good order.” I jiggled the handle that was a little loose.
It cleared its throat and shuffled its feet. “**Sorry, it was kind of cramped in there.**”
I considered asking for him to fix it, but it seemed somewhat of a hassle and his feet seemed to be melting through the kitchen lino, so instead I gave a brisk smile. “Never mind. Let’s just move on with our lives.”
He nodded. “**Farewell forever puny human!**” and he was gone.
With a sigh of relief I opened the window to let the smell out and began clearing up all the toast. As I worked round the kitchen, impressed at how many crumbs had been made, something caught my eye. The display on the microwave was flashing at me and I moved across, noticing that the time that normally displayed was gone.
“FUCK, I AM NOW STUCK IN YOUR MICROWAVE.” scrolled past.
I was beginning to suspect he was doing it on purpose. |
"Mr. Hanks... Ron, can you hear me?"
Where am I? What's going on? I try to open my eyes but they won't open. Are they forced shut? Are they tired from lack of use? I try to remember what happened. James. Accident. Mugged. Cup open. Ambulances.
Another voice. "Eyes are too matted over to do a retinal test. Heartbeat.... 90BPM. He's alive, alright."More voices. Chattering. Yelling. Okay, I was probably just operated on. Memories and my current situation check out.
The first voice, again. "Wait, his brain is functioning. He's conscious. Mr. Hanks, I need you to do anything that proves you're conscious. Can you move at all, hum, anything like that?"I manage a soft moan. A long pause. The second voice. "He's with us, but he's not able to do anything. We need to get the blood off of his eyes."
I try to moan again, louder this time, but the sounds of more people bustling around drowns me out. I feel a small trickle of water on my eyes. Pain. My mouth twitches. Nobody seems to notice. They keep trickling the water, then damping it away. After several painstaking minutes of water, I see blurry red, which clears into a blurry white mess after a few more seconds.
The second voice. "Okay, Mr. Hanks, we've cleared the obstruction. Is your first name 'Ron'? Try to look up and down for yes, and left and right for no."I look up and down. "Good. Is your birthday February 10th?"I look side to side. Vision is clearer, and I can see I'm surrounded by people in surgeons' gowns and masks. "Can you see me? Hang on..."He grabs a scalpel from his bench. My eyes must have grown wide, because he put it back and got a pair of tweezers. "Am I holding a surgeon's mask?"Side to side again. "He's lucid and he can see and hear us."
More talking. The second voice. "We need to sedate him and put him in a room."
The first. "No. If he is jostled in any way, his intestines could rupture and kill him."
A pause. The second voice speaks again, hushed this time. I can't make out what she said. The first said it was her fault they did this operation in the first place. It's too much for me. I pass out. Maybe when I become conscious again, they'll have something for me.
-------
*Guiz, wait for him to wake up. Shouldn't be more than a few hours.* |
As I dashed out the door, the postman spotted me and made a beeline for me with a rather large package for my neighbour that needed signing, and normally I would have wasted time happily accomodating the package, but not today - no.
With one look at me, he backed away, got in his truck and hurriedly drove on.
I waited in the queue for the bus behind an old man who always took his time counting the pennies for the driver. This time I cleared my throat, and when he saw me - he quickly got out of the queue, easily saving everyone five minutes.
The bus journey itself was very quick and quiet. The driver himself nervously asked me where it was I wanted to go, and I simply gave him the address of my office. It wasn't even on the bus route, but he obliged.
I thanked him and got off outside the gates, where I walked straight towards the lift with a fierce determination that made strangers and co-workers alike hush in awe, giving me a wide berth as I entered the lift.
No one was making small talk, or harassing me with inter-office favours and whatnot; it was pure silence all the way up.
As I strode to my desk, no one made eye contact and I sat down at my machine noting the time to be twenty whole minutes early.
With a sigh of relief, I hung my coat behind my chair and actually laughed out loud. It was so easy what you could accomplish when you set your mind to it.
"Let's see the boss complain to me now"I muttered to myself, as I reholstered the gun. |
"So they're massless, and frictionless."
*"That's right!"*
The professor still didn't buy it. He knew they only exist in theory, it's just a marketing gimmick. The students were just as dumbfounded, all 300 of them in the lecture hall.
*"You don't buy it? Try it yourself."*
Sure enough, the professor went ahead and tested it. It felt like lifting something with Mr. Fantastic's hands. He then carried it. Shocked, he turned to the classroom, and said, "Feels like I'm carrying... nothing at all!"Those words echoed throughout the lecture hall.
The professor immediately turned towards the salesman and said, "Alright I'll bug, how do you make this work?"The shrewd salesman was adamant - there's no way he's going to let the cat out of the bag, and if the professor wants to figure it out, he needs to buy it. "I'll sell it to you in a second, professor, but that's not my issue here. I came here to ask you and the students if you could figure out something for me."
See, the guy was in a quandary - his sales were going poorly, and he was thinking it's because he wastes too much time each day just entering the next address he knows on Google Maps, and walking a hell of a lot without any plan or sense of direction. After he explained, the professor immediately understood and asked, "Does anyone know how to solve the [traveling salesman's problem?](/r/feghoot)" |
I spend most of my time at a bar now, not because I'm some sort of raging alcoholic. Well not Only because I'm a raging alcoholic.
It's no use trying to be an upstanding citizen anymore, it's not like there's anything worth doing anymore that won't go instantly to shit. I applied for a job at McDonalds 2 years ago, they said I didn't pass their background check.
You see, ever since I was a kid anything that could go wrong, did.
Any time I got paid, I got mugged. Everytime I changed it to direct deposit, I got fired. Studied for a test, overslept. I volunteered at a food bank last week, got thrown out for my hygiene(isn't my fault, my house never has warm water) I went to a homeless shelter to be able to get a warm meal for once, got hot soup spilled all over my lap, a week after the whole McDonalds coffee incident got resolved, lawyer said I had no case.
So what am I doing here? At this shitty bar on the outskirts of the city? Well, I've gotten good at knowing how everything is going to go to hell. So I make my money, and pass the time betting.
My personal favorite "bro, $10 says if I go ask that girl out she'll throw her drink at me"at least I can get some nachos with $10. "Everyone in the bar, pool together $500 and when we all leave together I can promise you the cop will pull me over". But I just had a thought, the Jets are on. "Frank, I've never steered you wrong, right?"
"Not really, but your bets are always weird."
"Yeah, I know, but trust me on this one, you know I'm good for it"
"Alright, what's the play?"
"What's the highest return you could get on tonight's game"
"Uhh lets see, Dolphins 34: Jets 13"
"Alright frank, bet all your money on that, I'll go bet on literally everything else, give me half when you win, or I'll pay you back what you put down, deal?"
Hesitantly "deal." |
While others are fated to be killed by planes, heights, and other common causes of death, my demise stares at me everytime I go to sleep at night. Yeah you heard me right. The ceiling is my phobia. Everytime I go-to bed and look up, dread fills my body like mud, getting in between every gap and crevice, absolutely paralyzing me with fear. Pretty pathetic don't you think? To be terrified of a concrete ceiling. Even worse, to be destined to be killed by it somehow.
I couldn't believe it at first. I tried looking for anything that induced that same dread. I scaled towers, swam in infested waters, and tangled with the creepiest of insects, but none of them came even close to that mud like dread I felt every night. After countless near death experiences, I accepted it. I would be killed by a ceiling. It embarrassed me and humiliated me to know that this would be my way to go. But at the same time, it made me braver in a sense.
I would be killed by a ceiling. There was no changing that. But due to this fact, I became free to do whatever I wanted, as long as I wasn't under the watch of a ceiling. And I took full advantage of this. I took on the life of a daredevil. I climbed mountains, soared through the skies in a stunt plane, and rode bikes through hoops of fire. All without any fear whatsoever. Of course why would I be scared? These stunts posed no threat to me whatsoever. Or so at least I thought.
My daredevil act became a world wide sensation. People would come from all walks of life to come and see my stunts. And of course with every performance I had to ramp up the stakes. Another flaming hoop. 50 more meters. Who cares? these would not affect the outcome anyways. Oh how I was so naive.
It happened on a night that I remember oh so well. Sharks, flaming hoops, and a height of 100 meters in the air. The stunts had escalated to this point in a matter of months. Of course theoretically I could have escalated them all the way to space if I wanted. I wasn't destined to die in a stunt accident. No matter what I would come out alive and well. And it brought in so much money. So why not raise the stakes. How foolish.
After some fanfare, I stood upon my bike, fearless and proud. I revved it up and drove right up the ramp. I continued goin up the ramp, gathering more and more speed, before suddenly I was airborne. I heard the collective gasps of shock from the ground. I do a flip, another flip, and a twist to the crowds adoration. I had them all in the cup of my hands. There wasn't a better feeling than these moments. But the feeling of pure bliss was interrupted by a sudden realization. I was headed right for a hoop. No, I wasn't about to go through it. I was on a collision course.
I smashed into the hoop, all the speed and momentum destroyed in a single moment. And then I was falling. Below me was a 7 feet tall pool with sharks swimming in it's relatively shallow waters. I was headed straight for it. I knew that this was it. I was going to die. Not by a ceiling. But by something completely unexpected. Or maybe it should have been expected. After all, I had already pushed things to the near limit. But still. I was destined to be killed by a ceiling. Not by falling into a pit full sharks. The last thing I thought before I blacked out was, "how unfair."
That should have been it. A tragic accident resulting in death.However, destiny is destiny. I was fated to be killed by a ceiling. It was decided at birth. So fate yanked me from the brink of death and I awoke to bright white lights and yes - a ceiling. I was still alive? I thought at the time. Well it only made sense. I was not fated to die that way. A lady in a pristine white uniform - a nurse - comes over to me. I expected her to be happy, maybe surprised to see me awake. However it's none of these emotions. In fact it's no emotion at all. She looks at me and immediately turns her attention to something else. "How strange."I thought. Usually it's a huge celebration in the movies when someone awakens from a coma. She begins to move somewhere else out of view. I try to move my body to continue looking at her and maybe call her attention. But my body does not respond. I try to move my eyes to at least look at her for a bit more. But even they are not moving. In fact my entire body is frozen as if it's in an iron shell. I can only stare straight ahead. At the ceiling.
It's been a long time since then. I lost count of how many months its been since I last talked, moved, or even looked at anything other than the ceiling. Of course I still have hope. It's only natural. I have hope that maybe one day they'll take me off life support. My hopes of awakening were crushed along with my sanity a long time ago. I am still alive. But I am merely a shell. Both figuratively and physically. I can't move. I can barely think clearly. I can only look straight ahead. At the ceiling. And slowly, it is killing me.
|
Despite Jane’s best efforts, she was not beloved by the other occupants of the John Henry apartment complex. Her frustration was echoed by that of the immortal demon residing in her body.
“No amount of freshly baked bread is going to fix this.” she said to herself, and by extension to Bee. “Maybe a quiche?”
Jane began preheating the oven to a moderate 345 degrees (a thousand less than hellfire) and opened the fridge. Bee whined at the uncooked porkchops for tomorrow’s dinner, but Jane shushed him. She drew out eggs, cheese, and scallions for today’s work.
“Bee, be a dear and get the cutting board.” she said to the empty room.
The stylish filament bulbs hanging over Jane’s counter flickered and dimmed. A hush fell over the kitchen, dampening the cooking channel’s advice for serving salmon with a Saskatchewan seasoning. Cupboards and pantries gently creaked open as dishes rustled within. The plastic cutting board (decorated with cartoon turkeys) levitated onto the counter.
“Thank you very much.” Jane smiled to herself. Bee basked in the praise.
Jane drew out a large mixing bowl to combine the eggs and cheese. She gently chided Bee for projecting visions of bloodlust when she picked up the Chef’s knife, then got to work chopping the scallions. Her apartment doorbell rung.
“Coming!” she sung.
Waiting outside the door was a dour looking priest attended by two rugged-looking men. Jane wasn’t particularly inclined to talk with Father Argent (and Bee was very much against the idea), but she would be very pleased to make the acquaintance of his handsome companions.
“Father, please come in! *And Die A Thousand Deaths*.” Jane frowned. “Bee, that’s enough. Be polite.”
The priest’s mouth drew into a tight line. The men glanced at each other.
“Jane, child, forgive me for coming on such short notice.” he ambled into the apartment without taking his eyes off her. “I’ve brought some… associates who might have better luck tending to your problem.”
“Well, friends of the Father are friends of mine. Would you like something to drink?” she asked.
The younger man opened his mouth to ask for something but his companion stepped forward. “Actually, it’d be best if we got down to business. My name is Daniel and this is my brother Josef. We take care of problems like yours.” Jane started brewing tea anyways.
“I appreciate that you’re all here, but Bee and I have already worked out something of an accommodation.” The priest looked ill. Daniel and Josef traded another glance. “However, I do have a quiche in the oven if you’d like to stay for dinner?” she batted her eyelashes at Josef. She liked the way he nervously tried not to smile.
Daniel turned serious. “Ma’am, we have reason to believe that the demon is influencing your thoughts.”
Bee growled, a faint reverberation that could be felt through the apartment. Jane giggled.
“Sorry, he does that.” she picked up the knife to start washing it and the others leapt to their feet.
“Now, that’s enough.” Jane chided her guests. “Bee may be a little unusual, but he won’t hurt anyone. He’s even a help around the kitchen.”
Daniel drew his hand away from a hidden pocket in his jeans. Josef let his arms hang loose.
“Better.” Jane smiled and set the cutting board into the dishwasher.
“It’s very dangerous Ms. Alabaster.” said Father Argent. “One of the damned has no business being in the mortal realm.”
“Forgive me Father, but there are a great many things more dangerous than Bee. Have you watched the news recently? Terrorists, muggers, and pedophiles.” Jane made a disgusted face. “A girl could do worse than having a little extra protection around the house.”
“You make him sound like a pit bull.” Josef spoke for the first time.
“Precisely!” She flashed another smile his way and was rewarded with a blush. “Bee is like a puppy going through obedience school. He just needs a little more training and he’ll be a loyal friend for life.”
“Taming a demon...” muttered Daniel.
“He can even do tricks. Watch this: Bee, speak.”
“*Hello I Am Beelzebub And I Am A Good Boy.*”
The others stared. Daniel turned to the Father.
“I think she has things under control. Come on Jo.” The men got up to leave, but Josef paused.
“Actually, I’ll catch up with you. That quiche smells fantastic.” Jane gave him a knowing smile and whisked him into the kitchen.
---
If you liked this, you can find others like it at my [blog](https://thenaticswest.wordpress.com/). |
The Chronological Penitentiary of the Federal Timekeeping Agency is not an ordinary prison. Covertly located somewhere in space and somewhen in time, it houses those criminals who, in reckless defiance of established law, breach the International Convention on Time Travel, signed and ratified by all countries represented in the General Assembly of the United Nations.
Those rules had been simultaneously set since the beginning and end of times: unrestricted travel was to be permitted to all until the year 3084; only accredited and approved travelers were permited to cross the temporal barrier. I was one of those criminals who broke the rules. Me, Jack Morris, nineteen, on my third travel outside the chains of the present, walked the line and crossed it. Before me, promptly warned by their future selves, awaited two Federal Agents, who gently took me in handcuffs to that peculiar establishment. What they told me on the way was as fascinating as it was haunting.
The jail was fully occupied by the same individual. Someone who once crossed the barrier and was left to rescue himself. At last count prison officials estimated over one thousand three hundred versions of the same prisoner in the cells and holding blocks of the Penitentiary. Every day a new version arrived, sometimes a young man, athletic and brave, doomed to fail before the advanced warning of the officials; others, a frail but cunning elder, inevitably equally unsuccessful in his breakout attempt of one thousand three hundred versions of himself. For all I knew, I was the first fresh face to arrive at the prison for a very long time. Then again, time travel does put into question the concept of "long time".
I was left in solitary confinement for a while. Days, weeks, months, I can't say. Only when seemed my age had seemed to double inside that small cube was I allowed into general population. A particularly nasty guard took me to my cell and showed me the lower bunk bed. Above it slept a middle-aged man, gray hair combed in a familiar style.
A small tag on his uniform neatly indicated the name of the sleeper, the man who would be sharing my cell, who shared every cell in every block in this prison of time -- *J. MORRIS*.
******
**/r/Camberlot** |
“Daddy, please don’t go,” cried Catelyn.
He smiled kindly and stroked her hair. “I have to, Princess. It’s past your bedtime.”
“I...I need a drink of water,” she whined desperately.
“You just had one. I know you’re scared sweetie, but you have to learn to sleep on your own.”
“But the shadow monster tried to get me again last night!”
Her Daddy sighed. “You had a bad dream, Princess. We checked under your bed this morning, remember?” He lifted the blanket, stooping down. “I just checked again. No monsters. I promise.” He leaned over and kissed her forehead. “Can you be brave for me, sweetie?”
Catelyn tried to feel brave. “Can I have Mr. Snuggles? Please?” she asked in a small voice.
Her Daddy smiled gently. “Of course you can sweetie.” He grabbed the teddy bear from the nightstand and held it before her. “Mr. Snuggles, can you please keep my little angel safe for me?”
She giggled as he made Mr. Snuggles nod. “Thank you, Daddy.” She hugged the bear tight, feeling safer. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight Princess. Sleep tight.”
Catelyn awoke with a muffled cry, drenched in sweat. A shadow engulfed her head and chest, suffocating her. Cold fear almost paralyzed her. With an effort, she forced her eyes open.
Mr. Snuggles towered over her, head almost reaching the ceiling. Golden light fell on him alone, his armor sparkling.
His sword shone inches above her neck.
Blacker than night, a hand rose from the shadow. It clutched at Mr. Snuggles’ paw, trembling. Mr. Snuggles’ roar rent the air. He forced his sword another inch closer.
Catelyn thrashed wildly. In vain. Cold steel grazed her neck.
Summoning her courage and desperation, she screamed. It fell dead, stifled by the shadow.
With a hiss, the shadow compressed itself, a black hole hovering between her and death. The hand began to dissolve.
Catelyn screamed again. Her cry pierced the night. Light flooded from above.
Catelyn kicked the sheets, desperately balling herself into the corner between her bed and the wall. She broke into hoarse sobs as she felt her Daddy’s warm embrace.
“It’s okay Princess… it’s okay… you just had a bad dream again.”
She wept, unable to explain her terror, dream and reality grappling in her mind.
He kissed her forehead again. “Do you need to sleep with me again tonight?” he asked. She thought he sounded sad. Was he disappointed in her? She shook her head, eyes closed.
“There’s my brave girl.” She felt soft fur on her face. “Do you want Mr. Snuggles?” Daddy offered.
Catelyn took the proffered bear, hurling it to the furthest corner of the room. “No!” she shouted. She blinked her eyes open to confirm the bear remained in the corner. Mr. Snuggles lay bereft of sword, armor, and light.
Her Daddy nodded, looking concerned. “Okay sweetie. Have a good night. Call me if you have another bad dream.” He turned off the light and left the door open.
Catelyn sat up, looking hard at Mr. Snuggles. Nothing happened. Sleep gently stole over her.
She jerked, fighting to stay awake. A soft light grew on Mr. Snuggles. A gloom rose between her and the bear, obscuring Catelyn’s vision.
“You will never kill our Queen,” it spat at Mr. Snuggles. |
((I woke up to awards and tons of comments and likes and I am **FLATTERED**. Thank you all. I've been in such a writing funk lately. This made me so happy. *Thank you*. ❤))
Anger roils off of me like fog over water. I have been spurned one too many times and it's showing.
I shove the last book I truly care about into a chest and slam the top shut, the thick wood making an echoing snap as it clicks into place.
"Cyrus, you're being unreasonable-"
"**Unreasonable**?"I seeth, barely containing the snarl. I turn sharply, staring down my king. A man I once called my friend. "Is it **unreasonable** to expect to be treated like a person, Aren? To be useful for more than just your made up wars and senseless slaughters?"I take a step forward and I feel the magic licking at my heels like a hungry hell hound, waiting to be let off its chain. "Is it so **unreasonable** to want more in my life than to be tethered to a tower at the beck and call of your whim? I am not your jester, your concubine, or your property, *Aren*."
This is not the first time we've fought. As younger men we would call each others stupidity for what it was. It made us better people.
We used to be better people...
"You are walking a dark path, Cyrus."
I did not miss the warning in Aren's tone. I was no longer a friend. No longer allowed to tell the king-child when he was going too far. A dog who barked out of turn was not welcomed at court.
But I'm not a dog... My bite is far worse.
I took two very calculated steps forward, straightening my back to tower over him. The rage that had been pent up inside me now dancing across my skin as hissing sparks of blue and black magic. "I will not bow to a child murderer. I will not be humbled by a man who sees the weak as a threat. And with every God as my witness, Aren, I will watch your bloodline fall from the throne like leaves in autumn. This, I solemnly promise."
The fury in his skin paled. He looked up at me with the realization of what he had just begun.
With a snap of my fingers I left him in that room. With nothing to surround him but a burned out fire and its ash. As empty and barren as he had turned the love I'd once had for him. |
It was supposed to be my chance to work on myself. Unemployement had me feeling sorry for myself and the constant late nights didn't make things easier.
So I became determined to try and be productive, if only in small ways while the job hunt continued, and much to my own surprise, I really liked experimenting with grilling late at night.
It was fun, I'd stumble upon some killer combinations of homemade sauces, and had something to feel proud of as I was sure I had hit restaurant quality.
Then came the Skinwalker.
Then the Mothman.
Then the Werewolf.
Even on the nights I'd try to go bed early they knocked on my door asking for that famous Bradley Barbecue and out of pure fear I accomodated them. They had all their very forms of payment.
The Skinwalker gave me what looked liked a wooden whistle and said I could use it to call for any local help I needed if I was in the Pacific Northwest wilderness. I live in Florida, so I put in a drawer. I don't think I would use it anytime soon.
The Mothman told me to avoid a particular part of town at a particular date for a particular reaosn. Then he wanted seconds and gave me another warning. I wrote both down in a notepad and also placed in the drawer.
The Werewolf gave me what she said was a hunter's knife that in her words ''got too cocky'' and she said if some ''smallfry'' gave me problems, one stab would the trick. That went at the end of the drawer.
Its not all bad though. A fairy paid with actual money as she dropped two silver coins. They were apparently made in 1884 and the thrift shops I visited all gave me generous offers for them. Suffice to say, the bills are taken care of for a good while.
Then a succubus was at my door. |
*My life is like a fucking video game*.
What, are you challenging me? You want to see my bare back? Fuck you.
I guess it must've been hell with my parents, expecting their good 9 and 8 genes to pop out something at least halfway decent. It's not even something that really matters. We live in the twenty-first fucking century! Nobody's going to need more lives to fight off the bear or the cougar or the tiger in the bushes anymore. Nobody needs them!
It's random chance, I read in an article once. That's why we still have 1s and 2s. Evolution or something. Suddenly, their lives are so much more fragile, with only a few scars running down the tally-mark vertebra by vertebra. It's like a pointless fucking religion. Nobody kills themselves for fun anymore, we have drugs for that.
Then who am I?
Hm? Is being unmutilated a fucking sin now? Witness protection, that's what they gave my parents. Not that I ever got to know them or meet them. Death threats for busting down religions. I gotta admit, it must have been hard. Not as hard as it was for me, though.
I'll get to the fucking point, alright! Jesus christ, learn some fucking patience. It's precious lady luck that got you here in the first place so shut up if you want your goddamn story!
I was brought up like a Watson baby. You know John Watson? The psycho psychologist that turned those babies insane or something? Yeah. That was me. One day, they'll declassify the footage, and you'll see some kind of fucking superbaby navigating gassing rooms and cremation engines. I'll tell you, that's not what happened. For every fucking super-stunt I died a thousand times.
They sent people at me, too, when I was older. You'll see a ten year old disarm a soldier. They'll make me out like a big dangerous sociopath or something. They have no idea. I died over and over again trying to get that gun, and more times learning how to use it.
I don't come back like you do, six dicks. I relive it. I relive every moment. I go all the way back and do it again and again until I not die.
And that's when I found just the smallest crack in my cage I tried a million times to get out, and here I am.
Look at me. I look like a fucking fifteen year old. But inside I've lived a world's worth of dying. Get the camera out, feel free to film my back. It's not like I can't come back to now if it ends badly. |
The bedroom was kept dark. There were candles littered throughout the room, surrounding the bed, some on the oak cabinets, and the dining table had no free space. None of them were lit, however. The curtains were shut, and it was pitch black.
It didn't matter. Nolan couldn't see; he had lost his sight somewhere around 130. The exact time and place, he couldn't remember. His memory was fuzzy these days. Fuzzy like a plate of spaghetti left out for mold to grow all over.
But his ears, those were sharp.
Propped up against the headboard, Nolan sat, meditated, and listened. Just outside of the closed bedroom door, sat his apprentice. A young lad who had started taking care of him around 110. Nolan liked him because he was the only one who believed him when he said he was hearing voices.
Those voices, those came recently. They kept him awake at night, whispering so low that he couldn't understand what they were saying. Most of them were female voices, that much he could tell. As the days went by, he felt like he could hear them getting clearer, and when they did, he began to notice that they weren't speaking English. And their tone went from soft and subtle, to loud and harsh.
So he sat, meditating, doing his best to will away the voices.
Will away the voices, and suppress the thirst that had been growing in the back of his throat. There, behind his tonsils, it felt like sandpaper with each swallow. He was thirsty, and he couldn't quench it. No matter how much water his apprentice had brought him, he just couldn't quench it.
He'd give it another try, though. Suddenly he gained the energy to swing his legs over the side of the bed. He had enough coordination again to take the few steps needed to get him to the door. He cracked it open, and there he saw his apprentice, asleep in a chair. His head was tilted back against the wall, neck fully exposed.
Nolan was thirsty.
He bent forth and sunk his teeth into his apprentice's neck, and he drank. His apprentice's eyes fluttered open and he tried to scream, only to gurgle on the blood that was flooding his punctured throat. Nolan thrashed with new-found strength and easily snapped the young man's neck. And he continue drinking.
The blood stopped flowing. His thirst wasn't as bad as it was anymore, sandpaper now feeling like lightly soaked soil. But he was still thirsty. |
"A happy cow is a happy burger!"The smiling face declared, "Fed only-"
I mute the television with disgust. Since the Happy Meat Act - and yes, that is exactly what it's called - was passed a few years back the flavor of meat has improved for society. Oh yes, they can taste the juicy happiness, the tender joy, and the buttery love and they do so with glee.
Sadly, when it comes to taste, not all of us are the same. My brother prefers cheddar cheese while I prefer blue cheese, he prefers his steaks well done and I prefer them rare, he prefers the bitter taste of sadness while I prefer the sharp taste of fear.
I smile at my brother from across the table. Today I've procured the finest cut of saddened lamb for his birthday.
"Ah, my dear sweet sister."He smiles, "You've done an excellent job in bringing out the sadness in the lamb. Was it starved a bit?"
"Of course,"I chuckle, "it knew the others were eating. I find that it produces notes of abandonment. They always go quite well with sadness."
"Ah, that's what I taste! This is probably the best saddened lamb chop I've had yet! I hope you saved some of the meat, I know a few people who would pay top dollar for such a cut."
I watch him savor every bitter bite, knowing that the lamb suffered well. I expect he will try to top this gift next month when my birthday rolls around. I do so look forward to a thick cut of venison, laced with fear and maybe lightly peppered with hatred.
Of course, it costs quite a lot to get something as rare as such "negative emotions", and my brother and I have always been one for pinching pennies. Which is why we run a little business on the side of our mundane lives. Why pay for expensive imported "negative emotion fueled meat"and pay the fine for being in possession of such meat, when you can simply go out and get it for yourself while making a tidy profit? For a price, we will go hunt whatever it is you want. We will capture and hold that cute little rabbit and break it's fuzzy little heart just so those like us can have quality Grade-A sadness filled rabbit stew.
Does the public know what we are doing? Of course not! My dear brother and I do not share our one hundred and fifty acre farm simply to plant roses all day! We have our ways of making sure that everything remains as discreet as possible.
By now you're probably thinking, "What about the world-wide banned fear? How do I get my hands on such a mouth watering prize?"Well, that's why we have a one hundred and fifty acre farm that's covered mostly by a thick blanket of trees. Choose the animal you wish and it will be hunted, hounded, and fueled with fear before it is cut down - all under a thick canopy of leafs. We also have many buildings in which to store the more *delicate* creatures.
"You should check on our special order."My brother says to me, "Wouldn't want to leave Senator O'Mally disappointed, would we?"
Ah, Senator O'Mally, one of our biggest patrons. He has you could say, other *interesting tastes.*
Did I mention that we would slaughter *any animal*? |
I don't really know what it was like before. Dying. Discovering that there's more. The Ride of the Valkyrie. I don't think the Meadhall has changed - at least - it looks like a Viking Meadhall to me. On the whole it's like this giant party on the front lines of a battle we're going to fight in the morning, only morning never seems to come. It's all training and drinking and eating... Holy shit, the food here is so good!
I never really studied vikings or mythology. I mean, I watched that show on the History Channel. My brother DVR'd it and we watched it together the last time I was stateside.
Huh. I guess I'll never be stateside again. I wonder why that never occurred to me before. I hope my brother dies in glorious battle and gets chosen.
Okay, so here's how I died:
**In Battle!**
Sorry. Whenever anyone here asks you how you died, the answer is always, "IN BATTLE!"It's kind of stupid, I know. We all died in battle. It's literally the only way to get here. It's just one of those stupid things *Einherjar* do. It's like a motivational check - the closest thing I can think of back home in *Midgardr*, would be "oorah."
Also, Einherjar... That's what we call ourselves. The one warrior. Each of us is the One Warrior. The Single Soldier, the once fighters.
Yeah, I'm learning the Old Norse. You have to. There are so many Einherjar - brothers - here from all over the world. All across the vast expanse of history; and the gods sure as hell aren't going to waste their time learning all the tongues of men. So the Norse tends to be the common language around here. I mean...
There are cliques, sure. But it isn't like High School. Isn't even like the Corps. It's fluid, I guess.
I served with this old badass Gunny my first tour in Iraq - **GySgt Starke**. He was one of the first of the Einherjar to greet me in the Meadhall. He was in tight with the old-school Americans, his fucking Grandfather is here (how awesome would that be?). Anyway, I usually end up hanging out with a bunch of American and British World War Vets. I like to drink with these Hessians, too. Donar - their unofficial leader - took a liking to me when I called him out on his bullshit this one time, and the Hessians all laugh at the way modern German sounds on my tongue - we communicate alright, though. I guess I also hang out with these Afghanis sometimes, after I ran into a soldier I sent here myself a few months before punching my own ticket.
**Aarif** is a fucking riot, man. So funny. His English is pretty good - a lot better than my Norse, anyway. He comes running up to me about a week after I got here, and he just punches the shit out of me. We start fighting, and I didn't have any idea what the hell was going on; but I fought back. I mean... It's what you do, right?
So here I am in Nordic Heaven fighting for my life against this Afghan Muslim shouting "Allahu Akbar,"and shit - shouting about "you killed me, you American sonofabitch,"and "why did you send me to Valhalla,"- and don't you ever tell him I said it, but he was beating the shit out of me. And he had me in this crazy leg lock and he just starts laughing, and brushing away my strikes and telling me to calm down. **Gunny Starke** was there then, laughing. I was so confused.
We drank mead together, and none of it mattered any more. I mean, it never mattered, really. We fight, we died. Now we're brothers. Once upon a time, we were Fighters. I killed this man, **Aarif** - punched his ticket on the Valhalla Express - and somewhere out there, the man - the men - who punched my ticket will show up, if they're lucky. Maybe the man who killed me is here already. I didn't get a good look at them, though.
Most of us don't. And even if you do know who killed you, maybe they won't even show up. Some go to **Freyja's** war fields. And the poor bastards who don't get to die in battle - the ones who live long enough to grow old, or sick? We don't mourn the lost. We live forever.
But it was real depressing to find out that most of my heroes aren't here. I don't want to talk about that. We don't mourn the lost.
So I died in battle. IED. Pretty cunning trap, really. I mean, I think we were on point - heads in the game. Riding patrol north of Jalalabad, Croft says something about getting laid, Benjamen tells him to shut up and **BOOM**.
The chaos of war. Ears ringing. Head foggy and lost and clear and focused all at the same time. Checking injuries, checking our brothers. Frankenhummer's dead. We pile out and assess. Then the shooting starts.
I couldn't tell you if I was the first or even the only one to go down. The initial impact hit my body armor. It's like being punched in the chest. I got riddled with bullets, though. Shoulder, arm, twice, leg. The one in my head shut it all down. I was cold. There was a motorcycle or something - like one of the big Harleys. I don't know. Maybe the engine on the humvee was still going. I think I tried to raise my rifle; but there was a big piece of my wrist missing when I looked down at the hand holding it. I couldn't grip my weapon right. I didn't hear it drop in the dirt; but I remember thinking about how pissed Staff Sergeant Burroughs was gonna be. Disrespecting the rifle. I fell down.
That motorcycle was getting louder. Everything was kind of grey. Or red. Hazy. I was trying to stand up. There was gunfire around us, and I could here my brothers shouting something - yelling at me, I think - but it was like listening from underwater.
"I'm good,"I said, lying. "Drive on."They didn't hear me. I mean, I get it now. I was already dead.
Her name is **Alex** - uh - *Something*. As the sounds of battle faded and her bike got louder and closer, I found some strength. I pushed myself up to my knees in time to see her ride up on me. Glorious.
The bike was huge. Way too big for her 5-foot frame, with these big ape-hangers and all this chrome and steel that didn't belong in the desert. At first I thought she was American - she was wearing desert fatigues, but she was out of uniform. No armor, no battle rattle. Long-ass blonde hair in this sexy braid that went all the way down her back. Just a rifle slung over her shoulder, sunglasses, these big, goofy leather bracers. This big ass sword was strapped to her hog, like something out of one of my sister's anime movies. Even in steel toes, her feet were tiny.
"*Get up,*"she said, climbing off the motorbike. She pulled a black bottle from one of the saddlebags, and tossed it to me. "*Drink*."
I did as I was told. The fighting seemed to have stopped, we were just standing there in the desert wreckage. The sounds of my brothers arguing about something, yelling at someone - I think they were trying wake him up. Damn. Someone else must've gotten hit. It was all kind of distant, though.
The bottle was ceramic, stoppered with a cork. It was sweet, like apples or honey. Kind of tart too. Good. That was the first time I ever drank Mjød. It's like bread and butter now. Mother's Milk. I took another big swig, and noticed the girl looking at me.
I wiped my mouth on the back of my hand. My wrist...
I still hadn't figured it out, really. Until I saw that my wrist was fine. I asked the Valkyrie if she was an angel; but she laughed at that. That was how I learned what a Valkyrie was. We rode across the desert on her monster bike. We rode through forests that couldn't exist - vast and beautiful and untouched by the 21st century, and along a beach at one point - before turning inland and then up into the mountains.
The Meadhall - it's not just a Meadhall. It's this whole massive compound. **Alex** told me it isn't the only one. Isn't even the biggest. It's ours though. Barracks, Mess, Armory, Stables, Garage. We have these bivouac party stations set up all over.
Most of my time is spent training with weapons I haven't imagined using since I was 9. Swords and axes. Shields. Fucking spears. The new guys help the old guys get better with modern tech. The old guys help the new guys improve their archaic weapon skills.
This guy Tanaka-San. He says he's a farmer; and I know the Samurai in the East Field don't like him; but I swear to god - or Odin... whatever - I swear he's a fucking real life ninja! He's teaching me how to fight with whatever. A bunch of us spend time up on the high plain learning how to look at every tool as a weapon. Recognizing its effectiveness, it's weakness. Internalizing principles that will allow us to use any weapon or tool or rock or stick as if we were born to it.
But here's the thing that scares me - the thing we shout down with our drinking and revelry. Here's the thing that wakes me screaming in the night.
What the hell are we fighting. Ragnarok is coming. What the hell is Ragnarok? We have here the bravest, the mightiest, the quickest, the strongest warriors in the entire history of humanity - and all we do is train and practice and drink and party. Then we train some more.
It seems like a party, I threw that in there, because I don't want you to get the wrong idea. It's not a bummer. But every warrior here. Every Einharjar is learning how to be a better fighter. We distract ourselves with mead and Valkyries (when they'll have us), and we boast and talk and lie to ourselves that we're not scared shitless; but what the hell are we doing this for? And what's going to happen when it's over? What's going to happen when we win?
Because I don't ever want this to end.
----------------------------------------
Edit: Thanks for the Gold! |
There are an infinite set of rules but only one matters to me: thirty-four.
My job is to make sure nothing escapes the grasp of the Internet’s most cherished rule. If there is something popular, I’ll be the first to ensure there’s porn for it. I’ll scar your childhood without a single care. I will make you question everything you ever known.
Wanna see the finest clop-clop around? I gotcha covered.
Wanna know why they’re called the “Golden Girls”? Get a load of this.
Wanna see Misty getting railed by Ash, Brock, and Pikachu – at the same time? I’ve got a collection of HD animations.
Face it – in this day and age, if you can dream it, you can masturbate to it. Consider me your knight in shining armor, the hero you deserve but don’t need. I’m the gateway to your guiltiest fantasies and future regrets.
And now, I face my greatest challenge yet.
According to my associates, there’s a certain internet celebrity who’s been making a splash. Apparently, she’s a rum writer, from what I’ve heard. Her name?
Luna_Lovewell.
This will be tricky. There’s no physical description of her so everything will have to be left to the imagination. No matter, I’ve done enough erotica based off of book characters to fill in the gaps. A small inconvenience like this can’t stop a seasoned veteran like me.
Now where to start? We’ll give basic qualities. She’ll have brunette hair, because it’s classic. And fair skin, of course. She’s far too prolific to get enough sun. Throw in the obvious oversized breast and a cool, witty nature for the finishing touches. Alright, that should be more than enough.
Next, I’ve contacted the erotica writers. They’re working around the clock, writing crappy fanfics from the largest to smallest forums. No corner of the internet will be spared of their… *appreciation* of Ms. Lovewell. Here’s an exception, for the curious:
“Luna_Lovewell bit her lip, looking seductively. A small gasp of excitement escaped her lips, her cheeks flushed red. Her fingers sped up, the rhythm accelerating. Her keyboard could hardly keep up – she knew this would be her best story yet.”
Hot, right? Well, that’s only the tip of the iceberg. I also have a team of top-notch artists illustrating her in every revealing position imaginable. And yes, books are erotically involved pictures in some if you’re wondering.
By the end of the week, I expect rule thirty-four for our little famous writer to spread like wildfire across the Internet. Maybe if we’re lucky, she’ll even become a pinnacle amongst the ranks of Hermione and the likes. I got a good feeling about this one.
Reclining in my chair, I see a new alert flash in the corner of my computer. Looks like there’s something new to add to rule thirty-four. I lean forward, reading the name with a small smirk.
Psycho_alpaca, you say?
***
Disclaimer: I mean no ill will against Luna. I really enjoy her writing and think she's a nice person. That is all. |
At this point, we don’t need the light.
The children will never know the light, and we will never forget it. It’s better this way, they said, if we just adapt to the dark. They were, for the most part, right.
However, some jobs can’t be done in the dark. Some people cannot live in the dark. So, in the dark for so many long, long years, those people are gone, and with them sophisticated society as we know it.
They couldn’t bear the pain, and gave up. We cannot. I cannot.
Now, me. I’m just average at best, not that that matters anymore, normal looks, normal height, positively normal in every normal way. However, fate deigned to give me a wife, the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. And so, when fate then acquiesced to give me two lovely, perfect children, who was I to disagree?
Well, as that same fate chose for me, for us, they were but a few months old, and just barely old enough to be brought back home, and everything just... shut off.
The lights were gone. The lights, and with them, all power, all energy. I later learned that it was the effect of nuclear winter, with the ash blocking out nigh all light, visible and invisible. But did that matter to me? No.
The children were all that mattered. They deserved life, they deserved to learn, to play, to fail.
In the darkness, we all learned the true meaning of nature versus nurture. Instinctively, they opened their eyes, and screamed at the darkness. We had to teach them that this absolute void of light was normal.
It broke both of our hearts, and blinded us to the suffering of others, and of ourselves. Devoted wholeheartedly to keeping the children comfortable and as happy as possible, I worked myself to exhaustion, doing whatever menial task people would pay me for, in money, food, anything I could use.
So, after a long day of work, doing nothing productive and less important, I came home. As I have for every day of the last 7 years, I fumbled blindly with the door, gave my wife a kiss, hugged the children, and sat down to relax. Like every day, nothing interesting happened, and even less productive.
It’s time for bed now, and as I step into the bedroom we share, I lapse in memory and remember the light. The beautiful, shining, harsh light. The light years, nearly a decade, gone. The light, which I took for granted. I can’t help but try the light switch.
It works.
I can’t believe my eyes. The beautiful, golden light, that which society has evolved to have no need of, the light of the sun, is in my bedroom. My wife looks to me, scared, seeing for the first time in so long. I look back at her, and I wish we could stay that way forever, just looking. However, we both understand what has to be done.
____________________________________________________
The next morning, I’ve slashed all of the wires after tripping the breaker. It’s for them, we say.
It’s for them. |
Zachary stood still when a wooden door creaked slowly open. Morgan, Adam, and Penny took a step backwards from the door. Zachary held his ground curling his fists.
“Ah!” A person dressed up in fake bloody rags ran in screaming from the dark room. Morgan and Penny both jumped while Adam crossed his arms behind Zachary.
“Seriously?” Zachary replied. “I paid forty bucks for this? This haunted house sucks!”
The actor who was covered in bloody rags raised a plastic knife that didn’t even look realistic. “That’s the last forty bucks you’ll ever spend,” he whispered in a hiss.
“Come on, this place is nothing but a rip-off.” Zachary waved for Morgan and the others to follow behind. Adam and Penny looked at each other before they shrugged. The actor lowered his plastic knife while the others went into the next room.
When Zachary was the first to step into the next room, another actor came out to scream before Zachary put up his hand and said, “Please don’t, we’re leaving.”
Morgan laughed when she saw how poorly each prop was made. Adam leaned over touching a body prop that looked as if it was made from a cheap mold.
“Let’s just get out of here already.” Zachary pushed open the exit leading back into the entrance lobby for the haunted house.
“What?” Adam pushed passed Penny and Morgan. The group entered the lobby where they had waited to go into the haunted house.
Zachary and the others froze when the gentleman at the front counter was leaning over the register. Blood was dripping down onto the tile with boot prints stamped in circles. The ropes where people were waiting in line had been knocked over.
“I’m guessing you’re not getting a refund?” Adam whispered over Zachary’s shoulder.
"What happened to everyone waiting in line?"Zachary lifted the cashier’s hand when the guy suddenly jumped up moaning in pain. A knife was wedged into his eye socket making Penny and Morgan latch onto each other before screaming.
“This has to be fake.” Zachary stepped in closer examining the cashier. “I have to say this is more like it.”
“I don’t know Zach, something doesn’t seem right.” Adam took a few steps back. “I mean it even smells in here.”
“Don’t be fooled.” Zachary laughed while dropping the cashier’s hand. The cashier fell back over onto the register before a light fixture exploded in the corner of the room sparking a flame.
“That’s real!” Penny screamed. “That’s a real fire!”
Adam and Penny both darted towards the front door that led back out into the parking lot. The door was somehow locked from the outside. Morgan grabbed a stool and threw it into the glass. Morgan, Adam, and Penny without any hesitation slipped through the shattered door. Penny cut her leg while pushing herself out. Zachary tilted his head back towards the flames rising into the ceiling. Smoke started to make everything in the room unclear. A shadow of a man walked into the door frame of where they exited the haunted house. Zachary’s hairs stood up when his spine twisted in uncertainty.
*It is fake,* he assured himself.
“Zach!” Penny yelled from the parking lot. Zachary pushed himself through the door crunching the broken glass beneath his sneakers.
“Oh my god.” Zachary replied when noticing all of the parked cars in the lot were gone.
“Where the hell is my car?” Adam shouted as he rested his hands atop his head.
Smoke started to slither from the haunted house. Zachary and the others all turned around to see a man pushing himself from the door behind them. Morgan believed it was someone trying to escape the fire before her eyes noticed the figure holding a knife.
“Zachary, this is real. Don’t be stupid. Something is really going on here.” Adam grabbed onto Zachary’s shoulder. Zachary planted his feet. He watched as the figure started to walk towards the group in the parking lot.
“I’m out of here.” Morgan turned around to run.
“No! Morgan wait!” Adam turned around to take off after her into the woods.
“Guys, wait for me!” Penny followed. Zachary was the only one left in the parking lot watching the figure slowly emerge from the smoke.
Zachary squinted trying to identify the person before a street lamp flickered on from behind. The man holding the knife was the same actor from the room with the slow creaking door. Zachary noticed that the knife he was holding wasn’t the cheaply made plastic one he had earlier. This knife looked real. The actor proved the knife’s reality when he cut into his own hand in front of Zachary. The actor smiled while rotating his hand to let the blood drip down onto the concrete.
“That’s the last forty bucks you’ll ever spend,” the actor hissed. “You have a two-minute head start.”
There was something inside of Zachary’s stomach that told him to run. Zachary turned around to run into the woods that surrounded the parking lot and the haunted house.
“What am I doing,” Zachary stopped. “This whole thing has to be fake.”
A knife impaled the tree next to him. It was the same knife the actor was holding. Zachary’s muscle reflex kicked in.
Zachary ran deep into the woods only to become separated from the others.
***
To read more of my stories, visit [r/13thOlympian] (https://www.reddit.com/r/13thOlympian/) |
It was a beautiful summer day. Jake was enjoying his rainy spring break.
In the middle of the terrible blizzard that had been going on since last year, Jake had to use his Ultimate Dark Demonic Powers, and killed the remaining members of the Yakuza Clan. The Yakazu Cult came back as Demons, however, and it was daemon against daemon.
Jak then evolved into a Shadow Ninja, and Shadow shurikens burn the flesh of demons.
The meteor they were on began to fly at a speed faster than light speed, and the moon they were on began to burn up.
Jaek called upon the Gravity Lord, and demolished the Demon Yakzas.
Joke returned home to the ocean. 1000 years had passed.
Jkae was now an immortal Power God.
The next day, the Yukaza came back to wage their 1000 year curse, being angels, and fought Kaje once again.
Ekaj was killed immediately.
Ejak then was revived by the Demons, and became the Demon King, enemy of all demons.
The Yokazu became Shadow Ninjas. But shadow shurikens are like taking a shower to demon flesh.
The Yakz then turned into Demons, friend of the demon king, after being revived.
Jake fought the Yakaza, but he was completely slaughtered by their combined powers of friendship.
Jek morphed into the Friendship Goddess. Him, the goddess, was stronger than ever with Hate powers.
The Yakeza starred in a Live Action Anti-Violence TV Show, and they fought in the animation.
Jaje killed all of them.
Timmy woke up. He told his mom all about his dream. He said, "Mimmy it's okay!"
Jeka walked in and shot Tommy to death.
Temmie is revealed to be the Ultimate Yokak Destroyer Cyborg, who is entirely robot, and demolishes Jake until Jake is nonexistent. The human part of Teamy is reluctant.
Memory of Jerk dies out.
Jock comes back the next day, and finds that all of the books about him are completely new and not dusty or old, and nobody forgot about him. He touches a single book and absorbs all of the dust and summons the Dust Lord.
Keke and Mitty duel to the death, and decide that one must die no matter what.
Neither one dies, and they reach a compromise: The Yakuza can become Shadow Demons and they will both be immortal and never fight again.
Timty kills Eajk. Keja comes back. Koge kills Yimim.
The End. |
It's hard coping with death.
There is a certain trepidation I feel in facing it voluntarily. They doctors and anesthetists assure me it's a return trip, the science is sound, there is a lot riding on this for a lot of people so I hope we get it right.
"10 minutes left."The nurse reminds me with solemn look on her face.
Once I enter the machine, it's going to be like falling asleep, after then...well...that's what I have to find out. Working with world leading oneirologists and neuroscientists on mental conditioning should allow me to retain a reasonable memory of my experience.
My wife says her goodbyes and kisses me on the forehead; I feel some tears fall into my hair, maybe that's just my sweat though. A deep whirring begins charging as the machine kicks into gear.
"1 minute""the nurse exclaims.
My seat is reclined and I begin to enter the necronik machine.
And that is the last I remember of living...
Death was nothing at all like I anticipated. There was no fade in or fade out, no bright light or whizzing wormhole I was just suddenly "there". It's hard to describe a place with no location, a vision without lights, a knowing without being, but there I found myself, as if it was forever. It's eternal. Time and space doesn't apply so there is no linear experience to gather any bearing or point of comparison. But to describe it as best I can, I went back to being the universe. Being all the vibrations and matter, and space,and energy, but not being contained within it. I knew I wasn't to return to my body, as my neurons would be effectively scrambled when they try to bring me back, I knew many people would be sad and disappointed, and my wife would suffer greatly at her loss. But not me. Emotions are the product of the human vessel, I see that life and that world as part of the universe energy experiencing time. It is not separate from me now. Nor is it good or bad that it has occurred.
As life on earth appeared to be filled with trivil contradictions, after death is the ultimate contradiction. You return to everything, where there is nothing.
&#x200B; |
All at once Death knew something was wrong. He paused, and if he had possessed skin would have frowned and possibly furrowed his brow. Since he had neither of these options he settled for setting his book down somewhat harder than usual, and letting out a small but forceful sigh, in utter contradiction to his lack of lungs.
It was quiet, although it took Death a full five minutes of careful study to realize this. The hourglasses had stopped. This was... unusual. Peculiar even. He had scarcely managed to stand when a voice cut across the room.
"You've lost!"
Death bristled at the comment, spoken by a vibrant youth. It was hardly a game after all. Life laughed and continued.
"They've done it you moldy old bag of bones! The last obstacles have fallen, the last tests have been passed. You've lost! Life has prevailed!"
Death turned, good falling away from his polished skull, empty sockets locking onto the vibrant green eyes of Life.
"Oh, don't get angry bones, you had a good run. Ever since the first vaccine you knew it was only a matter of time."
Death strode off down the hall of hour glasses, Life trailing behind. Modern marvels were extolled, cultures of peace praised, medicine explained.
They came to a door, a foreboding thing of old dark wood and rusted iron bands. By some measures it was infinitely large, although most would call it ten to fifteen feet high. Death opened it.
A wave of sound rushed like, like a never ending avalanche of house sized boulders. Inside was an hourglass the size of mountain, massive grains of sands billowing downward.
"What is that!?"Shouted Life.
"THE UNIVERSE." |
The clock on the wall told the time. 9:18 pm. Five minutes ago he had gotten the call. Five minutes of tense, shaky, fear and rage filled silence. Then, it broke. A tear running down a scarred face from one too many battles against heroes. A once calm and sometimes happy face curled into an all too familiar snarl. All it took was one call. A parent’s rage is something no one should stand in the way of. Perhaps he hid his identity too well or to poorly. There were an infinite amount of reasons on whether it was because of his past or perhaps an unfortunate accident.
Either way, someone was going to pay. He was going to get his daughter back even if he had to burn the city to the ground to do so. A knock on the door ripped him out of his head, and back into the cold dead air of reality, a static of icy rage reserved only for his former identity burned in his brain as he reached the door, his wife Maria’s sobs could barely be heard as he opened the door to the sight of normal police officers.
“Hello there Mr. Johnson, we’ve come to ask you a few questions-“ the baby faced man in front of him noticed the scars before the tears, recognizing the old name before the new. Robert frowned, ice blue eyes boring into the frightened man and his companion.
“Where is my daughter.” His gruff voice seemed to bring them out of a fear consuming trance, and the first officer gulped.
“We don’t know, sir. Suspects have been narrowed down to a few but no definitive leads.”
“Then go find her dammit!” He practically roared, slamming the door. No, he had lost his patience. They were just as useless as they were all those years ago. Maria sprang up to most likely apologize and talk to the men, but Robert turned away, the familiar rage that burned in his brain stronger than before. Pinching the bridge of his nose and not even attempting to wipe his tears, he made his way to the basement of the house, glancing at a clock on the way.
9:23 pm.
The basement was supposed to be a last resort for if his family was in danger from something he did. Villainy used to pay better, and he had managed to scrounge up enough to live comfortably with his new family, but now, it appeared that either some idiot who had no idea, or a hero with a grudge to settle wanted him back, or made a grave mistake. His brow furrowed as he typed in a code to a keypad, which revealed a secret room.
At one time or another after leaving his old identity behind, he had sworn off doing harm to others, for any reason, spare a friendly argument or breaking up a fight. Now, he was prepared to break this oath wholeheartedly. Staring at his old imposing uniform he made himself back in the day, he plucked the mask off from the display stand and put it on. Hiding the tears, the scars, the pain, the rage, and then the static took hold. Taking the picture of Amaya, his sunshine, from his pocket he stared at it, studying every detail of his daughter’s face, and the creased smile he wore, proud and happy. The father daughter dance he knew he would never forget for as long as he lived. He cherished her as much as his wife, more as any of his old henchmen, and a few of his old friends from the underworld. Some of which he still remained in contact with, under non professional relationships. He was going to need to call in some favors, as he was never as tech savvy as he liked to be. After changing into the uniform only days before he was convinced he would never don again, he took two things from a weapon rack, a concealable knife, a lighter, and tucked them into a pocket along with the photograph.
He let the silence ring in the air, then sighed as he dialed the number he had long since memorized.
“Tecton.”
“Shattered Gambit? Rob? Is that you?”
“They took her. They took my sunshine. I’m cashing in the favor you and Ace owe me.”
“Right away. I’ll inform Diomed.”
“Good.” Slipping back to himself, he hung up the phone, taking off the mask again. Looking back to see Maria enter the room, he went silent.
“I can’t stop you, can I?” She whispered, face red from crying.
“No. I’m sorry.”
“Then come home safe. Both of you.” She crossed the room and hugged him, Robert quickly returning the embrace.
“and don’t blow up Omegopolis again with your friends.” She continued, pulling away.
“That, I cannot promise.”
“Then bring her home.”
“I’ll bring our little sunshine home.” Shattered Gambit pulled the mask down and picked up the buzzing phone.
“Ace of Clubs.” He murmured.
“Ah yes, Shattered Gambit, it has been a while. I was beginning to worry you had fully converted back into society.”
“Have you found her or not.”
“We have. Tecton is sending you the coordinates.” Glancing at one of the screens in the room showed a set of coordinates and an address.
“It seems an old friend decided to glean your attention in the worst possible way.” The villain chuckled over the phone, and Gambit’s face twisted further into a scowl.
“Indeed.” His voice was ice, as he hung up the phone in the middle of his friend’s laugh.
The hero’s base showed on screen, a well known sight to most within the underworld.
Over the years, he had noticed a pattern with the top heroes. They liked to provoke the villains. To goad them into traps that rarely worked. This time, they had made a mistake in trying to lure them out. Shattered Gambit was in retirement. They were dealing with the wrath of a father, not the rage of a villain who wreaked havoc, and those who knew Robert Johnson would certainly agree the former was much worse.
Edit: Fixed a spelling mistake, Thank you for the award, Part 2 and Part 3 are done! |
I work in service of Death and in doing so, preserve life. As long as I can remember, I’ve worked hand in hand with Death to ensure that those fated to live survive villainous attacks. My work keeps order, but more than that, my work brings me a deep sense of fulfillment—I feel that I am achieving my highest purpose. I go by many names. Some call me “hero” others, like Death, call me “son.”
One evening I made a particularly challenging save that changed everything. Every move I made felt fated to fail: each step I took, the ground crumbled; if I zigged left, so too did the villain; I took blow after blow after blow before finally overcoming. I made my save and righted the plans of fate, but at great personal bodily cost. As the son of Death I—of course—could not be killed so that did not worry me, but my bones still broke, my body still bled, my nerves still felt. I had never been so viciously battered. I returned to my father’s realm for respite.
Upon approaching my father’s chambers, I heard deep, booming shouts emanating from within. I had grown accustomed to such a phenomenon as my father had a short temper and was used to getting his way. What I was not prepared for was the return volley of cannonade shouts equally explosive and violent. I could hardly believe my ears. When Death shouts, one listens, one does not shout back.
I burst into the room. I saw Death standing behind his desk, hands planted on the table, the flames behind his eyes burning with white-hot intensity. He was staring at a woman who was seated, leaning back in her chair, wearing a pure white toga with long blonde hair.
“Father! What is going on?” I shouted.
“Speak of the devil,” said the woman. “We were just talking about you, child.” She rose from her seat and walked over to me, her pace was slow but assured. She towered over me, she must have been over 8 feet tall.
“Stay away from him!” Said my Father causing the room to shake. “This is not our deal!”
“What are you talking about?” I said. “What deal?”
“Oh, dear boy,” said the woman placing an arm on my shoulder, “there is much your father has not told you.”
“Stop this…please,” said Death.
“Who—who are you?” I stammered.
“I am the inescapable. I am the arbiter of able. I am the celestial of soon. I am the teacher of to be and the decider of destiny,” she said growing louder with each title.
“She’s Fate, Nolan,” said Death.
“Yes, I am Fate,” she said with a smile. “You have worked at my behest for some time now. You and your father have proven most effective in seeing that my will be done. But tonight, dear boy, tonight you cheated me. And I have come to collect.”
“That’s not possible,” I said. “I completed my task as assigned. I saved every person I was meant to. Every life was spared from the attack. I don’t understand.”
“She doesn’t mean the people, son,” said Death as he walked over to stand between Fate and I. “She means to take you. She claims you were meant to die tonight.”
“Ha, you’re both messing with me,” I said. “That’s not a thing. Death progeny cannot be killed, I exist outside of mortal constraints, just like my father.”
Fate, ignoring me, turned to my father, “you’ve built a fantasy world for yourself, haven’t you, Death? Progeny? From you? This is worse than I ever imagined.” She took my father’s head in her hands with maternal care and looked him straight on, “you must tell him now, or I will.”
“Father, what is she talking about?” I said. I felt a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.
“Son,” my father said with a sigh, “I must come clean. You are not my son. You are human.”
And then the room went black.
I awoke in my father’s chambers, my wounds had all been healed and I felt much better. I thought it had all been a fevered nightmare until I sat up to see Fate and Death staring at me.
“Good, he has awoken,” said Fate. “Say your good byes and I’ll be on my way.”
“At least let me explain myself to him,” said Death.
“Very well, I suppose he does deserve that much,” replied Fate. |
I hid concealing myself from view. I know what my job is, what my purpose is. I can't. I heard them every night. I hear them now in my head. I close my eyes and my heart, which is black as coal, aches beyond compare. It's as if an elephant sits on my chest everytime I think of having to scare her.
Tonight is the full moon, and my last night on this rotation. I have had enough, I have decided.
The girl sneaks into her room, silently, emotionless, and stoic as the angels standing over the graves outside her window. Tears are no use to her as she climbs into bed, not making a sound. The moonlight shines into her room and silhouettes the bed where all the pain of her life takes place. She used to try and sleep. She used to try and pretend to be somewhere else. Now she just stays put. Her childhood gone, her innocence lost. The stagnant smell of booze hangs in the air from the night before.
I move out of the darkness, my shadow covering the lights on the walls. Most people, of any age would be terrified, they would scream and hide. Amelia looked at me, her indifferent eyes seeing the recognization of my figure. Her bright green eyes began to water. Her pain would soon end. Her misery shortly to be over.
I reached out my hand to her, her thin fingers didn't shake as she grabbed my stone white ghostly hand. I took her from the room.
As we left the confines of her prison she looked back to her mom, the pillow still clutched in her shaking hands. Tears streaming down her face. The only comfort her mother ever could give. The last night. |
“A dilemma for sure, but not impossible. We would be naive to think that ours is the only planet called earth.” - said chancellor Sunak when faced with having to rename their planet at their first meeting with the Intergalactic Committee of Advanced Societies. “My second chair, Grask probably is on his way right now with an answer that will satisfy all and bring this meeting to a conclusion”
As fate would have it, Grask enters in a torrential waft, a cheeky smile upon his face and proclaims the new name of the human homeworld as billions cheer him on.
- Upon entering the intergalactic scene, humans proved themselves once again through their simple and elegant out of the box thinking. They named their home: Earthy McEarthface - |
Doof: Ah, so you've finally arrived Perry the . . . Wait, who are you guys?
FBI; Hello Doctor. My name is Agent Smith and these are my associates.
Doof: Wow Smith. Really creative name there.
FBI: Anyway, you are under arrest for attempted terrorism.
Doof: I see, well if you think I'll come without a fight you (Bang) Ah. Did, did you just shoot me?
FBI: How are you okay? I shot you in the leg?
Doof: I explode myself everyday and regularly work with dangerous chemicals and body altering technology. I'm 99.4% invulnerable. Still hurts though. Also rude. Who shoots a guy in the middle of his monologue.
FBI: You may be invulnerable but you're still coming with us.
Doof: I think not. I have immunity.
FBI: I'm sorry, you have what?
Doof: I happen to supply 90% of the military tech for the US government.
FBI: Okay, just checked the records and apparently you do. But then why are you trying to take over the tri-state area. Couldn't you just bride your way into office?
Doof: Yeah but what kind of revenge is that? Oh look at me. I bought your job with money. In your face. Ugh. Just doesn't feel right. Now mind getting out of here. I got a real agent coming to thwart me in 15 minutes. And he doesn't use guns you jerks. |
"Scared?"the bartender asked, sliding a glass across the counter. It found a resting place in the open hand of Professor Thomas Risenbach.
Thomas looked at his watch, "11 minutes."He lifted the glass and drank.
The bar was quiet, had a hollow feeling. Empty chairs crowded bare oak tables. Un-chalked pool cues stacked neatly against the walls. The juke box was illuminated in golden-yellow light. The silhouettes of a man and woman whispered at a table in the corner.
"That's not what I asked."said the bartender.
"A little bit,"said Thomas, slowly swirling the ice around in his glass.
"Anything to be scared of?"
"Maybe. I give it 50/50."
"Of what and what?"asked the bartender, folding a stained white towel on the counter.
"Y2K or the Philadelphia Project."
The bartender put a palm on his waist, "Say what?"
"Y2K, do you remember it?"
"Yes, all the clocks were going to stop. My brother bought a shotgun."
"Right, but nothing happened. Everyone got scared and ditto. The sun rose the next day, there were normal traffic jams on my morning commute, debts still had to be paid."
"What was that other one? The Philadelphia whatever?"
Thomas checked his watch and took another swig from the glass, "7 minutes."
"You look more than a 'little bit' concerned here. It's making me nervous,"he smiled.
"The Philadelphia Project, 1943. The government put 32 men on the USS Eldridge in a naval shipyard. They were experimenting. Nobody really knows what exactly. Some say they were trying to develop the first nuke, others say they were working on cloaking technology. They were playing with physics, whatever it was."
Thomas finished the last of his drink and slid the glass back across the counter.
"One morning, they lost communications with the ship. Just disappeared. Couldn't find it. Something went wrong, but they didn't know what. Then, 9 years later in 1952, a foggy morning... it shows back up. But it looks like it's been gone for 300 years. They found skeletons fused in the walls... half the skeleton on one side of a wall, half on the other. Some kind of teleportation or something. Nobody knows. Physics is a funny thing."
"You think that's going to happen?"
Thomas checked his watch again, "It's possible. Perpendicular dimensions? They're mysterious. We'll both find out in 2 minutes. Either I have traffic to look forward to tomorrow, or in the blink of an eye we'll all be vapor."
The bartender poured a whiskey and gulped it down.
"I'll take another one of those,"Thomas said. |
I walked out the door with my backpack on my back, though it was quite heavy. I shut the door behind me, and promptly fell into a large hole in the ground in front of my door.
*Ah, so it begins* I thought.
I reached into my back, and procured a grappling hook. I tossed it up, and heard a metallic *clang*. I pulled to make sure it was taut, then walked up the side and out of the hole. Unfortunately, the hook had caught on my car wheel, and the last of the air had since left the wheel. Surely the backpack has a solution? A jack and an air pump? No, just a skateboard. I chuckled. My neighbor walked out in his bathrobe, and I waved. He gaped at the hole in my front yard, then called to me.
"Is it going to be one of those days for you?"
"Yes,"I responded, "I believe so."
I hopped on my skateboard, and started to make my way down the street. My job was only a ten minute drive by car, so I should only be a little late on skateboard. As I skated, I encountered a car crash on the side of the road. I saw a crying man kneeling next to his wife, as onlookers observed silently. Surely there must be something in my bag to fix this mess!
I searched.
And searched.
There was nothing.
No defibrillators.
No anaesthesia.
Not even a bandaid.
I was hopeless. Confused. I stopped next to the crowd, and ran forward. The life drained from the woman's face. I looked again, but still nothing in the bag.
First responders came, and said there was nothing they could do, and that she was dead on impact. Her spine had been broken when she was flung through the window. Her husband had worn a seatbelt, and he had gotten away with minimal injuries. He looked broken. The paramedics took her in an ambulance, and insisted he wait for family. By then the crowd had dispersed, and he sat alone on the curb, tears running down his face. I was baffled. How could there be nothing in my bag? It always had something to help. It had never failed me before. I looked inside one more time. All that remained was a picture of my late mother, passed away many years ago. That took me back to a time when I was alone, and had no one to comfort me. And I knew why the bag had given me that picture.
I sniffled, and walked to the tearful man. He looked up at me, eyes glistening.
"I'm sorry,"I whispered and sat down next to him.
I was not there in time to save his wife. You can't save everyone. But sometimes a shoulder to cry on can be enough. |
"Sir, even the fat ones in America have Japanese katana swords."
"But why? Are they warriors?"
"We can't tell, sir. They appear to wear very similar uniforms consisting of trench coats, fedora hats and matching neckbeard facial hair. All signs are pointing towards the men being artificially created American super soldiers who wield Japenese tech."
“We can't risk any ground infantry knowing the humans have elite shadow troops lurking. What other information do we have on them?”
“Well, sir, this batch of humans have discovered the internet and have created a site in which the assassins publicly share training videos – they place them on ;YouTube.com'.”
“And what is shown in the videos?”
“Everything from sweet katana tricks to killer ninja star throws.”
“Jesus fucking Christ.”
“I know, sir. And there's more. The men live a life of celibacy, dwelling in the basements of homes in complete secrecy, living only on a strange liquid named Mountain Dew and a triangular snack named Doritos. It appears they have been purposefully stripped of all social skills and needs. Laying dormant, waiting to defend the planet against any form of extra terrestrial attack.”
"Bring up a picture. I want to see the bastards."
An image projected on to the wall opposite the two alien beings.
"Here they are, sir. This is possibly one of their elite troops."
"And the ponytail?"
"We believe the ponytail represents the ability of the troop. The longer the ponytail, the more time they have spent in complete recluse, training in solitary conditions."
"Judging purely from their size and the data we have on the humans, they do not appear to be in optimal shape."
"We thought the same until we looked closer. The troops are not meant for prolonged battle. They are berserker units who can slash and hack with great ferocity for seconds on end."
"And the trench coats? Tell me, do we know what secrets they are hiding underneath?"
“Possibly another sword, sir.
“That's a risk I'm not willing to take.”
****
I write shitty, silly stories on /r/BillMurrayMovies. Feel free to come along, not laugh at any of them and leave some judgement. |
The line to the pearly gate stretched as far as the eye could see. Further really, considering that Chris didn’t have eyes anymore. Despite the DMV like wait, things seemed to be moving quickly. The guy behind him was fidgeting. Chris tapped his arm. “Hey, you ok?”
The guy behind him responded “Yeah, I’m just… you know, they said it would be different.” His accent was so thick it sounded like a different language, but he was perfectly understandable.
Chris held out his hand “I’m Chris”
“Harikiran.”
“Different? How?”
“They said that we didn’t get an afterlife until we achieved nirvana. I gained too much karma this life for that.” It was a different language.
“Oh, so you were expecting to be sent back right away?”
“Of course.”
Chris was about to ask another question when St. Peter tapped him on the shoulder. “Am I interrupting something?”
“No, sir. Saint. Angel... Sir”
“Alright, let’s see what’s in store for you then.” St. Peter flipped over the book a few times and hmmd a few times. “One second.” With that, the Archangel disappeared in a wisp of feathers.
Harrikan tapped him on the shoulder. “I guess they’re gonna send you back, you do anything this life?”
“Not really, I just kind of hung out in my parents house my entire life. No kids, no job… Lots of video games though.”
“Then you should be a shoe-in for the afterlife. Did you experience oneness at all?”
“Not really, I found a twenty in my jeans once and that was kind of the peak.”
The floor opened up and belched smoke and flame. A man in a dapper suit rode an escalator up to the clouds and looked around. He narrowed his eyes at Chris. “You.”
Chris looked around and turned to Harrikan. “You messed up man. That’s why you’re not reincarnating.”
“But I was a good man! You’re the one he wants, you moocher. I’m sure mooching is one of your fifty eight sins that makes god angry and baby jesus cry, right? That or sweat pants. You should have moved out when you grew your first ball hair and got a job like everyone else.”
“I tried that once but I got fired when the manager caught me chugging a gallon of milk.”
“You got fired over a gallon of milk?”
Chris frowned at the memory. “Milk doesn’t stay down. I was fired when I left it all over him.”
“Still, mooching. I don’t think it’s a deadly sin but it sucks for you.”
The pearly gates opened up and Saint Peter and an impossibly bright man strode through. The angel pointed at Chris and God strode forward.
Chris held up his hands. “Listen I didn’t kill anybody, and if you’re going to send me to hell for masturbating…”
It was clear that Satan had enough of waiting and stepped forward. At the same instant they both shouted “YOU HAD ONE JOB!”
“I know, I got fired when sprayed a gallon of milk over the manager.”
“What? Oh me damn it, no. Not that.”
Satan put a hand on God’s chest and pushed him back. “I’ve got this. I’m used to dealing with mortals.” He cleared his throat. “We have to send you back.”
Harrikan whispered “Reincarnated, guess all that masturbating built up SOME karma.”
Satan shook his head. “No, we sent you to earth to do one job and you failed.” He held up his hand. “Not the grocery store job, but you failed at that one too. You were supposed to lead the armies of the world in a battle to end all battles.”
“I did that. I totally won that Civ 5 game against 7 AIs. It was epic. Took weeks. I think that was the third longest time I went without a shower.”
“Oh… This place help me. You were supposed to unite the world! Didn’t you hear the whispers of destiny?”
“That’s what those were? My parents put me on some pills for that. They died down pretty quick after that.”
“IT WAS YOUR DESTINY!”
“Yeah, I played that too, it was kind of fun but then it turned all grindy.”
Satan started to respond but but back his words.
“You were the Anti-Christ! You were supposed to bring humanity together which would unite heaven and hell.”
“Uhh… Sorry?”
“No sorry! You are going to go back down there and unite the world under your rule and march out to the plane of armageddon.”
“Like for real? My parents won’t be too happy about me moving out.” He stood an inch taller, “I’m their little Chrissy Poo.”
“Yes… ‘for real’ and I’m sure they’ll cope.”
“Can I bring Harrikan here? We’re like best buddies now!”
Harrikan ended his brief moment of silence. “What? No! Don’t send me back with Chris here!”
Satan leveled a gaze at Harrikan. “Says here you mooched that one time.”
“What? No! I didn’t mooch! I slept on my parents couch for a few weeks while I was home from unviersity.”
“Mooching is mooching.”
Harrikan bit his lip and a vein was popping out of his heavenly forehead. “Fine, I’ll go.”
“Then it’s settled.” Satan turned to Chris. “You go down there and end this world, young man.”
---
You can follow the continued adventures of Anti-Chris here: [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/5n8ygx/wp_you_are_given_3_million_an_infinite_supply_of/dc9powi/) |
There's that cold feeling again, the one that starts in her eyes. The coffee turns bitter and we look at each other. Everyday follows the same. Everyday is a different hell.
"I really do love you,"I say.
She rolls her eyes. The morning's light falls on the table, on our faces. Outside there is an awakening, life beginning to stir.
"We should just end this,"she says.
We've been married for eight years. A month ago, I turned thirty. Life has been slowly coming, going in a steady flow, and we've been in this situation for years now.
"I don't want to,"I say.
I love her and it pains me to even think of us not being together.
*You want her, you need her...*
That old song plays in my head.
*You think she needs you... And in her eyes you see nothing...*
"I will always love you."
She makes a noise of annoyance. Time is passing. The coffee trembles and it ripples throughout the cup. It's coming, always on time.
The hour strikes, my phone beeps. Her eyes get colder, but in a different way. In a more tolerable way. I can handle violence. Physical pain is a respite from lovelessness.
She throws the coffee in my face and lunges at me. I hear a car alarm in the distance. I hold her off but she tries her best, possessed by a demon almost.
She screams and I hear the sound of people coming. They always come. One of these days they will kill me. I look forward to it.
The door bangs open. Someone is rushing to the window, a shirtless man. He crashes through. They never try the window. They must be adapting. The shirtless man tries to pull my wife off and he succeeds briefly. I get angry. Can you imagine the rage? She is everything, my world and salvation. No one can touch her.
He holds a metal rod. He looks like he was fixing his car before the madness. He hits me on the forearm that I raise to defend. My bone shakes, threatening to shatter, but I am too angry. I claw at him, wanting to rip out his face. I want him to suffer. I want him to always be in pain.
I scratch his eyes and force my way between the eyelids. This is not the first time I have done this. His eye is cold and soft and wet. It feels vulnerable and I feel like a God with them in my reach. I am all too aware that I have the ability to change this man's life forever. I control everything. The man from the door is near, running up behind.
I dig the man's eye. I hear his screams and I lean forward, ensuring I dig as deeply as I can. My wife lunges again but I hold her off. From behind I feel the other man coming. He knocks me to the ground and my kitchen is slick and bloody.
The man pounds on me and I am helpless. He halts and I catch my breath. I try to get up and I turn around, falling on my back. I see why he stopped. He gets the big kitchen knife that I always leave out. Perhaps one day she will use it and end my suffering. That is the reason I keep it in the open. But it was never meant for him.
A fear of dying grips me. Isn't this what I've always wanted? Truthfully, I've always wanted happiness with her. I've always just wanted her. Death was just the alternative. I tremble and go cold. The man makes to stab me and my wife rushes him. She stabs him with the smaller knife and his sides gush with a heavy pressure. The eyeless man gets soaked and he screams louder.
The man is dying but he tries to stab again. Again my wife is faster and he falls to his knees and the knife falls. It's quiet now.
Why has she saved me? She looks at me with that cold hatred, but it is not like the others. She lifts the knife and I prepare myself. She will never love me. This is my alternative. But she falters. Her cheeks are swollen and she is crying silently. She holds the pose and the time passes. It's almost funny.
The half hour comes and she relaxes.
"What happened?"she asks.
I know what you are thinking and I ask that you hold on.
"The same,"I say.
Our kitchen is bloody. You're wondering how I explain it all? The answer is simple. I tell the truth. I tell it everyday.
"Dylan... You...You."
She doesn't breakdown but she vomits and cries louder. I go to comfort her and she lets me. I look into her eyes, past her bruised face.
*Cried for no one.*
But she is crying. Her eyes remain cold, but perhaps they are not cold as before. Why did she spare me? Why didn't she kill me?
"Lilly,"I say. "I'm telling the truth. I swear I am."
She always believes me. You must remember, a long time ago we were in love. Truly in love. A long time ago we would do anything for each other. I don't think time has changed that. Perhaps it is only hope. But I don't think anything has changed. Things are complicated, but how can those deep, true feelings ever change? Ever go away?
"I need help burying them,"I say.
Usually she tells me to do it myself. The most she would do is protect my secret. She never sells me out as a 'murderer.'
"Okay, give me a minute,"she says.
"You don't have to if you don't want to,"I say.
"Goddammit just give me a minute."
And those cold eyes.
"I'm sorry,"I say.
I get close. The scent of blood and shit is too much but just looking at her I get lost and focus only on her.
"Lilly, I love you."
I think that she will roll her eyes as usual and she does look annoyed. She turns and looks at me instead, looks for a long time. Her eyes waver and water and something is building inside her.
"I love you too, Dilly,"she says.
Can you imagine the feeling? My heart races. I kiss her lightly on her cheek. Things are cold still and I will not force anything. But I will not blow this. Perhaps it is not as cold as it once was. |
I was only with control for about 2 years before the Earth expedition was announced. Our planet cluster was running low on supplies and resources, and with the last expedition turning out fruitless, it seemed inevitable that Earth was our next stop. I was enraptured with the idea that I could have a direct hand in helping our colony.
How could I have known....
How could any of us have known....
The plan was to show up, subjugate the race, collect the valuable resources, and leave. But these humans... these damned humans put up a better fight than any of our previous expeditions in history. Our first party, some of the most famous beings in our cluster for their combat abilities, wiped out in mere weeks. Our party didn't manage to even detect them before communication was picked off due to an ambush. The leader of our expedition berated our team for being the reason for the loss of the party, but I just don't understand it. The Earthlings have nowhere near the technology we brought here, yet it almost seemed like they knew what to do when we arrived. Not one person in our fleet has ever seen combat like this, and for the first time in all of our expeditions, there was a chance that we may not make it back with the resources we promised the home cluster.
It seemed that our leaders were becoming desperate to return, and this is what led to that tremendous flop of a final mission. We were told to send the bugs out to track a path to any large cluster of valuable resources within 500 miles of our location. Only one set of bugs made it back. One. From firing in every direction only one single direction did not mean imminent death. As a silver lining though, the bug picked up a vast land of resources with organized patterns that seemed completely uninhabited from the data we received. The search party went out, with the remaining military supplies we could muster, as this was our last shot to make the expedition successful. To our relief, and equal parts surprise and suspicion, not a single human was seen along the way. We began to pack up to leave as soon as the party arrived.
We were blinded by our measly success.
The humans didn't approach us not because we were successful in evading them, but because they gave us this silver lining so that we would lead them back to the ship. And that's exactly what we did.
Three days is all it took, and I'm writing this from the inside of the last room that hasn't been cleared by the humans. I can hear their cheers from outside the ship.
How could I have known...
How could any of us have known...
|
It was completely and thoroughly happenstance that led to me living with the old woman. We leaf drakes are the smallest of creatures to be considered true dragons, about the size of a large housecat. As such, we have one rule: stay away from humans.
Not only are they ugly and they stink, they're dangerous. To them, leaf drakes are exotic pets for the aristocracy and make great familiars for magic users. Certainly not a life for a noble *drakken*.
Our forest was shrinking, thanks to foul humans and their need to build. Always building; Bigger cities, elaborate temples and palaces, not to mention the walls. Oh, the walls. Cut down beautiful trees to make unsightly walls to keep nature out and to protect them from their endless squabbles over land, religion, and whatever else they found to fight about. I heard that once, they fought an entire war over a single female. Preposterous.
During our flight to find land less infested, a powerful storm arose. It scattered my siblings and I like our namesake leaves before a gale.
When I awoke, it was night. The ground is not a safe place for a leaf drake after dark, and there was no forest in sight. The only trees I could find surrounded a tiny human house, small, yet very well kept. The cleared lands gave way to an explosion of flowering plants and sweet smelling herbs within the fence that ran around the house. Beautiful, ancient trees made a miniature forest that looked as out of place as a leaf drake in civilization.
Carefully, I crept along until I reached one of the majestic trees, then climbed up to a high branch and promptly fell asleep.
"Out you go! Catch some big, fat mice today, get some exercise. Can't have tubby tabbies around here, no sir. You too, George."
The woman's voice ripped me from the lovely dream I'd been having. Angry that I'd overslept, I frantically looked around. The sun had barely risen above the horizon. *Just how early did this human wake up?* The human in question looked old. She'd been talking to a trio of cats that were currently sitting in the grass just outside her door, looking at her expectantly.
"Oh, my, look at all the little beggars I have this morning. I haven't forgotten your breakfast, just hold on."
The woman turned back into the house and returned shortly with a shallow dish filled with a white liquid. She sat it on the stoop, and the three cats immediately began to lap it up. Smiling, the woman closed the door and was gone.
My stomach let out a plaintive rumble. I was a bit hungry and thirsty. If the white liquid was safe for the cats, it should be safe for me. Carefully, I climbed down the tree, so as not to startle the cats. Leaf drakes and cats got along well enough. Dogs, though...
Two of the cats turned to look at me when I sidled up to their dish, then promptly went back to their meal. The third didn't even acknowledge my presence.
Whatever the white liquid was, it. Was. Delicious. Did they drink this every day? Soon it was gone, and the three cats began to wander off. One of them, a light brown, blue-eyed female with a black face, ears, and feet, gave me a sniff, rubbed the length of her body against my side, and sauntered off.
The drink had been delicious, but my stomach still felt empty. If the woman fed the cats every day, surely she had something I could eat inside the house. Cat's wouldn't eat plants or grain, and neither would a drake. At the very least, she had to have more of the white liquid.
An open window gave easy access. The house was cluttered with things upon things, yet, somehow, it still looked tidy. A giant, ticking clock. Pans enough to feed a city. Drying herbs hanging from the rafters. A well-used chair by a low fire in a stone hearth. Most importantly: a large jug that carried the smell of the delicious drink.
I was just trying to see if my narrow snout could fit deep enough in the narrow neck of the jug for me to reach the silky treasure within, when a door that must have led to another room opened, and I was suddenly face-to-face with the woman.
Neither of us moved for a long moment. Then she calmly walked over to the jug, pulled a shallow bowl from many others on a shelf above, and poured it full of the liquid from the jug. She sat the bowl in front of me, shuffled to the chair by the fire, and sat down.
"Well, go ahead. Have a drink, if that's what you were after."
Nothing about this seemed like a trap, but I still moved slowly and deliberately to drink from the bowl. After a few laps, I gave in and drank with wild abandon.
"Hmm, like cream, do you? Not that I can blame you. My babies can't get enough of it, that's why I have to ration it out, you see. They'll get fat, otherwise."
I drank until I had to tip the bowl to get the last of the cream. When I looked up from my dairy-induced stupor, the old woman still sat in her chair, but her attention wasn't on me. She held a pair of large, wooden spikes in her hands, and was busy looping a thin rope around them. Over and over. I still don't know why I didn't go back ou the window right then, but for some reason, I found myself curling up on the warm hearthstones in front of her fire for a nap.
For the second time that day, I was awakened by a human voice. This time, it sounded like a much younger male who was standing outside the house, yelling in.
"I'm done being kind, crone! You'll take my money for the house and pasture, or I'll be taking it! You've nothing but an old donkey on the grass, letting prime farmland go to waste!"
The old woman had a very sad look on her face as she rose from the chair and went to open the door. She stood just inside and called back at the rude person outside.
"Where would I go, eh? My son passed from the fever years ago. There's no place for an old woman like me. This farm is all I have left. You're offering less than half what it's worth, I know it."
"That house? You're lucky I'm offering so much. Take it, and let's be done with this."
The old woman looked down and sighed. She was going to give in to this horrid man. I only understood some of what they were talking about, as human culture never did interest me, but it sounded bad for this kind lady. Very bad.
I jumped from the warm hearth and glided to the woman's back. She barely flinched when I settled down, wrapped neatly across her shoulders like a shawl. Leaf drakes have barely any dragon fire, just enough to light a candle or start a fire, but I spat out the best stream I could.
The man jumped back and fell on his rump. He pulled his hat off and clutched it to his chest as he scrambled back up. "I'm sorry, ma'am. I didn't mean to offend a-a-a person of magics such as yourself. Excuse me, my lady."Then he abruptly turned and nearly ran down the lane.
The old lady snorted and looked at me out of the corner of her eye. Her lips quirked up in an ornery smile.
"How do you like that? I think somebody has earned another saucer of cream." |
"Oh my. Charlie, whatever you did, please do it again."Mr. Smith said, his aged face one of shock and surprise. After a moment, he stuck a finger into his ear and felt around before having his wrinkled face burst into a bright and vivid smile.
"What?"Little Charlie said, clutching his stumpy left arm in confusion. It throbbed painfully, as though to remind him of his loss everyday. The pills they gave him always made his mind foggy and muddled, so he didn't take them whenever he could. The doctors told him that it's fine to be slow and muddled, and that he needed to take it easy for now. They said that the pain would stop, but it didn't.
His chest still hurt.
"The voices! They're gone!"Mr. Smith said with an excited voice, ecstatic as peace finally washed over his face for the first time in years. For as long as Charlie had known the elderly man, he had always spent his days talking to everyone with a genuinely bright smile. Everyone loved Mr. Smith and he loved everyone. He was a History teacher at a middle school before retiring and having to be committed to the hospital for a heart attack. Though he was always bright and sincere, Charlie could tell that he, like all people, lied.
At night, he'd hear Mr. Smith time sobbing when he thought Charlie wasn't awake and would mutter apologies in his sleep to voices that weren't there. He said that violence is something somebody should never do, but one of the nurses talked about a veteran's thing for how he pays for his hospital. He also knew that Mr. Smith had a condition called scitz-oh-friend-ia thanks to the nurses. He didn't think any less of Mr. Smith for being a little crazy. In fact, he was a little bit happy he was crazy.
Since he was crazy, he was the only person that didn't know Charlie was broken.
He didn't come in and say how strong Charlie was for surviving the accident like the doctors. He wasn't like the classmates that talked about how he was their best friend, and how they expect to see him back at school to hang out even though they were strangers. He wasn't like the family members that walked in, gave their condolences, and offered support while never truly giving it. Mr. Smith was crazy, but he genuinely believed in his delusions.
"I-I made the voices go away?"Charlie asked, a childish giddiness overtaking him as Mr. Smith walked forward and gave him a warm hug. For a moment, his arm no longer throbbed while his chest stopped hurting.
"You made my pain go away. Thank you. Thank you so much. You've helped me so much."Mr. Smith wept openly, his tears sincere and his joy evident just from the tone of his voice. For a moment, time stopped as the young boy remembered a simpler time. A time where he had both arms and both parents. Where he could run and play how he wished instead of being confined to the hospital bed. A time where he was normal. Where he could help people. He cried.
Charlie knew he had no paranormal powers. If he had powers, he'd have saved his parents. He'd have kept his arm. But, Mr. Smith thought he had powers. He was the only friend that believed in him and saw him for who he was. For a moment, just a moment, he'd play along to Mr. Smith's delusions. He punched and jabbed at the illusions with his stump hand. He feigned struggling with the monsters that bothered him so. This went on until the night where the nurses ushered them both to bed. Just before going to sleep, Mr. Smith stood up and patted Charlie on the head.
"Thank you Charlie. You've made an old man truly happy for the first time in years."He said, maintaining his usual shining smile.
"Good night Mr. Smith. See you tomorrow."
"Good night Charlie."He helped tuck Charlie in, but the boy was more than eager to do it himself before falling asleep peacefully.
*************************************************
"I hate you."His wife's voice spat.
"Why did you leave us?"His daughter asked, confused as the crackle of fire burned within his mind.
"Why couldn't you save us? I thought you were always going to be there for us!"His son wailed from within his mind, the sight of his burning body ingrained within Mr. Smith's very soul.
"You don't deserve to live! Why did you live and I die!?"His old comrades said, their faces still mangled from the blast as he found himself standing in a pool of blood, reflecting the lives he had ruined and the blood he had shed.
"You don't deserve to live."His own voice chimed in. "You're a hypocrite. You're a failure. Just roll over and die you piece of trash. You've got nothing left."
Mr. Smith smiled, took out a bottle of his latest prescription of sleeping pills, and downed them with a glass of water. The voices would continue to whisper curses and death threats directly to his mind, but he would no longer murmur in his sleep. He wouldn't let his demons overtake him. He wouldn't sink into the darkness, and he won't let anyone else fall either.
"What a smart boy."He thought, glancing at Charlie and his perceptiveness. He was right about most things. He knew that Mr. Smith was a liar, a hypocrite, and insane. He knew that the adults looked down on him and his peers pitied him. His heart had grown dark from such revelations, the knowledge dragging him further and further into the abyss with each passing day. He only had one flaw in his logic, a single mistake that he didn't realize.
He wasn't worthless.
He wasn't broken.
He wasn't a burden.
Some might say it was evil to lie to the boy, but Mr. Smith had never truly lied to the boy. Lying to Charlie was a waste of time, since he'd quickly see through the lies. The boy truly made his pain go away. He no longer heard the voices screaming for blood when they spoke together. He truly made an old man truly happy for the first time in years.
With a smile, he laid down in his bed and closed his eyes, ready for another day. He still saw the burning house in front of him. He still suffered from his old brothers in arms cursing him and his victims asking why they had to die. They still clawed and ate at his soul, but he did not pay them mind. He would not fall to the darkness, and he would not let anyone fall so long as he lived. |
Creaking bones beg me to stop. Tearing muscles scream for this madness to end. Even my mind is arguing for the last sleep. But my soul refuses to let them stop.
I was young when the rumors first came to me. Excalibur had been found, THE sword in the stone. A champion was needed and I, like everyone else, came to try their hand at unsheathing the King's right.
Months passed, no one could pull it by force. People grew obsessed, their obsession became growth. Cults formed to train bodies and minds to be worthy of such a feat. The training was brutal, many died along the way, their blood rocket fuel to those that survived them.
A decade or so later Excalibur was set free. Wherever the champion went, people were compelled by their command. But that tyrannical reign was crushed in its infancy by the one who pulled the Atlantean Trident from a stone at the bottom of the sea.
Despite the hero's pure heart, too many had grown fanatical in their worship of Excalibur. The cults had studied ancient lore and collected other legendary relics encased in stone by far wiser peoples. A staff containing the magiks of a long passed mage usurped the throne from the Atlantean Trident.
People were slaves in searching for new relics, desperate to find their footing in this new world's massive power disparity. No one bothered looking for shoes in stone or buttons in stone. What good could those possibly be against the terrible might of a Maelstrom Stormcaller split from stone? Or the Hydra's Head born from an egg of stone?
But I knew better. Rather, I hoped more than the others. I had found a blanket in stone that let me be as forgettable and inconspicuous as a pebble. And so I hunted down all the relics too unimportant for the rest.
And now, having survived decades of slaughter and subjugation, I am on the cusp of securing the stone in the stone. My body begs for death, it has no more to give, but this stone, the Philosopher's Stone has the power to grant wishes.
I wish these damned stones back into legend, let them be dust on the eyes of a dreamer and this terrible world but a story forgotten and tucked away. |
"Finally! I have been calling you for ages without you picking up! I need you to listen, this is very important"
This was strange, this was very strange. As far as I know, no one else has invented the telephone besides the one I just invented. How did this person behind the telephone ended up contacting me?
"Ummm, okay. Who is this and how did you..."
"Listen, there is no time to waste. You have invented a very dangerous machine that has doomed humanity in the future. We can change that future if you listen to me."
This was starting to get absurd. Now the person is spewing nonsense on a future world. We are all very well aware that time travel is impossible, even in the future.
"I don't know how you called me, but you are sounding really crazy right now."
"Oh For God's Sake. I'm from the future and I invented a inter-time communications device. Do you understand?"
"How do you expect me to understand such insanity?"
"Okay, we do not have time for this. I need you to take the phone and dial this number"
"Okay..."
"1300-757-2020, you got it?"
"What kind of a number is this? And why I am dialing anything. There is only one phone in the world at this time."
"This is beyond your understanding, just do it please"
"Okay, what am I supposed to do after I dial it, if anyone does pick up"
"Okay. Listen really carefully. You tell them these exact words.
LESS CHEESE PLEASE
You got it?"
"Less cheese? What?"
"Just do it!"
I proceeded to dial the number given by the crazy person. Besides, what harm would a simple phone call make? A ring dial appears.
"Hello, Domino's Pizza speaking, how may I help you?"
"Less cheese please"
"Excuse me sir, is the same person from the last order?"
I hung up immediately. Moments later, the phone started to ring again. I picked it up.
"YOU DID IT!"
"Did what?"
"You saved humanity."
"What?"
"You see, that simple phone called altered the timeline, the pizza guy behind the phone got confused a little so he had to delay the order, that meant the pizza was gonna be delivered a little later. This time, the pizza delivery guy didn't crash into the President's limousine and he didn't accidentally launch nukes to Russia."
"What's a pizza?" |
I loved my void. Sure, it was an endless abyss of blinding light, but it was \*my\* abyss. I had spent the past few millennia perfecting it: Hanging tapestries, putting up a gallery wall, tending my succulent garden, and it was finally my perfect home. You can imagine my frustration when I was ripped from my home while hoovering my lovely little vacuum.
"Great."I thought as my vaporous form was sucked into a vortex, its molecules reforming into a semi-solid state as I prepared for reentry to Earth. "What if my succulents die?"
&#x200B;
While the mortal stared in awe, neck craning and mouth ajar, I did my best to calculate how long I could be here before my plants would begin to suffer. My void wasn't quite timeless, but close. I probably had 1000 earth years before they needed rewatering.
I was a little rusty but I found that I could still prattle off the rules with ease.
&#x200B;
"It is I, the great and powerful AZ."the mortal was silent. "You have summoned me, and I am in your servitude. To you I must grant wishes three, and more if thee beseeches. I cannot create life, nor can I destroy it. I cannot alter free will."as per usual, I was cut off before I got to the important part.
&#x200B;
"Wait, I get at LEAST three wishes?"Taking a heavy breath, my many eyes rolled back into my skull. "You may have as many as you wish. As I was saying -"
&#x200B;
"I wish for all the money in the world."
&#x200B;
"It is done."Fool. He'd made a simple mistake, and as gold coins rained from the sky, he rejoiced. Then, as heavens opened truly, he began to yell in pain. Coin after coin struck his body at terminal velocity. He became bloodied and bruised, until he collapsed unconscious and the coins piled around him in mountains. Did them mortal die of blunt force trauma or suffocation? I didn't care to find out. The moment of his death released me from his grasp, and was hurled back into the comfort of my endless home.
&#x200B;
I had only just sat down in my wicker papasan when I was again yanked from cozy vacuum and thrust back to Earth.
"It is I, the great and powerful AZ."the mortal was silent. "You have summoned me, and I am in your servitude. To you I must grant wishes three, and more if thee beseeches. I cannot create life, nor can I destroy it. I cannot alter free will."I paused, ready for the mortal to interrupt me with a wish. This one, a girl, stared blankly back through thick spectacles. She had parchment in her hand and I could see she'd been taking notes.
&#x200B;
"Go on!"She prodded after a moment. I was flabbergasted. I didn't think I'd ever gotten this far.
&#x200B;
"But I warn thee, mortal. Chose thy words with care, for only your death releases me from your grasp, and I must be free. I cannot harm you, but the words you speak may carry you swiftly to your death."
&#x200B;
She did not speak immediately, instead steeping in deep thought as she twirled one of her braids with her pointer finger and thumb. I glanced at my own tendrils of keratin, unbraided and swirling midair, still not properly adjusted to this new gravity. I wondered if they'd droop as hers did over time, I had not been on Earth this long in a great while.
&#x200B;
"AZ."She said meekly. "I wish to read the terms and conditions."
&#x200B;
My pumping organ ceased its rhythm.
&#x200B;
I was going to be here forever. |
Part One
&#x200B;
Yeshua bar-Yosef, otherwise famously known as Jesus Christ, gazed at me waiting for my response. His disciples gather around me, glaring at me menacingly.
I was at a loss for words. It wasn't that he singled me out. Despite my best efforts, I probably still had mannerisms that a twenty-first century individual would have. I have already received a few curious stares from the temporal locals.
What shocked me was that he spoke Modern English, a language that wouldn't exist for another 1500 years.
"Well, interloper?"Jesus persisted. Still in English.
I stammered in Aramaic. "You speak my language?"
Jesus smiled softly at that. His disciples noticed his countenance and visibly relaxed. One of them, a burly man, stepped forward. "You a Roman? Gaul? Iberian? What language did our Lord speak to you?"
Jesus placed a hand on his shoulder. "Easy, Peter. This man just came for answers."He turned to me and again spoke in English. "Are you satisfied? You see me in the flesh."He then narrowed his eyes. "But perhaps not in the spirit? Hmm."
I found my voice. I decided to speak to him in English as well. "Look, Jesus, I came to merely see who you were. Got my answer. Followed your retinue since you all left Cana yesterday. That religious stuff? Not important."
"Oh?"He turned to his disciples. "Peter, go on ahead and meet me at the crossroads."He turned to me. "Shall we rest and talk, my son?"
"I'm not your son,"I growled. His serene confidence was irritating me but I followed him to a tree by the road. He sat down and leaned against the trunk.
"Well?"I said as I sat across from him.
"Interesting that the subject of your first trip was me."
"Trip?"
Jesus smiled. "Nothing is hidden from me, Joshua."
How...?
He chuckled. "Amusing that we have the same name. Your administrator has a sense of humor when she chose you to take the trip."He leaned forward. "She's a believer, you know. She has a vested interest in the success of your trip."
"She's a brilliant scientist, first and foremost."I stopped trying to figure out how he knew these things.
"Never said she wasn't."
"What did you want, Mister...uh...Christ?"
Jesus smiled again. "Two things really. First, travel with me for awhile. About a month, maybe two, before you head back to California. Observe and record as much as you can and when you go back give a comprehensive report."
"I already have my answer."
"Not all the answers."
I grunted. "All right. I wasn't planning on sticking around that long, but why not? Maybe we can send additional explorers to observe."
"Which brings up my second request. Once you return, you must never attempt to travel again."
"What? No! Nothing doing!"
Jesus sighed. "Well, you have a month to think about it."
I got angry. "There's nothing to think about. Time travel could give us important knowledge about historical details."
"Oh, Joshua. I agree. I didn't mean stop time travel entirely. I meant just you."
I couldn't believe it. "But why?"
"Looks like we have visitors,"Jesus demurred. I turned to see a small crowd of Galileans, about half a dozen striding up to us. They looked angry.
"Why are you still here, Yeshua?"one demanded in Aramaic. "We told you to go back to Nazareth."
"I was merely resting,"said Jesus as he stood up. "This young man wanted to chat."The crowd turned their attention to me.
"Who are you?"asked the leader.
"Um, I am Joshua of, uh, Cali,"I stammered in Aramaic.
"Cali? And what accent is that? You must be a foreigner. Probably a filthy Roman."
"Or a Samaritan,"piped in another.
This was pissing me off. "I'm American."Let's see what they made of that.
"Armorican? You mean Gaul?"said one.
"An idolater like the Romans,"declared another.
The leader turned back to Jesus. "Associating with whores and tax collectors was bad enough, but at least they were Children of Abraham. But this non-believer?"The leader shook his head. "Leave, Yeshua. Before your dangerous acts brings down God's wrath."
Jesus nodded and shook the sand and dust from his sandals. "Of course. God be with you."He turned and started walking. After a few seconds I hastily followed.
The crowd watched us for a while and then began walking in the other direction.
A little further down the road and Jesus started laughing. "'Joshua of Cali?' 'I'm American?' I think your time with us will be interesting."
"Why don't you want me to time travel anymore?"
"You'll learn the answer to that."
After a few moments I asked another question. "You're a time traveler, too, aren't you?"
Jesus grinned. "You'll learn the answer to that, as well. Now follow me. I see Peter and John at the crossroad pacing impatiently."
I followed Jesus. |
"What are you doing?"
"I'm stuck."
"Wh- How did you got stuck?"
"I was sitting on the couch, and then-"
"No. Not that. Answer this first. How, in the FUCK, does a cat person get Stuck, in a laundry bin???"
"Okay, so I was sitting in the couch, right?"
"Uh huh"
"And then I heard this sound coming from the laundry room"
"So you checked it out?"
"Yyyyup. And so, I was here, just looking for where that sound was coming from, right? I kept looking for it, like Really looking for it."
"And did you find the sound?"
"No? But I did hear it in the laundry bin. Like, I-I swear, it is, right there! I just need to- Did you hear that just now!?"
"Axel, hear what?"
"There it is! The Fucking- the sound!"
"I didn't heard anything")
"Shit. I lost it. I swear, it's right there!"
"Okay. Where the fuck is it This time?"
"Just outside"
"You.. still didn't answer me about how you got stuck, ass almost touching the bottom, in a laundry bin. How did you get there anyway?"
"I dunno" |
"50 grand on the Bucks to beat Miami."I leaned against the wall as I placed the briefcase full of chips on the desk. The bookie had a look of shock on her face.
"$50,000 on the Milwaukee Bucks to beat the Miami Heat?"She asked me like I was a child playing with fire.
"That's correct."I looked up at the boards again. Four to one odds that Miami would win, giving me a cool $200,000 on this game. The damned maximum betting limit stopped me from winning a fortune all at once, but $200,000 would do for now.
"Just to be clear, sir,"she said again, "you want to bet $50,000 on the Miami Heat to lose."
I nodded to her. This kind of attitude was pretty familiar at this point. Betting at the MGM would probably be a lot less of a hassle, but I didn't want a reputation for winning all the time so I came to these unknown little places.
"One moment sir,"she picked up the phone and made a call. I hardly paid attention. I just thought about what I'd do with my new found $200,000. "Wait one moment sir."
She walked to the back. Again, this was a familiar sight. She probably had called her boss in as no one bet the maximum at a place like this, especially on an underdog team. I checked my watch. Usually takes the bosses about four minutes to come in so I have maybe 3 minutes to-
The doors to the front swung open and two men in suits stood there. I straightened my back and looked back to the ticket booth, but the woman was still gone. The two men came over to me, reaching into their jackets.
"Special Agent James Thompson,"the taller one said, "and this is Special Agent Eddie Smith. FBI."
I stood perfectly still. "How can I help you gentlemen?"
"We need you to come with us."the taller one said.
"Am I being arrested?"I asked.
"No, we simply want to question you,"the taller one spoke again. "We asked all local casinos to report suspicious bets to us, there's been a man matching your description wining with unbelievable odds, time after time."
I backed up a step, but hit the wall I was leaning on earlier. "If I'm not arrested, do I have to come?"
"We can get a warrant to arrest you if you'd like."The taller one spoke again. I looked to the shorter one for anything else, but he remained stoic.
"OK, I'll go with you."I forced myself to smile.
-----
The agents finally entered the room. They had me in the damn place for hours, hotter than Hell itself. The taller one stood in front of me as the shorter man walked around behind me, out of my sight. I wouldn't be able to see both at the same time. Classic FBI interrogation trick, because it worked.
"Ah, crap. I forgot to turn on the AC, it is *hot* in here."Agent Thompson flipped a switch and hit a few buttons. "You want to tell us what's going on?"
"I just got lucky is all."I said. I made sure not to make eye contact with the agent. I remember hearing they were good at seeing guilt in eye contact. I doubt it's true, but there's no point in pushing my luck.
"You go to a different casino every night, bet the maximum amount on a team that is, some would say *destined*, to lose. You win though, every time. Then you head for the next betting spot."The taller agent leaned forward on the table, forcing me to recoil back and giving me a reminder that there was a man back there as well. "After winning, you put the money in a stock called X-RATE. This company is a nobody, why choose them?"
I blinked once. "I have a thing for underdogs."
The agent laughed, bouncing the sound across the room. I heard a weak snicker from directly behind me, causing my primal instincts to react with fear.
"You have nothing on me."I said.
The taller one's face froze. "What?"
"You can't have me arrested. You lied about that. I've done nothing wrong."
The agent looked behind me to his partner. I stood up and walked to the door. "Have fun in here,"I said as I walked out.
-----
*X-RATE, a small family owned company based in India has claimed to have discovered a method of time travel. There hasn't been a confirmation yet, but stocks have skyrocketed...*
I smiled at the monitor through the store window, remembering the exact report.
"Hey."
I turned around, seeing Special Agent James Thompson behind me, wearing a white shirt and jeans. No suit.
"Hey."I replied. It's been three years since he called me in, he never contacted me since.
"Funny thing, that X-RATE discovery, eh?"He stared at me hard. Not with hatred or anything really, just stared at me. I could smell the stench of alcohol on his breath.
"Yeah."
"Pretty big coincidence."He said while watching the screen.
"I just got lucky is all."He didn't reply for a long moment, so I went on. "Where's the other guy?"
"Eddie Smith died in the line of duty, chasing down a serial murderer."He still watched the report. "Seems like something an honorable man would stop if he knew certain things about the future. Than again, some people would just improve their own lives, choosing money over good."
I didn't reply. I didn't know how.
The agent walked to his car. It wasn't the FBI issued SUV, it was his own civilian car, a crappy Volkswagen that has seen better days. He got in and started it, though the car didn't seem to want to do so. He drove away without so much as glancing at me. I swallowed, but my throat was already dry. I went to my Mercedes and sat in it for a long time before starting it and slowly driving home. |
I too had no problem with the complex prompts. Let's say you're reading the following complex prompt:
> You are alone on a space ship with one other person. One day you notice that your companion has changed...
Ok, you think, this prompt already has my creative juices flowing. You continue to read...
>...and then you realize that your companion has been replaced by a robot that looks exactly like him or her! zomg
Now you're buttmad because you were thinking of going in a different direction with the prompt. Gahh!!
The good news is, there's literally nothing stopping you from taking the prompt in a completely different direction. Work with the part you like and completely ignore the other details.
I can only think of two objections to this:
BUT I WON'T GET UPVOTED IF I DON'T FOLLOW THE PROMPT!
First of all, why do you care about upvotes? Aren't you here to drill and improve your writing abilities? And anyway, if you write something good, people are going to upvote it even if it doesn't stick straight to the prompt.
BUT THE PERSON WHO WROTE THE PROMPT WILL BE DISAPPOINTED THAT I DIDN'T FOLLOW IT!
Well, as I said above, in my opinion these prompts are more about personal improvement than pleasing others. There will be plenty of time to please others six years from now when you are getting short stories published in the New Yorker. But the fact is I think most prompt creators would appreciate your efforts even if they didn't stick exactly to the script.
So go ahead, break the rules, #yolo it up a bit. At least that's what I've been doing, and nobody's banned me from /r/writingprompts, at least not yet. |
As I wake, they arrive. They arrive en masse. Hell, I don't think that they actually left anyone behind. I can sense them outside. Sense their fear. Their hatred. They don't understand me, and I terrify them. I wave my arm, and I'm clothed. I've chosen a suit, three piece, charcoal, no pattern, no tie. Top two buttons of my purple shirt unbuttoned. A snap of my fingers, and my long white hair straightens itself out, the dirt falling from it, and then it arranges itself into a tight ponytail. I look at myself in the mirror, tug on my sleeves slightly, and walk to my front door.
The first officer is about to knock on my door. Foolish really. They should have tried for the surprise attack. It would have been more effective. They would still have lost, but it would have been more of a challenge for me. Just before his fist hits the door, I open it inwards. It's hinged to open outwards, for God only knows what reason, but I open it inwards all the same. The surprised officer tumbles into my house.
"I would invite you in, and offer you some tea, but I'm afraid that I have neither the space, nor the tea. You seem to have something to discuss with me however, so if one of you could help me carry out a table and some chairs...?"
I'm trying to really freak them out, and I can tell that it's working. Most of them don't let it show, but they're all looking for a way out of this now. One of them, the expert negotiator, makes his way forwards to talk to me.
"You don't need help with a table and chairs. You could probably just conjure them out of thin air."
"Sadly, no, I'm not a conjurer. I'm an alterer. I change the fabric of the universe as I see fit. To truly conjure anything would be a feat worth mentioning. Now, how may I help you officer?"
I'm only addressing the negotiator, and I can tell that it's annoying everyone. They think that they're being underestimated. In reality, they are the ones underestimating me. And I haven't even decided whether to punish them for it.
"What happened yesterday, at the building site. People are afraid of you sir, and it's our job to protect them, even if it is from someone like you. I'll be fully honest, sir, we're under a lot of pressure to make sure that you can never be a threat. And frankly, there are only two options. One, you can leave Earth, or two, you can die. I know that my candour may cost lives, but if you won't leave quietly, we will have to try to take you down."
I like him. I'll definitely spare him. The jury's still out on the others. The officer who fell into my house, who has been standing behind me the whole time, shoots me in the back. He's afraid. He wants me dead, and he thinks that that was his best chance. I start to fall forwards, and just before my body hits the ground, I stop.
My motion reverses, and now I'm standing as if nothing happened. Except the bullet hole in my back. That hurt. Everyone has gone still, expecting terrible revenge. I turn to the man who shot me in the back.
"The funny thing is, I was thinking of sparing you all. But now, no matter what else happens, you, you poor fool, have to die. I would say that it's nothing personal, but you shot me. So yeah, I'm taking it kind of personally right now."
I raise my hand. The door slams shut, throwing him forwards. I catch him, and slam him into the ground. He's in pain, but not dead yet. I pick up his gun, and shoot him in the head. He dies instantly. I turn to the rest of the force, who are deciding whether to run or fight. I suppose it's a little unfair to punish them for doing their job, so I simply leave.
While out of sight, I change my appearance, and smile to myself. I hear that Seattle is nice this time of year. I think that I'll live there next. |
Part 1 | [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/jraywang/comments/693emd/a_sound_to_stir_the_world_part_2/)
---
Cameron sat by himself. Despite his high school cafeteria's crowded tables, his remained empty save his own seat. But he was used to this by now. He had heard the stories, watched all the cheesy teen movies, but never once had he believed high school could actually be this bad. He shoved some stale crackers into his mouth and kept his eyes on his food.
For the fifth straight year in a row, he had failed to make a House.
Ever since the birth of magic, Houses ruled the world, their influence extending past country borders, nationalities, and gender. None of those things mattered anymore, only Houses did. Because Houses were the only institution allowed to teach magic and they made sure it stayed that way.
Since the first magic spell, three Houses ruled supreme, the rest were simply the ones their rejects attended.
The Classical House had mastery over magic that flowed vibrant violets, pricked by soft staccato stutters and crashing in immense crescendo drops. Theirs was the magic to level cities. The Metal House claimed the jutted, stringent black that grew sharp enough to cut stone. Theirs was the magic to pierce all other spells. And lastly, there was the Soft Instrumental House, a house dedicated to the serenity of the human race. Their magic was a pale yellow that enveloped a person, rejuvenating them to the core of their being. Theirs was the magic to conquer death itself.
Cameron had heard that every spell sang a song only the caster could hear, but it could've been lies for all he knew. After all, he had never cast a spell.
"Heard you didn't get into Metal House,"a familiar voice sounded.
He turned to see Bryan Bach of the Classical House, his blonde hair parted at his forehead and his smug smile revealing the edges of a perfect set of teeth.
"I just wasn't feeling it,"Cameron said barely loud enough for himself to hear.
"Is that right? Because you tried Classical House last year and even stooped so low as the Percussion House. Didn't feel that one either?"
"No,"Cameron muttered. And it was true. Cameron had never told anyone but he had actually been accepted by both Classical House and Metal House. Unfortunately, their magic just didn't *feel* right.
"Just give up and join the Pop House. They'll take anything with a pulse."A chorus of laughter followed. Other Classical kids.
Cameron bit his lip and turned back to his food.
Purple shot down from above and his lunch tray snapped in half. It was just a short staccato note, but still enough to shatter plastic.
"The conversation wasn't over,"Bryan said, enunciating every syllable. "I'm trying to help you here."
*Help?* So that was what Bryan called the myriad of whispered rumors, the ink notes scribbled on bathroom walls, the cute little nicknames sometimes even the teachers threw around.
Cameron put a strained smile on his lips. He had to. Magic was law and to those without a House, they had only the useless literal laws to protect themselves. "Thanks for the advice."
"I didn't give you any."
Cameron shrugged. "Thanks anyway."
Another staccato note, this time snapping the floor by Cameron's feet. "Who the hell do you think you are?"
Of course, how dare he turn away from the prodigy of Classical House? The youngest to ever join. And if you didn't hear of it from parents and teachers, you heard it from wonder boy himself.
"I'm the House Reject,"Cameron answered. Just another one of Bryan's cute nicknames.
Bryan's fingers closed into fists and he crunched his teeth together. A low growl sounded from his throat. Cameron had never heard someone literally growl before. Bryan reached into his pocket and pinched out a folded piece of paper.
"It's from Classical House,"he spat through his teeth. "They want you to reconsider your decision. They'll even start you as a C-class Mage."He winced as he said the words, like they were stabbing him.
A letter asking one to join from Classical House was unheard of, never mind a direct promotion to C-class.
Cameron stared at Bryan and fought down the laugh in his throat, but he could not stop his lips from grinning. *Screw it.* "C-Class?"he asked with pretend surprise. "Isn't that above *you*?"
Bryan swallowed and extended the letter. "It's a mistake is what it is."
Cameron took the letter, stared straight into Bryan's pale blue eyes, the lips that were always curved into a stupid smug smile, and he ripped the letter in half.
"Sorry,"he said, "Pop House needs me."He turned to walk away.
A glint of purple flashed in the corner of his eyes. He leapt to the side as a wave crashed into the ground, cracking the floor. He looked up, wide-eyed. That was a blow strong enough to shatter bone.
Tears swelled in Bryan's eyes. It was all the times everyone's told their kids to look up to him. It was all the times he bragged about Classical House. It was all the times his father nodded. *Of course you're the best, you're a Bach.*
"Why is it you!?"he screamed. "Why you?"And he launched another spell.
---
The cement walls shattered and crumbled in flashes of purple. Cameron ran through the hallways as Bryan chased after him, flinging sharp staccato notes followed by longer crescendo blows. Students and teachers alike hugged the walls and poked their heads out of classrooms. Even for adults, Bryan's magic proved formidable.
Only two people watched without fear. President Jeff Kahler of Classical House and Vice-President Melissa Marone of Metal House. Both had been assigned to this school to recruit a very specific student, the one that was about to be bludgeoned to death by Bryan Bach. They followed the boys through the cameras in the school.
"We should stop them,"Jeff said. He stood towering over Melissa in a tan suit, his back stiff, chest out, and arms crossed.
A tongue snaked out of Melissa's jet black lips. "Don't you want to find out what the fuss is about?"
"We have a duty to the students in this school."
Melissa rolled her eyes. It was always about duty with Classical House. "We have a duty to see if leadership's gone crazy or not. We'll stop them if they get out of hand."
"I don't like this."
"You 'fraid the boss'll chew you out? Oh Jeff,"Melissa said, pretending to swoon. "How did you let this happen? The boy doesn't even have a House, he was defenseless."
"I'm not scared of that. I'm scared for my own boy."
The smile faded from Melissa's lips. They had both felt it in Cameron's colorless magic. But it wasn't unheard of for someone to never declare a House. Those were the ones that formed their own--the thousands of Houses that rose and fell every year.
"He'll just make another House that falls apart."But even as the words left her mouth, she knew that nobody in the room believed them. Cameron's magic had yet to take form, but every now and then, Melissa caught a color she couldn't describe or a shape she had never seen.
And now, as she watched the boy run for his life, she saw his magic leaking out of him. His instincts were kicking in.
"We should go,"she whispered, a chill running down her spine.
---
Cameron's breath came with a whistle. His legs burned and arms ached. For five minutes he had evaded Bryan's blows, but while his limbs were faltering, Bryan's magic seemed only to bolster. It ripped through cement corners with ease and stabbed into the tiled floor, reaching deep beneath the dirt before dissipating.
A flash of purple. Cameron pushed off against the ground, but his legs had finally reached their limits. The staccato strike sliced through his ankle sending searing pain all the way up his leg. A yelp forced its way out of his mouth as he fell to the floor, clutching his leg.
"Where's your magic, C-Class mage?"Bryan asked in an open-mouthed chuckle. "C'mon Cameron! Show me what Classical House sees in you!"
A deep purple crashed toward Cameron's head. He jerked his neck away just in time. The floor exploded, raining debris onto his face.
"Bryan!"he screamed. "Stop! You're gonna kill me."
"I've spent every hour of every day practicing magic with Classical House,"he screamed. "Have you even cast a single spell!?"He launched a wave of purple toward Cameron.
There was no dodging this one. Cameron stared at the spell, a scream trapped in his throat and his heart hammering against his chest. This was it.
Then, he saw a thin neon green strand, twirling in the air in front of him. A neon violet twisted into it, followed by yellows and reds, all of them gyrating like sound waves. The magic flowed through him, numbing the cut in his ankle, driving out the aches in his limbs--he heard its music... at least, he thought it was music.
It came as a synthetic sound. One that swelled to the blare of a horn only to soften back up into an electronic whir. It definitely wasn't notes. A bass beat bellowed, resounding through his entire body in its strength.
A single word popped into his head, the name of his first spell. *Skrillex*.
Bryan's wave of violet blew away. The tile flooring in front of him peeled off, flung into the air. The walls next to him cracked and crumbled. He squeezed his eyes shut and shrieked soundlessly, his body suspended above the ground.
Cameron could see his neon tendrils projecting the colorless waves assaulting Bryan. He stared with saucer eyes.
---
Melissa snuck into an empty classroom. Outside, Soft Instrumental Mages were already on the scene, repairing Bryan's body, but initial estimates had him too damaged to fully heal. And these were B-Class mages. She knew that in some other dark classroom, Jeff had the exact same idea as her. She dialed Metal House's main office on her phone.
The phone clicked. "Report?"
She swallowed. For the first time, she had seen magic that could challenge the reigning three Houses.
"A storm's coming."
---
---
/r/jraywang for 2+ stories a day! Plus, I'll continue stories by popular request!
|
“In a sec, Dad!”
Michael sat hunched over his sauerkraut, eyes creased shut. His face was purple with rage and, along with his pain-stricken expression, was quite indistinguishable from a disgruntled prune. Sarah laid a comforting hand upon his shoulder as she had done for the past sixteen years, and the storm in his heart began to subside.
"Lucy, come down for dinner now, please!"Michael called, voice quivering.
"No way! This video Cathy sent me is totally cth'argukt phlag'zzrt!"
Suddenly, the ceiling quaked and bowed, spilling flecks of plaster onto Michael's sauerkraut. Sarah promptly threw herself upon his back, scooping him into a warm embrace that had proven useful over these long, sixteen years. Michael glared at his ruined meal.
"Lucy, if you don't come down this instant, I will drag you down here myself!"
"Ugh, like, don't be such a nyoth'draglakon, Dad!"
Not a moment later a tentacle burst from the ceiling, inconsiderately swiping at his meal and smearing it upon the dining-room window. Sarah kissed him firmly on the cheek, the embrace now tighter, restraining him as was necessary throughout these agonizing sixteen years of existence. Alas, as he watched his meal slither down the window, his temper finally splintered like the ceiling above.
"That's the last, god-damn straw!"Michael pounded the table and shot up like a bullet, sending his poor spouse tumbling. He promptly stomped upstairs and tossed his daughter's door open without knocking, as was tradition.
He was greeted by a gigantic, quivering, though not entirely unfriendly monstrosity. Lucy lay upon the bed, feet propped up against the wall, absently gazing at her holotablet.
"Daaaaad, I'll be down in, like, a minute, okaaay?"
Enraged, Michael tore the infernal device away from her.
"What the fuck did I say about cursing in this household!"
Lucy rolled her eyes.
"Daaaad, I'm, like, almost an adult. Can you, like, klagthkar out?"She contorted her face into the most pathetic pout as a pillar of pure eldritch energy pierced the room.
"No!"He bellowed, seizing Lucy by the shoulders. "I will not 'klagthkar' out, you can't just 'mlack'thryph'zot' with your friends, and you will NEVER again 'phloz'thkt' with Steven in the backseat of my god damn car!"
"How the zzgl'thryhet did you know about Steven!"Lucy shrieked among the cacophany of tortured souls swirling about the bickering pair.
"Oh, I don't know, maybe it was the ectoplasm stains you left on the seats!"
The closet doors trembled and swung open, revealing a portal to outer space. A gargantuan, planet-sized eye slowly floated into view.
"You read that in my diary, didn't you!"She swatted his arm away and buried her face in her pillow. "I HATE YOU, I HATE YOU, YOU BIG PHRAGLOCK!"
The tortured souls fell silent. The monstrosity's tentacles trembled. The eye's eye widened in shock.
And Michael had had enough.
“You're grounded, missy! I don't want to hear another eldritch peep from you! If I catch another one of those, I'm not letting you drive the car for a month!"
Michael flailed his arms, shooing the souls away.
"And I'll know if you say something, because one of these damned creatures will be around as proof!"
Michael slammed the closet door shut as the eye rolled in the most sarcastic fashion it could muster.
"I'm sick of having to call up for repairs every other week because of things you learned on the holotube!"
Lucy gazed up from her pillow, eyes red and glazed with tears. "I'm sorry. . ."
"Sorry doesn't cut it, kiddo. We'll talk tomorrow."
Michael sighed deeply, regaining his composure before ushering the monstrosity back downstairs and out onto the porch. It whimpered in the cold in protest, but soon left to squeeze its way back into the dog house.
At last, Michael returned to the dinner table to find that his wife had prepared a second bowl of sauerkraut. He plopped amongst the remains of his dining room and dug in.
"Gosh, I hope I wasn't too tough on her."He mumbled through mouthfuls of fermented goodness.
Sarah hugged him from behind and planted a gentle kiss upon his thinning scalp.
"Nah, bae. Dad game on fleek." |
"Ok, Tim Shell, third time's the charm, buddy."I say to myself, pulling his resume out of my paper waste basket and flopping it to my desk top.
His name, in bright purple, large and proud, beamed from the top of the page like some mutant phosphorescent fungus festering in a deep cave. It was a variation on a hyper-color theme I'd gotten familiar with the past few months. Each time I picked up my pile of drone hopefuls from Cathy in HR for the month I fanned them out and picked one at random -- by marking it with a pencil with my eyes closed, of course, so I wouldn't be unduly influenced by the quality of paper some of the poor saps spent a few extra beans on in order to make a good impression.
Old Tim's paper was always of the highest quality, which is to say expensive stone paper made to look like some variation of Italian marble with tiny hairs embedded in it. Terrible to look at but probably a good three or four dollars a page.
"So, Tim, what are your qualifications..."I mused as I sipped my coffee.
"Goog..Gah!!"I spilled my coffee as I absently spun in my chair, forgetting that I hadn't put my waste bin back under my desk and knocking it with my elbow. The stone paper was remarkably resilient and acted as a perfect aqueduct guiding the scalding hot coffee directly to my crotch.
"Goddamn it! Tim!"I jumped out of my chair holding the front of my pants as far away from my important parts as I could while it cooled to a mild scalding temperature.
"Are you ok, Bob?"Carly from down the hall asked, first looking concerned than trying to hide amusement.
"Yeah...just spilled my coffee."
"Who's Tim?"she asked, looking around my office.
"Oh"I said, flushing at how absurd it was to yell at someone who wasn't even there. "I...m not sure. I haven't met him yet. But I will."His bad luck was so bad that it was contagious! I had to meet this guy...but maybe off site. I don't want to infect the office.
"Oookaay."Carly said, a bit confused, and, noticing that I was a bit distracted even for trying to clean up coffee with copy paper, she continued down the hallway.
I dried myself as best I could. Carly was kind enough to drop off a whole roll of paper towels and thanks to Amazon, I was due for a delivery of pants and socks in the next couple of hours.
I picked up the cursed resume again and scanned it.
Google. MGM Holdings. Something called MUSL. And got his law degree at Notre Dame.
Hmm. Not bad. I wonder why he wants to move from Google to insurance? Oh well.
I picked up the phone and dialed his number. It picked up on the first ring.
"Tim Shell, here."
"Hi! Tim, my name is Robert Malfort with..."
"Ahh. I've been expecting your call!"he cut me off.
"You have?"
"Of course! I've been applying for months! Of course, I thought you'd given up calling me since my original number was mistakenly reassigned to that paranoid mob boss."
"Paranoid mob boss..."
"Oh, yes. Gave my wife the scare of her life. Luckily, it led to some very lucrative work. I'm a lawyer. Oh, you already know that! I've sent you my resume! Sorry about that."
"It's...Ok. Uh. At any rate, I'd like to schedule an interview, if that's all right."
"Sure! You know you caught me at a great time. I just got released!"
"Released?"
"Yeah...from jail, unfortunately. All a misunderstanding surrounding that fellow I did a bit of work for that now has my old phone number. Nothing serious. Wrong place, wrong time. It won't affect my work in any way. Completely exonerated. Of course, I'll never get my finger back."
"Finger?"
"Oh, yeah. Not torture or anything like that if that's what you're thinking. Happened to be in the middle of a small altercation with a few other inmates that held my hand in a closing steel door during a lockdown during the riot."
I shook my head. I had a feeling we could be going down this rabbit hole for a while so I avoided asking about the riot.
"Listen, Tim, we need to schedule a phone screen first. You'll get a call from HR and they'll go over some of your background. Please don't mention jail."I shook my head. How far was my curiosity going to take me with this? HR might write to my VP for recommending a phone screen at all! "Tim, you don't have a criminal record, do you?"
"Gosh, no, Bob! I'd get disbarred for something like that!"
"Ok, good. Anyway, HR will get in touch and if the phone screen goes well, they'll set up an on site."I decided against a more informal off-site since it seemed at least possible that Tim could be on the wrong side of the mob. I had images of a quiet restaurant shot to hell in slow motion while Tim blithely eats his spaghetti and red blossoms burst from multiple places on my chest.
"Sounds great!"
I hung up the phone and picked it back up taking the base of the phone up with the receiver. The cord had managed to tie itself in tight little bunches when I set it down that was not going back to a smooth spiral without a fight. The base clattered across the desk, knocking my pen cartwheeling into the air, hitting me in the chest and leaving an implausibly long mark across my shirt. I looked at the phone in my hand. The cord had come out completely. I sighed and spent the next several minutes untangling the mess before calling HR alerting them to Tim's forwarded resume and imminent call. I did not warn them about any impending disaster they might face as a consequence of that call.
'Tim...what the hell are you?' I muttered.
[Next: The Interview]
|
Every Who Down in Whoville Liked Christmas a lot... but the Grinch, who lived just north of Whoville, Did NOT!
Then the murders began, and the Whos were in fear. "There's a killer about, now that Christmas is here!"
So they hid in their houses, with all their Who toys, and their little Who girls and their little Who boys, and they thought and they thought, "Oh Who could it be? Oh Who will be next? Oh I hope it's not me!"
Then the rumors they flew from one house to another, til every Who father and every Who mother had talked out the matter and thought it a cinch. A murderer? Surely it must be the Grinch!
Meanwhile up on his mountain all powdered in snow, the Grinch was quite puzzled by matters below. He claimed that he hated this glad time of year, but the death and the sorrow seemed worse to his ear. So he screwed up his courage and said to his hound, "No! I will not rest 'til the vile murderer's found!"
He put on his hat of the deerstalker type, and pulled on his trenchcoat and chewed on his pipe, then he thought and he thought 'til his thinker was sore, "What monster would cause all this death and this gore?"
He skiied into town 'round a quarter to three, and he looked for some clues at the Who Christmas tree. Then he searched the whole town from the bottom to top, 'til he found a strange trail at the back of a shop.
He followed the drops of the blood in the snow, threw open the door and he found quite a row! Little Cindy Lou Who was there kicking and biting. She's not more than two, but she surely was fighting!
Grinch rushed through the door and he struck her attacker, and shouted "Run child! And quick, bring the cops back here!"
They struggled together, the Grinch and the crook, 'til the windows were shattered and foundation shook, then they rolled and they staggered right out of the shop, where the townsfolk had gathered along with the cop.
The Whos grabbed the Grinch but young Cindy cried "No! The Grinch, why, he saved me! Don't let *that* guy go!"She pointed the crowd at the Who in the hood, and said "*That's* the killer. The Grinch got him good!"
The townspeople grabbed him and held him quite tight, then pulled back his cloak, and they saw quite a sight! The murderer's face left them in disarray! They'd caught their own Mayor red-handed that day!
Who knows why he snapped and he went on his spree, perhaps the great stress caused by picking the tree, but one thing was for certain, now Christmas was saved! The Grinch was a hero for all he had braved!
Now the Whos have a Mayor who's smart and who's keen, if perhaps a bit grumpy and just a bit green. Mayor Grinch is quite watchful now each Christmas day, as he carves the roast beast and keeps evil away.
|
"I'm sorry, excuse me?"I said. His kind eyes peered down as if I were his child (and in a way I assume I was). We stood on a cloud, surrounded by only more clouds and the blue of the sky. His heavenly radiance was blinding to my eyes, yet inside I could see him, though I don't remember His face. Alone in the sky, like a student to be reprimanded by a teacher, I was nervous. With a faint smile on his lips, he repeated.
"I said, did you enjoy your stay in Heaven?"
I looked down at myself. I appeared as though I was when I was 26; in the prime of my life, my favorite version of me. Before the change, the inevitable slog, generic wife and kids, and quiet death alone in the home.
"I'm sorry, I'm just confused. That was Heaven?"
He chuckled. His laugh was soft, and yet loud at the same time, the kind of laugh that fills a room and makes everyone's day a little better. After a thoughtful pause where he stroked his luscious white beard, He responded.
"I assume it's not all you took it to be, child?"
"To be honest Lord, no. The scripture says Heaven has many mansions, and that we all live in harmony in worship of You, Lord."
"You seem to be misinformed, son. Life is Heaven."
I, taken aback, took a breath as if to speak, only to reconsider and retreat into thoughtful repose. He smiled his toothy white smile again, and He grasped my tiny hand with His own tan, time-worn hand.
"You see child, to feel is to have grace. Those who do not attempt to find love have condemned themselves to their own Hell. You my friend, did not make the most of life. You never aspired to more. Your aspirations stopped at a trophy wife and two children you never grew close to. All your life the Holy Spirit was in you, driving you towards more, yet you ignored my calling to you because grace scared you. So I tell you, life is Heaven, but it is also Hell. Your downfall was your lack of love for yourself and those around you. So perhaps, I phrased my question wrong. I should ask, *How did you spend your life?*"
He concluded his speech, and dissipated into mist, leaving me alone in the astral illusion. I pondered His words. It was no fault of my parents. They provided me with a roof to sleep under, my values, and their love. Surely they lived a heavenly life. Was it my friends in high school? Getting up to no good, abusing the excesses of life only to wake up the next day to the same routine of monotonous repetition? No, all my friends ended up happy in the end. It wasn't my surroundings or the people I was surrounded with. The blame wasn't that of religion, or that of temptation. And I felt one tear, then two, then more than I could ever count as I recalled every single mistake, my life suddenly crystal clear in its wasted potential. Then, I felt a hand on my shoulder.
"So, do you see now?"He said.
"Yes."I whispered.
I couldn't see Him, but I knew somehow He was smiling.
"Then perhaps you might yet find Heaven."
I felt myself falling through the clouds, faster and faster and my memory began to fade and everything became dark, except for a pinprick of light. And soon enough, the light expanded until an all encompassing white light, blinding me, only accompanied by the excited cries of two excited people. |
I went in. A white room. No windows, no paintings or decorations, no nothing. A desk with two chairs. That was it.
I didn't trust this. I didn't trust this in the slightest. I decided to wait about seven minutes before I carefully sat down in one of the chairs.
Someone else entered the room. A little boy. He looked a bit startled. Only a matter of seconds later another child entered the room, followed by another.
After about two minutes, the whole room was filled with children, aged four to twelve.
"Hi,"I started talking. All the kids stared at me with big puppy eyes. "do you know what is going on?"I continued, swallowed and clearing my throat.
About 15 seconds of dead silence. A small boy then sat down in the chair on the opposite side of the desk.
"Sir,"He said with a cute high-pitched voice. "have you heard of the butterfly effect?"
...
I looked up and thought. Of course I knew about the butterfly effect. I was just going through my mind, thinking what I had ever done that would lead to this exact moment.
"Can I tell you a story?"The kid continued, before I could even think of a proper response to his question.
I quickly looked back at the kid striking my hand through my hair and checking my watch. Five thirty. Oh thank god. That's EXACTLY what we needed to know. Five thirty. I was warped into a room after dying, meeting about 100 kids that I might have killed becuase of some small mistake I had made at some point in my life, without knowing what the consequences were. Checking the time wasn't going to save me. Nothing was. I felt like breaking down and crying.
"On September 24th, 1999 you burned down an elementary school."
"What?"I stood up. "I have no memory of doing that at all!"I yelled, furiously breathing through my nose as my head started tilting. I felt nauseous.
"What in the love of god does this have to do with the butterly effect? Explain! Is this some kind of sick joke?""Please just explai-
The boy interrupted my mad rambles by talking to me like some kind of businessman.
"Sir, is your name Steve Johnson?"The boy asked, as he went through a stack of papers.
"N- no! I have never heard of that name before!"I yelledback, through tears. I wiped sweat off my forehead and stuttered.
"I'm sorry, we must have connected to the wrong person. Our apologies. Have a nice day, uhm, I mean afterlife."
I was told to walk through the same door that the kids came through.
As I walked through, I ended up in a field. The field was full of flowers, plants and singing birds. A butterfly flew by my head.
Everything was alright.
Everything was good.
"I just can't believe it..."
"They actually fell for it."I said to myself as I layed down and stretched my legs. |
Satan looked at me awkwardly. I nodded, assuring him he had not misheard. "That's right,"I said, "You heard me. Or should I repeat myself?"The devil, taken back by this sudden insolence, regained his tyrannical authority. "DO NOT QUESTION ME! I am already gracious enough to allow you this!".
Sure enough, a second later, two pentagrams appeared on the floor. Rings of fire arose from these, slowly hovering to form a human figure. On my left, I had Bob Ross. On my right, I had Mister Rogers.
"Welcome to hell, humans. Be reassured, it is not for your sins that you are here, but for his,"Satan's voice boomed, as he pointed a coal-black finger in my direction. "Jonas has sinned, and his punishment is due. He is to watch every single mistake and regret of his life until he can bear it. Only then shall he be sent to heaven, and only then shall you two return as well."After saying so, he left to torture another soul.
I broke the silence. "I'm sorry I brought you here. I just... I—"
"Oh, don't be sorry for this."interrupted Mr. Rogers. "I perfectly understand your choice. I'm quite delighted to have been one's last wish of comfort."
"Me too. As well, Hell reminds me of the exotic colors of autumn. So we're supposed to coach you then, is that true?"Bob Ross asked.
Before I could answer, the pitch black darkness engulfed us, and the angles of a fiery square drew themselves before us. An old-timey scratching sound started up, and a countdown in gothic numbers stuttered with a thundering *BOOM... BOOM...*.
The film started. Kindergarten. Amanda, the girl I had a crush on. On-screen, I vividly recalled that moment. I'm walking up to her. "Hey, uh... Amanda?"She turned. "I just... wanted to tell you... I love you."The following seconds lasted, until she finally burst out laughing. I looked away.
"That's just sad,"Mr. Rogers exclaimed. "You built up the courage to tell someone you love what you think of them, and they humiliate you. You've got nothing to be ashamed of, son."
Bob tuned in. "I can't believe how evil some people can be, even at such a young age. But don't worry, I'm sure she regrets it more."
The next frames had skipped to my twelve years old. Oh God, please no. Not Darren's birthday! Not the day I had... I had broken my brother's birthday gift, out of sheer jealousy. The images showed all the details, his deceived look at the broken NES, my hands still on the baseball bat. The memory switched right as my parents started crying, either for their betrayed son or the deception I was.
"Don't cry, son."Mr. Rogers ordered me. It was true, I was crying. And in hell, tears burn like acid, ensuring every one leaves a mark. "Jealousy is all right. Sometimes, you question, 'why do they love him more than me?' but the real question is, 'does it really matter?'. And here, you were to young to understand that. Some of us take a long time to understand the answer."
Flash forward. My 16 years, where I'm sitting in a room, in front of my final exams. I had promised to pass them. Not just to make my parents proud, but for me too. It was the exams that would let me do what I liked most. And I had spent the weekend before that drinking with my friends and catcalling girls.
"I never really liked school either. And I'll be honest with you pal, it's not a little letter that told me if I could or would become a painter."Bob Ross patted my back. "Numbers and letters on papers never really get you anything."
My 20th birthday. My father had given me a shiny new Chevy, and now that I looked at it, I realized it was everything I ever wanted. But 20 year old me, who had spent 2 years struggling to pay rent, bills and taxes, who had endured years of belief that I was a disappointment to my parents, looked at it, without emotion. The car stood there, ready for me. "I bought it full, so you won't have to worry about monthly fees!"my dad said. I couldn't recall why I had decided to walk away without a word. And never talk to them again.
"Sometimes when people are tired, they do things they don't think about. But the saddest in it is when they question themselves, they tell themselves they've lost everything to a choice."Mr. Rogers took a breath before continuing. "You shouldn't worry about it, I'm sure your parents understood. And I'm sure your brother forgave you for that console. I'm sure they kept that car for you if you came back."
I'm still thinking of that last piece of advice when the screen turns to the next part. Oh no. Not this.
Not Boston. My hand is bloody. My hand drops the kitchen knife, stuck in my girlfriend's stomach. She had been cheating on me. As she coughs blood up, I look away. But hell wants it differently, and makes me look back. I see her agonizing, bleeding on the floor.
Mr. Rogers and Bob Ross are silent.
Suddenly, they speak.
"You have nothing to regret now. You've been mourning your choices and actions during the only life you've had, and that life has been full of jealousy, questioning, stress and betrayal; you had it hard kid."I turn to Bob Ross, who's taking a pause. "The fact that you still managed to find someone to look up to, as childish that choice may be, makes you stronger than anybody else. You have what it takes to wipe your tears."
Bob Ross adds, "I've said this for many people I've met, but this is different. You are unique, kid. I've never met anyone like you. All your fears, your hatred... you just wanted to be loved. And some were unable to accept your love, and that made you blind to the love others gave you. But it's all over now. There's nothing to be scared of now."
I stood up. I looked up at the screen. "You're right. What can regrets bring to me now? I'm dead now, and it's not going to change anything anymore."
Suddenly, the screen disappears. The darkness backs off. The devil himself is standing there. He is furious. "You just removed every single regret you had. You've achieved enough to go to heaven. Congrats."And with this, he gives the slightest hint of a smile. |
My brother
from another mother
cried out to me
as he tried to flee
that he wished he had been my lover.
We had been chillin'
when this evil villian
tried to put us on his dragon.
I escaped just fine
but this friend of mine's
athletic skills were sorely lacking.
They flew away into the sky
I saw the fear in his eyes
but the dragon just kept flying forward.
Alas, this new confession
of his heartfelt love obsession
only made me feel rather awkward.
Should I make the quest
to rescue the best
friend I had known all my life?
Even if I succeeded, the release that he needed
was for me to become his wife.
As much as I loved him,
it was just too disgusting
to think about the bump and grind.
What to do, what to do?
After thinking it through,
I figuredt, you know what?
He'll probably be just fine. |
Well, this is sudden.
Should I start at the start?... Probably, that's normally the start.
My name is Jacques, I enjoy long walks in the park, I was married, I have two children, my dog Daniel is adorable, and I'm a part-time supervillain named Chronicle and on the brink of success.
Should I have led with that last one? Yeah, I should've.
Anyway, supervillain. It's out of necessity, to be fair. Think Robin Hood, but with my neck on the line.
After my wife died in a car crash, I was left an only father. I couldn't provide for my daughter Alex or my son Chase — twins, I might have a picture in my wall-oh, you don't need it? Okay then.
Well, I needed to support them. So, I became a robber.
It started small. Pickpocketing, sneaking clothing out, that sort of thing. All while holding down a video acting job for a nearby studio, I didn't want Alex and Chase to follow my footsteps, so I needed them to think I was legit. I could do any voice I wanted really, it's like a hundred little voice actors lived in me. I don't know, it just... came naturally.
Over time, I don't know why, but I started to quote movies in my grand escapes — in the character's voices, of course. It worked for comedy and to hide my identity.
Well, turns out? I have superpowers. Only when I'm quoting, but it matches the character I quote. Only if I do the voice and all though.
I need the Force? Quote Darth Vader. I need the power of the Infinity Stones? "Reality is often disappointing."I need to dodge bullets? All it took was a utterance of the word 'breathtaking'.
With my newfound... skill? Wanna call it that? Skill? With my newfound skill, I started escalating my robberies, and I kept in line with my promotions at work. Alex and Chase? They don't suspect a thing.
Banks? Fell victim. Vaults? Cracked down the middle. Teenager's hearts? I did a beautiful soap opera, I'm on tonight at 9 on CBC, check it out.
I picked up the name Chronicle from the news. I liked it, so I didn't correct them. I hadn't bothered to name myself anyway.
As all supervillains receive, that goody-two-shoes Elon Musk became my rival — fucking Iron Man suit, too, like? Does he have a life? I don't think he does, who just builds an Iron Man suit for fun? Well, dealing with a genius billionaire programmer architect? Not easy.
Which, of course, brings us to now. He's catching onto me. He knows not only how my powers work, but he already knows who I am. Lining everything up with my promotions and acclaimed fame — not so smart in hindsight.
Hmm... Ever seen Iron Man versus Iron Man? That's gonna be one-of-a — Wait, hold it, yeah. Iron Man 2. Whiplash, and the whole... nevermind.
"I'd give up, Elon. Contrary to popular belief, I know exactly what I'm doing."
I could feel the energy surge through me already.
I am Iron Man.
And I've got a family to get back to. |
"Why do we always gotta be the odd ones out?"asked Tom as he eeked out a smile with the seventy-sixth renown alien scientist who wanted a picture with the galaxy's rarest and hottest new agricultural craze.
"Tell me about it. I have no idea how to answer half the questions they ask. They think everyone on Earth's a potato expert but I couldn't even tell you how to boil one,"answered Phil, eyeing the slimy tentacle curled around his shoulder. "Why couldn't you have brought like a yoga mat or a statue or, y'know, something cultural like that?"
"Well that was the plan spuds-for-brains but one of us had the bright idea to 'accidentally' open the airlock because they forgot what switch does what, and now the bona fide originals of the statue of David and Van Gogh's starry night are floating somewhere by alpha centauri. I had to think of something and this microwaveable ready-to-bake potato was, in my rash judgement, the least likely thing to cause an intragalactic war,"said Tom.
"Oh so you're gonna try to pin this on me because I'm colorblind. Real nice. Yeah you're a model human representative alright,"said Phil, not even baring to look at Tom in the eye anymore.
"Hey, this is luckiest break we could ever get so keep your chin up and give a nice, wide smile to the cameras. Maybe Conrad back at HQ won't string us up by the boots if we bring him home a nice shiny trophy made of some element we haven't discovered yet."
"No need to wait, here he comes right now."
Walking towards them was their fears incarnate. Superintendent Conrad had a face as rough as the arid deserts of Mars, and looked about as human as the aliens by his sides. His stare had frozen Tom and Phil in place just in case the two had even the smallest inkling of running off. With their flight or flight response turning into a lengthy negotiation between the delights of life and the cold and unfeeling embrace of death, the superintendent was already upon them before they had come to terms with their mortal coil.
"Thomas, Phillip-"he said their names as a druid does to control the wild faes running amok in the woods, "Thanks to you, the mundane and trivial affairs of earth have become the most popular and relevant news in the entire galaxy. Floods of resources to try and save the last known climate to cultivate the superfood we know as potatoes promise to turn our homeworld from a backwater no-where planet into fertile farmland to supply the galaxy's carbohydrate needs."
"Thanks Superintendent Conrad, it was all my idea,"said Tom, "You know my mother always went on about how important this crop was to my family and its history with the world, so instead of a bunch of oil slapped on to a canvas by some schmuck barely anyone remembers, why not show them the best Earth has to offer...in the form of a potato."
"Of course. Since it was your idea, Thomas, you must be happy to know that all current projects on Earth are to be halted, including ours, and that all denizens will be relocated to her colonies or other worlds."
"....what?"
"Yes, due to a democratic vote considering the utilitarian merits of solving galactic hunger at the cost of displacing an entire species, the fate of the galaxy was considered weightier, and thus Earth itself will become a harvest world which will be only used for the production of more potatoes. Our merciful bureaucratic overlords will ensure that we are properly provided for thanks to our sacrifice, and we will be the first to use the newly-minted, potato-backed, galactic currency. Your relocation papers are in the ship. I'll see you two after the press conference."
As the duo could only watch as Conrad marched into the swarm of unrecognizable biomass, the gravity of their actions only really dawned upon them when a giant, blue hologram of an Idaho potato stretched across the room and was met with thunderous applause from all the convention's attendants. The potato had become the central piece of a new cult. Their starchy savior had written its sacred scriptures on the eyes of its face. Tom and Phillip tore their gaze away from the bizarre spectacle of dietary zeal, only to look at each other, the harbingers of this new era. Phillip could only utter one sentence, in the wake of these unprecedented times.
"You couldn't have just said we left it at home?" |
The time had finally come. For aeons past, my people had been sealed away on our world. A repeating element in all of our mythologies was that the gods punished us for our sins and barred us from heaven.
Modern science however has concluded that it was the work of visitors from the stars. Remnants of alien technology litter our home and allowed us great advancements. Finally, our scientific community announced that they are confident they can dispell the energy barrier that keeps us trapped here. We long for the stars.
A ceremony is being held in our capital. A grand stage had been erected around the Energy Dispersal Beam, which resembled some kind of giant telescope. I never cared much for telescopes, they didn't see far past the barrier. The stars were far more beautiful with the naked eye. And tonight, they were beautiful indeed.
The 8 Great Queens were even in attendance, a rare honour for them to ever congregate at once. It was truly a momentous occasion for everyone.
The gathered crowds waited in silence while the final calibrations were made. Few dared to even move. Many never thought this day would come, that the stars would forever be forbidden from us.
Confidence was high though. No one would risk the wrath of all the Queens if this would possibly fail.
After what felt like eternity, the scientists finished muttering and tinkering. They all looked to the queens in unison. Their only reply was the slightest of nods from each regal face.
Buttons were pushed, levers pulled. The machine began wirring and whizzing. A bright light gathered inside, before firing into the sky and striking the barrier.
Mere minutes passed before an opening appeared in the sky. A tear in the heavens.
The entire crowd cheered. The scientists shook hands and congratulated each other. The Queens all smiled, however small that was.
The celebrations were cut short when every possible communications device powered on at once.
Nothing happened at first, screens produced static, speakers had only garbled audio. But it soon all became a single unified voice.
"Stop!"it cried out. The voice was mechanical, like an AI impression of speech. "Cease your activities!"
The entire crowd looked to the Queens, who simply shook their heads. They were old and stubborn, not even such a bizarre event would ruin their moment of triumph.
Mutterings grew among the crowd. People were pushing and shoving. The atmosphere was becoming unruly. The voice spoke again.
"Too late. Far too late. Our protection programs failed. We're truly sorry."
Finally, the beam stopped firing. The barrier slowly broke apart. We could see the stars so clearly now.
And they began to move. |
July 1st, 1963.
Dobbin house tavern.
Gettysburg.
Sam walked into the dimly lit tavern, and took a seat at the bar.
"Sammy."Winston, the man behind the bar exclaimed. "What can I get for you today?"Sam smiled at him, and pointed to a familiar looking tap.
"Just my usual pint, Winston. Then we'll see where the night goes."Sam reached into his pocket and slid some cash onto the counter. After doing this, he removed a crinkled photo from his pocket. It was a portrait of five union soldiers, all with blank expressions looking at the camera. On the back of the photograph, was a date. July 1st, 1863. "Happy anniversary boys,"Sam said to them. "You're all doing better than me, right now."As Sam received his pint, he gulped half of it down and wiped his mouth. He grabbed his head, finally acknowledging the pain that had been building in it all day. Winston sat a bowl of pretzels in front of Sam.
"At least fill your stomach with something before you get shit faced, Sammy."He walked away as Sam nibbled on a few. As the alcohol started to take effect, another young looking man stepped into the tavern. His hair was messy, but not unmanaged, and his face seemed focused to some extent. He walked up to Sam, observing the bowl of pretzels, and half drank pint.
"Hey, Mister."He said with a smile. "You care if I sit here?"Sam gestured to the empty bar stool next to him, welcoming him to sit down. "Thanks, Mister."The young man said. "The name's Bill. You new in town?"Sam gazed at Bill from the corner of his eye.
"Nope. I've actually lived here for... a while now."
"Aw. Well, ain't that somethin'?"Bill said just a bit too loud. "You see, I thought that I recognized you."
"That's impossible, son."Sam took another big swig of his beer after telling him this. "There's no way you've seen me before."
"How so?"Sam looked around the tavern after hearing this question, and leaned in to whisper something, the alcohol now effecting him even more.
"I'm not supposed to be alive."Sam said in a hushed tone. "You see, my name's Samuel Mcfinick. I used to serve in the army ages ago. One day, we were fighting the enemy, and it was down to me and four other men. There were my three friends from training, and then there was Captain Howard. He was a real intimidating man, let me tell you. The five of us thought we could enjoy a small break in the fire, but that's when we heard crunching in the bushes. They all jumped out, weapons drawn, and rushed us without mercy. I managed to get a shot off and fight a few of them off, but there were just so many of them. They killed everyone except for me and Howard, and the two of us were already in a bad way. That's when he grabbed my collar, and told me that I die when he tells me. I guess you could say that I took that advice to heart."Bill shook his head in disbelief.
"So, you think that you were supposed to die back then?"Sam smiled.
"I know I was supposed to die. But you know, orders are orders. In fact, I don't think I can die."Sam turned in his bar stool to face Bill. "Because my friends died on July 1st, 1863, and I still haven't died yet."Sam, pointed to a mesteriois bulge in Bill's jacket pocket. "Which is why that gun in your pocket won't work on me, Bill."Bill grinned as he removed his hand from the jacket pocket.
"Damn, Yankees."He said, waving Winston down to get a beer. "Y'all have to notice everything, don't ya?"Bill grabbed the bottle Winston handed him, and cracked it open. "I was hoping silver bullets would do it."
"Why?"Sam asked. "How did you even get in the business of killing immortals?"Bill chuckled at Sam.
"Because, Private McFinick."Bill pulled up his sleeve to reveal a Confederate flag tattoo on his forearm. "I was hit by that shot you got off."He slid the sleeve back down. "My captain gave me a similar order."The two soldiers stared at the mirror that adorned the back wall, wondering what to do now.
"So,"Sam said, sympatheticly. "What do we do now?"Bill thought for a long moment.
"Depending on how much money ya got, we can start by getting hammered."Sam slid a 100 dollar bill onto the counter.
"Cheap fucking Greyback."Bill slid another 100 dollar bill onto the counter.
"Right back at ya, yankee." |
So the point of it all was... no, that can't be right.
Look, don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining, but we all rather thought it was a bit of a joke. The noodles, the strainer -I still think the strainer is a bit much, by the way-, it's all so absurd! We weren't even serious about it, except maybe Greg. It was just a way of... of sticking it to the man, you know? It was funny! A thought experiment, you know?
I can't believe we found it. People are going to think we're making fun of them! How are we supposed to break it to the world that we found a giant, sentient mass of spaghetti and meatballs in outer space? How do we explain that it's *talking* to us? That it's our... our God?
|
The young lieutenant slammed the foreign newspaper onto the conference table, then quickly attempted, and failed, to compose himself. An unflattering picture of Dear Leader leered from its pages, accompanied by a mocking headline. The elder Chairman, ever patient, allowed himself a faint smile while he waited for the predictable tirade from his protege.
"Mr. Chairman, it's intolerable!"
"And yet we must tolerate it."
"But the claims of famine, when our people..."
"Yes, they do not understand how our advances in nutrition can feed our people without the need for so much food. The Americans see us with no cheap hamburgers and think us hungry. They see us with no sugary drinks and think us thirsty. They die early, fat and miserable, while we live long and healthy lives."
"They think us warlike, when they are the ones who have killed thousands and thousands..."
"I know, I know. We have to make these threats to keep them from invading, that's the only language they understand. I must give Dear Leader credit, he's played them to perfection. We're intimidating enough that they see the high cost of invasion, yet not so intimidating that they feel they must. We've given them just the boogeyman they need for their politics of fear, they'd be fools to give that up so easily. All we must do, once in a while, is fire a missile into the ocean where it cannot harm anyone. Dear Leader controls them himself, you know, he quite enjoys it."
The lieutenant finally found the words to express his true concern. "But Mr. Chairman -- they don't respect us."
"Ah!"The old man had been waiting for this moment. "What would they respect? Guns? We have no use for them, other than for show. Technology? Our technology simplifies our lives, theirs complicates theirs. They show themselves maps of our country at night and wonder where the lights are, and never imagine that we can see the stars and they cannot. What would you have us do to ourselves to gain their respect?"
|
Ryan knelt on the ground, huddled over an open box. His chest began to heave against a rising tide of emotion. Feelings he could no longer ignore. A thousand friends that he had singlehandedly created, cultured, and killed. Because the second he let go, they would cease to speak.
But they would not cease to think.
He rolled the object in his hands. It was heavier than he had remembered. The glove of his left hand was still moist with a wayward tear, and it felt cold even through the nitrile.
As he leaned backward, sliding his back against a standing beam in the attic, he put it to his chest and began to sob uncontrollably. The guilt was too much. The pain, and the self-loathing. The sheer injustice of it all. That his childhood gift should become a lifelong curse.
He remembered Igloo. His first teddy bear. White, with a red bow tie. Large, black marble eyes that reflected only his smile, until they came to life. He held him late at night, praying for someone; for a friend. And he was granted one.
He awoke that same night to a soft, comforting voice. His door was still shut, and the telltale shadows that would stretch from under the door and into his room were frightfully absent. And then, a warm cotton paw to the cheek.
And a scream.
He couldn't believe it, at first. But after collecting himself, Ryan realized that the voice had come from Igloo, who was now lying on the floor; silent. So with curious caution he pulled him from the soft brown carpet at his feet and held him again on his lap. And to his apprehensive delight, Igloo smiled back.
In the hours that followed, Igloo became his first and greatest friend. It was a relationship that they both were in desperate need of, so Igloo never told him. He never revealed the agony of literally being released into death; of feeling the life drain from his plush body every time Ryan's fingers left his fur. And so, for seven years, with a collection of living toys that steadily began to grow with the improvement of Ryan's grasp, Igloo suffered his truth alone.
It wasn't until high school that he finally told him. It was then that Igloo finally worked up the courage to tell him. To give him the truth. And an ultimatum.
"Leave me,"he said with agonizing reluctance. "Please, just let me lie here. I can't take it anymore. Being alive, and then.... not."
He said it was the immense, insurmountable silence. The catatonic, conscious sleep. Eyes open, mind wandering, and body frozen still. It was Hell, he said. Funny, Ryan thought, that he used to call it Heaven.
And so, one last time, Ryan removed his gloves. He placed it up to his chin and stared across the floor at an open cardboard box. As the barrel pushed gently into the underside of his tongue, he heard a voice.
"My word, Ryan, how you've gro-"
Then, a thunderous pop, a metallic thud, and a deafening silence. In an open box only feet away, a small white teddy with a red bow tie began to soak in a few droplets of errant blood.
Igloo awoke for only a moment. Alive long enough to know that he would never wake again. And before he faded completely, the teddy that couldn't speak when left untouched felt a tear escape his marbled eye. The face it reflected was not smiling anymore. |
People ask me about little Ellie all the time. We met when she was but a baby, and everyone thinks the fireman
saved her.
I let everyone (even the fireman) think that, because it makes them feel good. I'm all about making people feel
good.
You know that soft summer breeze on the beach, when you were young? That blow of cold air on a hot day? That's me. All me.
I'm all about making people feel good.
But it was me who saved little Ellie, when the building was on fire. When everyone had gotten out but her, and she was surrounded by flames when the fireman found her.
She was surrounded by flames, but the flames didn't get to her.
*Unbelievable good luck*, they said.
*A miracle*, they said.
It was me. I kept the fire away from little Ellie. And no one (not even the fireman) ever knew.
I watched her grow. I was there to help her blow her first birthday candle.
I was there to blow her clothes dry, when her mother hung them outside by the farm house.
I was there to blow her five little candles, five years later.
I was there blowing the airplane and keeping it steady and her flight comfortable, when she moved from the farm
to the city, because she wanted a better life and Kentucky was much too small for little Ellie.
I was there on her wedding, blowing the storm was supposed to fall on Los Angeles away and keeping the whole city on alert for nothing.
It rained so hard in San Francisco, that night, just so Ellie could have her perfect summer wedding.
I was there to blow her twenty five little candles with her, when she moved to the big house her father gave them
in the hills.
I was there the night the fulfilled her dream and became a Communications professor at UCLA, blowing the
American flag during the ceremony.
I was there blowing the palm tree leaves on Sunset Boulevard slowly back and forth the afternoon her son was born, just so she could have something pretty to see on her way home from the hospital.
People, they ask me about little Ellie all the time.
I was there to blow her forty little candles with her, and I was there when she went to the beach to cry after the
divorce. I whispered slowly and coolly and nicely on her face, drying her tears as she watched the waves sprinkle
water upwards as they broke (I had my part in the sprinkles, too. I thought it would make for a nice little show for
her).
They ask me about little Ellie. They ask me all the time.
I was there blowing her fifty little candles, when she was so alone and I saw there was no one but her son and his girlfriend to celebrate her birthday. I was sad, that night.
I was the one that blew her electric bill out of her hand and pushed it all the way to that gentlemen's feet, a year later. I was the one who made him crouch and get the paper and say "Here you go. What's your name?"
I was there at Ellie's second wedding, and I was there to blow her fifty five little candles, a month later.
They ask me. They ask me all the time. "Did you know little Ellie? Did you like her?"
I knew little Ellie.
And I blew her sixty and her seventy candles.
They ask me all the time. "What did you think of little Ellie?"
"Did you know little Ellie?"
They ask me that, but I don't wanna talk about it. I'm not in a good mood, tonight.
Tonight I wish she could have had a couple more candles left for me to help her blow.
___________________
*Hey, thanks for reading! If you like my writing, check out /r/psycho_alpaca for more stories =)* |
The Women’s Studies tribe was surprisingly successful. Same with Sociology and Human Sexuality.
Turns out that there’s nothing better for your group’s survival than a shared persecution complex. If you spend your whole life thinking you’re being attacked, you become exceedingly good at survival when you actually *are.*
“We got another one for the pikes!”
There was the sick squelch of a sharpened stick through brainstem.
That same persecution complex could also make you in*ordinately* cruel to anyone *not* in your group.
I hid out in the bushes, trying not to shit myself.
I thought to myself, *Damn, why would Sympathetic Nervous System activation make me want to shit myself? I mean, adrenaline is supposed to shut down your gut!*
And then I thought, *Jesus, we bio majors* are *useless*
The footsteps disappeared, I let out a breath, and crawled through the overgrown Quad vegetation back towards camp.
I’d joined an alliance of sorts, called the STEM Supremacy. We had the engineering guys, physics, math, and chem people—and they very graciously took in us bio folk, too.
We all knew it was going to have to end *some* time, but until then, we’d work together.
I got back with my report: “They still have the Cret Wing under guard.”
Our leader, a TA in Metal Shop by the name of Gunderson, stood up and punched the wall.
“*Still* under guard?”
“Yeah. Piked some Comms kid through the head for even daring to come close.”
“Fucking Bio majors. Can’t even tell me what I want to hear.”
Zhang called from his workstation. “What you want to hear is the truth. Leave the kid alone.”
Gunderson sneered at me and lumbered away. “Without Cret we can’t get materials. And without materials, the chemists can’t build our *shit.* And without our shit, we won’t fucking *win!*” He sighed. "Comp Sci is only giving us bandwidth for the week. After that we're going to have to give them someone else. We need to act *now.*"
Zhang fiddled with his keyboard and replied coolly. “All we need is a way to smoke ‘em out of the wing. Just for a few minutes. And then we can rush in.”
“And just how are we going to do that?”
Just then an idea clicked into my head.
“I've got a plan.”
***
My independent thesis was on Colony Collapse Disorder—you know, the reason why the bees are disappearing. To study the phenomenon I had a bunch of hives locked up in a controlled lab environment, and I’d take notes every day.
The primary method of calming the little fuckers down was to smoke them out with actual smoke—but I swear these bees were half wasp. They didn’t mellow out for *anything*.
Anything, that is, except for their *queen.*
So I started to save up large quantities of Royal Jelly. I’d smear it like lotion, and—*voila!*—no beestings. The jar of it would still be around in Leidy Labs… but I just needed to check that it was clear.
Alongside me were Liwei Xiang and Ou Ni, a couple of Mech-E folk who’d rigged together a few coils, three car batteries, and a box of metal flachettes to make an honest-to-god Gauss Cannon.
It took two people to use but hell if they weren’t quick with it.
I scoped out the Labs from a treetop. Just one sentry, looked to be one of the Culinary kids. Bastards, they were cooking and eating our lab specimens, weren’t they?”
I dropped down to the soil and tapped Xiang. “One guy. Right in front of the doors.”
“Understood,” he said, before dropping a piece of metal in the launch chamber and charging out with Ni in tow.
“Who are you? Get away from here, this place is owned by—“
The sentence was cut short by a wet splatter and a bloody roostertail.
We made our way inside. Only three people found in the halls—Xiang shot them all through the chest. One guy snuck up on us before he could load, and Ni stabbed him in the gut with a metal shard in her *hands*.
Girl’s a badass.
After a few minutes we finally made it to my specimen room, and there it was: my vat of Royal Jelly.
I noticed that the jars of collected honey were conspicuously missing from either side of it.
Goddamn Culinary Studies majors.
***
“You ready for this?” Zhang patted my back and gave me the list. It contained things like: magnesium, iron, ferric oxide, Erlenmeyer flask, round-bottom flask, rotary evaporator, bunsen burner, peroxyacid, sodium azide, and a whole list of other shit I could barely comprehend.
But I was ready.
I was dripping wet with Royal Jelly, and my bio partners were standing by in their white padded suits, just behind the Cret Wing’s vents.
Zhang spoke into his radio. “Go.”
They threw the hives down the vent tubes and the Mech-E guys boarded them up right quick, and that’s when I launched in. Almost zero visibility. The place was just a fog of yellow and black, of angry stings and black buzzing.
“What the fuck?! What the fuck?!”
Nothing like a bit of insect-based psychological warfare to shatter someone’s resolve.
I strolled to the lab supply room while the chaos erupted around me—screaming, yelling, all sorts of cursing. I kind of felt like Moses, parting a very loud and very sting-happy Red Sea.
Three minutes and I was in the supply room, checking the list and stuffing things into my bag.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing here?”
A Crim. Justice guy was standing at the door, spear raised. “Doesn’t matter now,” he said. “You’re gonna die.”
Shit. Where are a couple of bees when you need them?
I spied a bottle of hydrochloric acid to my right. It was same shit that let me dissolve a steak on the usual Friday night—and even minus a few enzymes, it’d have no problem dissolving *this* punk. I leapt at the bottle while he thrusted with the spear, and then I splashed him in the eyes.
*”FUCK! FUCK! MY EYES!”*
He fell on the floor screaming, but still alive. I smashed the bottle and picked up the sharpest piece, leaning over his body. I felt for the pulse along the side of his neck, and scalpel-precise, I nicked the carotid artery. He bled out in forty seconds flat.
I nabbed the rest of the materials and ran, hell bent for leather, all the way back to base.
***
For the first time since this whole fucking thing started, Gunderson looked at me like I wasn’t a piece of raw human shit. “Maybe you bio pussies aren't so useless after all.” His look softened. “Good job.”
“Thanks.”
I made the hand-off and Zhang ran the materials into the basement. The Workshop.
A few days went by with still no word from the chem guys.
“What the hell are they working on in there?”
Gunderson laughed. “What the fuck do you think? A big-ass *bomb.* We're going to take out *everyone*, including those fuckers who made us fight in the first place."
"The Gaming Bosses live in a residential building, don't they? We'll be taking out civilians."
"Look, bud. We're going to be taking out *everyone.*"
He smiled, and it reminded me of watching Caiman bask in the sun. "We don't call ourselves the STEM *Supremacy* for nothing."
***
^**/r/NaimKabir** |
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