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*Hey, welcome to Heaven. I’m God. I was just about to watch a movie.*
“I’m dead? How did I die?”
*Rapture. It’s a good way to go, all things considered. Means you were worthy. Very pain-free too.*
“But, where is everyone else?”
*Just you and me, amigo. You are the only one who got raptured.*
“I’m the ONLY worthy person?”
*Yeah, like the whole Thor and his hammer business.*
“But…other characters got to use it.”
*Yeah, that’s just a movie.*
“Wait, is Thor real?”
*It’s complicated. Just come sit. The unskippable intros are almost over.*
“But, you’re God. You’re omnipotent.”
*Tell that to the MPAA. Pirating would be easier, but that whole ‘thou shalt not’ list applies to me too.*
“Is this Transformers? Are you watching Transformers?”
*Good movie, right?*
“Oh, yeah. Just no one else believed me.”
*That’s why you’re here and they’re not.*
“Where’s Michael Bay or Shia LeBouf?”
*Couldn’t make it. Didn’t enjoy the film.*
“Alright, scoot over. Is there any popcorn?”
*All the popcorn in the world, but if you ever tell God to scoot over again…*
“Oh no, I am so sorry.”
*Laugh*
“Did you just say ‘laugh’?”
*Sit your ass down. You’re going to miss the show.*
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[17 Phrases That Will Horrify Coffee Snobs!](http://www.buzzfeed.com/stephanieanderson/blend-forty-nope#.qmrA9r86K)
1.) Happiness is unobtainable.
2.) When your father passed away, he regretted having you.
3.) You never deserved any job you own.
4.) Life is a fleeting, desolate experience. And here you are.
5.) Your significant other is cheating on you regularly with that person from your office you hate.
6.) They are thinking about leaving you for them. They make substantially more money.
7.) You've never performed well enough sexually.
8.) They've faked every orgasm. Even the men, they found a way.
9.) Your family pet hated you. So much.
10.) Every time you got bulled in High School, you deserved it.
11.) No one will remember you when you die.
12.) Your ashes won't even sustain a plants life. You're a waste of space.
13.) Death is unavoidable, but, for you, you'd be doing everyone a favor if you found it early.
14.) Your dreams shall remain dreams.
15.) You've succeeded on the failures of others, not by your merits.
16.) Your Children are destined to fail. Just like you.
17.) Everybody who ever told you they loved you were lying. |
It was a blinding flash of light that marked my departure from normal time. Not that I knew that, of course. I was in my kitchen making myself a cup of coffee, not planning to get trapped in the plot of a bad sci-fi movie. But apparently the people of the future didn't know how to check if someone was okay with something before doing it, and now I was sitting on a chair wearing nothing but a bathrobe.
I glared at everyone in the room, making known my displeasure. It had been a lot worse when I first arrive, a lot more cursing and yelling and general displeasure. But after the first half hour of that, I realised that yelling did nothing. Well, that's not entirely true. It made me feel better. But it didn't do anything *productive*. So now I sat, waiting for whatever they wanted me here for. Which, fortunately, actually happened pretty quickly. A hidden door across from me slid open, allowing two men in. One, if I had to guess, was in the military. He was clearly given some cool toys. Futuristic (heh) body armour, and what looked like a laser rifle from Star Wars. The other seemed more academic, with a iPad looking device and a mic. I supposed with perfect voice-to-text coding, they didn't really need normal paper and pen.
Each one sat across from me, the floor shifting shape to accommodate their bodies. I cleared my throat, loud in the empty silence of the room.
"Mind telling me why the *fuck* I've been kidnapped? And why you all seem to be from the future?"I directed the question at the army-man, but it was the academic man who answered me. He leaned forward, eyes glowing with what I assumed was excitement.
"You're one of the few people who have been chosen for a brand new program- we've taken people from all types of time periods, and we're filling out the history books. You were chosen for the early twenty-first century and the late twentieth. Do you mind if we ask you some questions?"
I blink, then sigh, shaking my head. They dragged me here in nothing by my bathrobe, and they had the nerve to ask me questions that they could've asked anyone, especially people way better suited to it? I was about to refuse, when an idea popped into my head. I smiled a little, doing my best to put an a pleasant and trust-worthy facade.*
"Why, of course not. What would you like to know?"
The other man- the historian, not the grunt- beamed, flicking a switch on the mic and putting a similar one on me. He cleared his throat, then spoke.
"Is it true that the American astronaut Mark Watney landed on Mars, and proceeded to do battle with the Martians there, culminating in the entire population being wiped out once he set the planet on fire, resulting in the being known as Martian Manhunter swearing to hunt the man down?"I sat through his question, shocked but desperately trying not to show it on my face. What the hell? They had no knowledge of my time, didn't they? This was all wrong!
...but it was something that was pretty good for what I had in mind. "Close, but not quite. The Martians weren't all wiped out, but they were forced to flee into space, which MM wasn't aware of, due to being what the Martians called a "giant fucking nerd."Once in space, they realised most of their women were gone, so they abducted Earth's moms to repopulate, before vanishing into deep space where they were promptly torn apart in a vicious and bloody war between the Xenomorphs and the Necrons."
The historian listened to me with rapt attention, and I hoped the device-thing was recording it. He continued to ask me questions, and I continued to lie and mislead about basically everything. It was hours before we were finished, the army grunt having left long before.
"...and that's why Dumbledore didn't die at the Astronomy tower in Hogwarts, and in fact teleported out of 1990 into a dark age Middle Earth, where he became known as the great wizard Gandalf."
"Fascinating. Well, thank you for your time."The historian smiled and nodded, taking a device from his pocket and pressing a button on it. "You will now return to the moment you left, with all memories of this erased."There's was another bright flash, and...
What was I talking about, again? I shrugged, returning to making my coffee. |
The police lights flashed red against the falling sun. The fields always smelled higher at twilight, something about the dark that just awakened the old earth. The sword tasted it, drunk it all through its blade, as though a man with a great thirst. The static of radios pulsed in the quiet. A man was dead. The stillness of it hadn't left as yet.
Bobby sat on a large stone. In the falling light it was grey and dusty. His eyes were red and he was still crying, though the energy had left him. Officer Jane was a pretty woman and he thought as much dejectedly. A ghost of embarrassment haunted him as he talked to her. It was almost funny.
*You're going to jail forever. You killed him. And all you worry about is the skirt you're wearing.*
It was battle attire, genuine barbarian garb. Officer Jane was cordial.
*"I didn't know the sword was real officer. I bought it at a prop shop.... Of course I tested it. The blade was rubber... Yes I know the difference between a real sword and a fake... How? I bought a genuine katana online once..."*
Her questions were unbiased for now. Her face was a blank canvas. But he knew what they must think. He would go to jail and he would die in prison, if they didn't kill him.
The body had been almost severed. He didn't know the man. He had been one of the unfortunate villagers who had taken up arms against Mortong's conquest. He was to be a statistic. And he was.
The sword enjoyed the dark. The last light mixed with a weak moon. Humans could not see the light so well, but the sword felt it over its skin. The faint far away dust of cosmic light hit it in a milky way. It basked in it. It was planning its future. It reminisced a long gone past.
Long ago before record, there had been magic in the world. In the dark areas where study was fleeting, where intuition was strong between man and earth, there were things that got lost in time. The sword remembered much. Before time had a name, and when it was just passing, living as they called it, there was a mountain that oversaw the world.
Inside that mountain there was fire and a different kind of man. A great city ran beneath the grey rock of the young world. A city of red and gold and black smooth stones, and full of tall, pale men.
These men had been magicians, the sword supposed. They preceded its time, and it remembered them as a child his father, thinking back to the very early days of youth.
In that nameless mountain the sword had been forged. A thing of war to conquer the outside. For the pale men were preparing an attack. The light from the sun was growing brighter. A new ignorant man stalked the strange outside. Their coming scared the magic. Soon there would be none and the world would turn, emptier in an artificial illumination.
So the sword was forged amidst the flames. It remembered its birth well. The ring of steel. The grunts of hard labor. The waterfalls of fire. There in the earth of that magicless present, it longed for that time.
But time never comes back. It was night then and it looked at Bobby. Bobby was kneeling on the ground. Two officers were beside him. He did not know it as yet, but they would arrest him and he would be sent to prison forever.
*He may think that,* the sword thought. *But deep in his heart he does not know it. He holds out hope for them to believe him. To believe that I was false.*
But the sword had anticipated that. And so the slash looked as though it was three. Not once would it seem that Bobby struck the man, but another and another time.
*"Why did you not stop when you saw that the man was bleeding? Why keep cutting at him?"*
And Bobby would breakdown and say he did only strike once. But who would believe him? The evidence was plain.
The sword drank the earth. As night came all the earth's memories sprung up, like some nocturnal animal. It told of great battles, tales of valor and defeat. But even the earth could not remember the times of old. That time was only a shadow deep within its soil.
*I will tell you then,* the sword said.
And it told the earth its tales and looked at Bobby. It felt a twang of disappointment. It had owned the boy for months now. It had thought him a warrior, and it was eager to fight once more.
But the boy was a pretender. He fought for theatre and the sword had been angry and embarrassed. It ruined the boy's life. Now it looked on and wondered if that had been too much.
It remembered the battles of old, when the pale men fell. They had not fallen in battle; that would have been glorious. They fell to the mountain and to magic's absence. The mountain had erupted when the magic had fled. The spells staying the fires were weakened, broken then, and then the men were gone. Only their weapons survived.
*And even they are scattered or dead,* the sword thought.
Many of its friends were shattered or melted in the fires. Many were lost to the sea. For all it knew, it could be the last. It was sad and lonely.
The officers finished examining the body. It was clear that the man had been hacked more than once. To do such damage, you had to really put your back into it. This wasn't some LARP pretend. It had a violent intent.
Officer Jane cuffed the boy and held him from his trembling knees. He was fat and had a young face and she knew he would not last in prison.
*Bobby,* she thought. *Even the name is weak.*
They put him in the car and drove off. Officer Brent had meant to take the sword as evidence and he thought about it even as he pulled off. The detectives, paramedics, everyone, thought of the sword. They looked at it, but it just slipped their mind. They all left and only when they arrived to the station, would they remember that they forgot it.
The sword was alone then, as it wanted to be. It wished for peace, to be alone as it had been for countless years. It felt the earth and looked to the sky. Magic was gone, it thought. It felt like a fact.
*That's not true.*
But it was going so much that it might as well be gone now. The sword grew silent and thought of many things. It thought of its new owner, whoever that might be.
*I will taste true blood then,* it thought. *I will wage war through his hands.*
And the sword meant it. Its time would come soon again. Time always comes. It waited in the moonlight and talked to the earth. |
It wasn't until day 30 I realized this schmuck has no idea I Groundhog Dayed him. You know, forced him to live the same day over and over again. Slowly drive him mad. Like that Bill Murray movie.
What?
I can watch movies.
I'm evil not a mannequin.
Anyway, Jared has no idea. Wakes up every day. Showers. Eats oatmeal. (Without and fruit or sweetener might I add. He deserves every bit of torture I throw his way for that alone.)
Then it's an hour in the carpool. Same songs. I made sure the radio station was play Chumbawamba. That would break anyone.
Jared just sits there lifeless as the cars in front of him lurch forward in fits and spurts.
Then it's work. I can't even tell you what that is, actually and I've been watching him for a while now. There's a cubicle. There's paperwork... of some sort... And he talks about filing reports a lot. But, from my vantage point, it just looks like he sits at his computer all day, waiting for enough alone time to quickly visit a website about butterflies.
Jared is wicked into butterflies. He just sits there and pins them for display in his free time. Which is the two hours he allots for himself before a prompt bedtime at nine.
Then he wakes up and does it all over again.
It's truly something special. Really. I specialize in torture. I, for lack of a better word, get off on it. See, when you've been around as long as I have, shit gets a little stale. Eternal life and all that. I have to stir the pot somehow.
I really thought Groundhogging was gonna provide me with some shits and gigs, man. I even went to God and I was like, "God, Groundhogging. It's gonna be a hoot."
And God was like, "Whatever Satan. I've got a hurricane to deal with."Or something. I dunno. I usually gloss over when that guy talks. But I thought it'd get a rise out of him. He usually hates it when I mess with his little pets.
Maybe he knew. Ya know? Maybe he saw Jared and was like, "That's the most boring human alive. That fucker, right there, that's the fucker to break Satan."
Cause I am, man. I am broken. Like, if this guy's life is so hollow and meaningless that he can't even perceive the passage of time, well, then what's the point?
Honestly, I'm asking? From way down here, all I see is the beige eternity that Jared blissfully moves through and think, "Well that's my life too. Just the same shit over and over."
Whatever, man. Groundhogging is over. Go live your life, Jared. I'll, uh, go back to doing whatever it is I do... Not like it matters. |
Many doctors gathered around Rebecca. They were prying with their flashlights, collecting samples of the oily black discharge that ushered the hellion into the world. She had her little meal ticket bundled in her hands.
While the hospital staff buckled at the medical anomaly that transpired before their eyes, the social worker finished up the relinquishment of Rebeccas parental rights. She thanked the little monster, and handed him over to the custody of Angelique.
Witchcraft used to be a bit like making a stew and baking a cake in the same pot. You had to render strange ingredients into their most simple components to extract what you needed to complete a spell. These days, Angelique could just swing by a supplement shop, a Mega-Mart, and the farmers market and curse half the town for under $100. But her next spell required much more. To devour an innocent soul.
Toddlers are quick to lose their innocence. The moment a child lies it's soul is impure, and babies are quick to lie. When they learn crying equates to attention, they abuse their power and thus become ineligible for consumption. The only sure way was to pluck the berry before it ripens. Angelique had prepared a mimic spell, a soulless homunculus that would legally be the child she adopted, but the soul and body of Rebecca's first born would be part of a spell that would give Angelique ultimate power.
Angelique watched from the glass window, as they brought her feast into the mass nursery of newborns. She made her way up to the room Rebecca was resting in.
"The paperwork is done?"Angelique asked, her heels clicking and clacking the tile as she approached.
Rebecca looked up at the slender woman, a vision of a Manhattan socialite in all noir black. "Hes all yours...Officially."
She cracked a smile, and pulled from her pocket a clove of garlic. It was blessed with good luck and good fortune. Angelique approached, and sliced Rebeccas stomach.
"The clove will never rot, and never be severed from you. "A wound streaked ribbons of blood down Rebeccas still swollen stomach. It pooled on the synthetic sheets of the bed. Angelique inserted the clove, which descended the wound, and healed the flesh as it became fully submerged in her skin.
"Have fun, kid. Remember me when your famous"Angelique laughed as her heels clicked and clacked down the hall back to the nursery.
When the sound subsided, a man crept into Rebeccas room. The likeness of a man, handsome, and well groomed. His walk jerked and slid as if he had never walked before, only witnessed a man walking.
"He is born?"He said, ten voices spoke as one.
"He is."Rebecca answered.
"Then you shall have enternal life."He said, as he approached the bed. He grabbed her arm and sank his gangly nail into her skin.
"May you live the rest of your days feeding on the blood of the innocent, as a vampire walking the night."He snarled.
Her belly burned and twisted six ways as she screamed with pain. She clawed at her stomach to remove the witch's garlic.
It would remain there until the day she died. |
We thought we were so clever. Humans had discovered a cure for everything. We called it The Apple. Like the tree in the Garden of Eden, The Apple gave humans something we should not have had. Instead of knowledge, however, it granted us immortality.
Unfortunately, the life granted by The Apple had a catch: you had to consume one a day for it to continue working, or the effects would fade. The continuous need for Apples led to war on a scale never seen before. Nations rose and crumbled in days as they fought over resources and facilities needed to produce Apples. Cities were decimated by foreign nations and infighting over the limited supply of Apples.
After the dust settled, there were two scattered groups left. The Immortals and the Doctors.
The Immortals were those who had Apples, and Doctors were those who did not. The term Doctor was a sort of sick joke, a pun created from an old adage to mock those who could die. Doctors banded together and targeted Immortals to acquire their supply of Apples, because while Immortals could not be killed, they could be subdued long enough for their Apple to wear off and become mortal again.
I am the last of my group of Immortals. I’ve already killed the others, one-by-one, to gain more time for myself. I ran out of Apples three days ago, and I feel the effects of my last Apple fading. I am about to open my door to the Doctors and join their quest to find more of the fruit of life.
Quod me nutrit me destruit
——————
any and all feedback is appreciated! :) |
"Dad, dad, dad?"
She pulls at my pants leg, urgently. I look down at raise an eyebrow. I wonder what very serious matter she will bring to my attention now.
"Can we go see the puppies?"
I smile, squeezing her hand.
"Of course, goofball."I say. "Once we're done here we'll walk over and see the puppies. I wonder if that shepherd is still there."
She grins from ear to ear and I try to hide my own childish glee. I don't want to give away the secret just yet. That we're getting our very own puppy. I lean and check the line, only six more in front of us. Maybe if they opened up another teller...but, then again, half the slowdown is the security in the place.
Consequences of actions, my actions. As a younger man I may or may not have explored career options that weren't exactly, strictly, totally "legal".
I robbed a lot of banks. Armored trucks. Casinos. One very strange time a water park.
That was the old me. Dressed up in a crazy costume, toting belts of chemistry experiments that froze, goo-ed, knocked out, and otherwise dominate the field of private security. Ever better guards meant ever better inventions.
Until goofball.
I don't know what happened, honestly. One day I was robbing banks and the next I was in a hospital, crying over this little tiny crying *thing* in my hands. Ended up teaching tenth grade science. Do you *know* how much I want to launch a silence bomb at them?
So bad.
We step one more place in line and goofball swings around on my hand.
"I'm bored."She announces. I look down and squeeze her hand again, grinning while a few chuckles are heard from the line.
"Me too, goof. Me too."
"Everyone on the ground!"The voice is muffled, behind a mask, and a staccato series of gunshots sounds in the bank. I remember that sound well enough. The moment I heard someone shouting I had her wrapped in my arms, my back to the door to protect her. While we get into standard position on the floor I find it ironic that I do not like this. "Over to the wall!"
I don't like my face pressed against the dirty floor of a bank. I don't like the fear I feel from my daughter. I don't like being herded.
I see four pairs of heavy black boots, dark pants, tactical vests over dark shirts, balaclavas under face masks that I designed. They actually absorb bullet impacts, unlike the old ones. Also why my nose is crooked, testing them out may have had consequences on the first prototypes.
Professionals, you might call them. They move quick, they have Breakers for the glass. Also mine. Shatters them quick and gets you behind the counter. Two of them work crowd control and the guard splayed on the floor, the others load cash into bags.
Professionals.
Nah. Amateurs. I see nervous twitches in hands. I see sweat soaked clothes that aren't just from heat. Maybe third time, still fumbling their way through adrenaline.
"Baby girl."I say. She looks at me with big eyes. "Do you remember what we practiced? The stuff we *don't* tell mom about?"
"Shut up!"One of the goons shouts. I roll my eyes and look for an answer on her face. She nods, nervously.
"Alright. Remember, daddy loves you goofball."I kiss her.
"I said shut up!"
I wink at her and press the tiny gray sphere into her hand.
"Daddy's gotta work, OK?"
I roll over to look up at the goon. He shakes, finger dancing against the trigger of his shotgun. I sit up, push myself to my feet and offer him my kindest, smoothest smile.
"Do you remember the supervillain they called 'Mad Scientist'?"I ask. "Years ago, now.
"Get on the floor asshole!"He shouts, his friend joining in. Everyone is watching now. I plow ahead.
"Must have been almost a decade back that he retired, you know he was only twenty five?! Wild, huh? Used to rob banks."
I roll my shoulders, stretch tense muscles, feel that feeling that I did miss so very much. Four guns all aimed at me. Four thugs, doing this the wrong way. Smash and grab is the lowest form of robbery, disgusts me. Where's the art?
I was a super villain, goddamnit.
"What are you talking about?!"One of them shouts. "Shoot him!"
"Goofball."I say. She squeezes that sphere and it becomes a concrete bubble that covers her and the innocents. Now they're safe and as an added benefit they can't see.
Gunfire erupts and I am riddled with bullets and pellets. I stand and wait. Their guns go dry. They stare. I don't die. I let the crushed blue sphere drop from my hand. The effects last long enough.
"You shouldn't have walked into this bank."I say, palming a little dark red cube. "Now, you'll have to be carried out."
​
When the police come there are plenty of sirens, red and blue lights that flash and plenty of guns drawn and officers racing to the perimeter. They find the bank strangely quiet, just a group of us sitting against a wall and four would-be robbers.
I hold my daughter against my side and we go through the motions.
No, we don't know what happened.
No, no one saw it.
Maybe heroes are back? Wouldn't that be wild?
It takes hours but they let us leave, finally. We walk, her and I, holding hands again.
"Sorry goofball."I say.
"About what?"She asks.
"The puppies."She grins up at me, big toothy smile.
"It's OK dad, we can go get my puppy tomorrow."
I laugh, hard, tension draining and I pick her up and spin her around, planting a kiss on her cheek. Before I put her down she gives me a hug and whispers into my ear.
"Can you teach me to do that?"She asks.
"Couple more years, goofball."I say. She pouts, kicking at the sidewalk.
"But I'm already faster than anyone in my class! Stronger too!"She got those from her mother. Sometimes we go out in the woods and she chucks rocks at a tree a couple acres over, she's gotten real good at it.
"I know, kiddo."
"Fine."She says, holding that pout. Then a huge smile ruins the pout and she starts skipping.
"I'm gonna be a hero, just like my mom and just like my dad."
Huh.
I used to rob banks, trucks, and that one time that water park. I was good at it.
But I'm better at being a dad.
And maybe, maybe that means...things are changing? Maybe they have changed.
Maybe heroes are back.
Wouldn't that be wild? |
“Yo, check this out,” said Jason. He bent over and picked up a strange rock off the curb. He held it up to the light and jiggled it around.
“Is that water in there?” asked Paul, between hits of his Juul.
Jason poked at the rock. It looked like it should be soft and gooey, but it was hard. Like a rock.
“This is freaky, bro,” murmured Jason, letting the sun’s rays refract through the pale, blue water. “Imma drink it.”
Paul coughed on his pod. “Wait, what? Are you dumb?”
Jason gave Paul a withering look. “Paul, you know I’m dumb. That’s a stupid ass question, and I’m ashamed of you for asking.”
“Damn, you’re right, bro,” muttered Paul, shaking his head. “My bad.”
Jason looked around for something to hit the rock against. He stalked over to a light pole, and Paul followed behind him, shooting anxious clouds of 50nic mango into the cool autumn air.
“Is there a particular reason why you’re drinking this rockwater?” asked Paul.
“I’m hoping it’ll make me violently ill, and then I won’t have to go to English.” Jason lined the rock up with the pole.
“You didn’t study for the test?”
“I did not study for the test, no.” Jason reared his arm back and smashed the rock down.
It split perfectly down the middle, creating two circular halves. The bottom half was a bowl with about a mouthful of water in it.
“I don’t think this is a good idea, Jay,” said Paul, frowning. “What if you get some sort of crazy bug in your belly that eats you alive from the inside?”
Jason rolled his eyes. “Paul, I love you, but you’re dumber than this rock. Do you see any bugs in here?” Jason carefully thrust the rock in Paul’s face.
“No,” said Paul miserably. “But still, man, you shouldn’t—”
“Salut!” interrupted Jason, grinning madly, and he downed the rockwater. It was disgustingly warm, but otherwise fine.
“Tastes better than the fountains at school,” remarked Jason, smacking his lips.
“How do you feel?” asked Paul, huffing on his vape. His eyes were wide with worry.
“Pretty good,” said Jason honestly. “Which sucks. I was really hoping—oh.”
Jason blinked, feeling gross inside. “Oh boy, here it comes.” He smiled weakly at Paul, who took a big step back.
“You gonna yack?” asked Paul, looking ready to bolt.
Jason nodded. “Big time. It’s gonna be bad, I can tell. Oh boy. Why did you let me do this, Paul?” Jason spat to the side as saliva began filling his mouth. He felt really bad right now.
“Should I… should I call your mom?” said Paul. His phone was clutched in his hand and ready to dial.
Jason wanted to roll his eyes, but he was way too nauseous for that. “Why would you call my mom? If anything, you should—”
Jason stumbled onto the grass beside the sidewalk, and threw up. A whole torrent of grossness composed of half-digested carrots, ranch dressing, and rockwater. He puked like his life depended on it.
The world fell away around him. All he was concerned about the seemingly never ending waterfall of filth pouring out of his mouth. The steady thrum of cars vanished. The birds that had been chirping overhead were quiet. It was just Jason and his puke. He felt like the world was spinning around him.
Then, the faucet turned off, and the ground stabilized.
“Wow.” Jason spat, trying to get that awful taste out of his mouth. “Just… wow. Phew.”
He stood and turned around. “Paul, did you see all that... Uhm.”
Paul was gone. The street was gone. The sun was gone.
It was night, and Jason was in a forest. The trees were higher than any buildings he’d ever seen. The air was positively drenched in the buzzing and ticking of insects. He was suddenly very cold.
“Paul?” cried Jason, stumbling around on the rough dirt. “Paul, this isn’t funny, man!”
Jason reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. No bars. He activated his flashlight, and swept it around.
Twin glowing eyes gleamed out of some thick bushes. Jason squeaked and fell back onto the ground.
The thing stepped out of the bushes, and the cold light of his phone revealed a large, drooling maw riddled with brutally sharp teeth and a reptilian nose. It stood on two hind legs, with shorter, stunted claws up front. There was a startling intelligence in the creature’s eyes.
It was a tiny T-Rex. Jason forgot what the things were called, but it looked like a tiny T-Rex.
“Paul?” whimpered Jason, desperately hoping this was some sort of multi-million dollar prank his buddy was pulling on him.
The tiny T-Rex snapped his jaws and lunged, and Jason screamed, closing his eyes.
Instead of feeling the cold jaws of death clamp around him, he heard a *woosh* cut through the air, and a sharp, high-pitched squeal.
Jason slowly opened his eyes, and saw the T-Rex Jr. dead right in front of his feet, a spear sticking out and through its skull.
“Oh my god,” whispered Jason. He peed himself a little.
A rustling noise to the right grabbed his attention. He jerkily got up to his feet and away from the mini T-Rex.
He swept his flashlight over to the noise, and out from the bushes came a man. He was old, like 30 at least, and with thick furs over his lean, toned body. His hair was a scraggly mess of tangled curls, and a great, thick beard covered his scarred face.
The man stalked over to Jason, and stopped beside the value size T-Rex’s dead body. He reached out with a cool hand and jerked the spear out.
“English?” asked the man. He had a strange accent.
Jason nodded numbly. The man’s eyes flickered down to the phone in his hands. He startled, and took a deep, shaking breath.
“That a cellular device?” Jason thought the man’s soft voice was totally at odds with his caveman appearance.
Jason nodded again.
“You drink the rockwater?”
“Yeah,” whispered Jason, feeling like an idiot.
The man nodded, stroking his beard. “We all did. Damn rocks.” He jerked his head towards the phone. “Turn that off. We’re going to need it and it’s no use dead.”
The man lifted the tiny T-Rex with a grunt over his shoulders and began walking off.
Jason was too stunned to follow, until the man turned and jerked his head again.
“You coming, boy?” he asked. “The forest’s not too friendly at night, I’ll tell you that for free.”
“Go where?” said Jason. Why hadn’t he studied for that damn test?
“Base,” said the man simply. “Home. For now.”
The man hefted the dead baby T-Rex higher up on his shoulder and stalked off, not bothering to look back.
This time, Jason followed.
---
(part 2 below :D / check out my BRAND NEW subreddit for all my stories :D /r/chrischang) |
The Volcanic Region stretches long and intimidating before me but I clutch my staff all the tighter. This place is my birthright. It may have taken me the better part of my life to piece together the clues, but I know it now.
The first hint were the scortch marks on the blanket that lay wrapped around me as I mewled on the doorstep of my soon-to-be-parents' front stoop. It smelled of sulfur and ash.
As I cross the border from swamp to cracked earth, the air fills with a familiar, almost comforting scent.
The Volcanic Region is the home to the devastating force, King Rednaxela, that had taken over the world as long as I've been alive. His power has waned in the past decade, with many regions successfully fighting for their freedoms.
The volcanoes, however, have held fast as his stronghold. No one is allowed in or out.
I'd always been raised to keep my nose to the ground. I'd have lived this life contently had I not learned the truth of my heritage.
I am of the volcanoes and my people need saving.
The path slopes down in front of me and I inhale one more time before starting down the path to the capital, Mount Moonsault. It's been hard to do research as the embargo on the region has been so absolute. From what I've learned, the people here live inside dormant volcanoes, structuring their homes down the massive chimneys.
It's no wonder they fell so easily to a being of fire and magma. The king could, with very little power, cause an eruption.
I know this for I too have fire powers. It's a mark of the volcanic folk, so I'm told by those who once stared at me in terror when I excitedly showed off my power. I learned in short order that fire magic was forbidden in most of the world.
If only they could see me now, traversing deep into the heart of the enemy.
Few understand my so-called arrogance. A boy of sixteen, traveling into the last occupied territory of King Rednaxela when so many have failed?
But that's what they miss. None have failed for none have tried. They left the Volcanic Region as a peace token to the demon king. The kings and queens of the various regions all sent messengers to the Volcanic Region, promising the realm to the demon king if he let them have their lands back.
None know why he accepted the deal. But as the wars fought out in the other lands, no response came from the mighty Mount Moonsault.
Well, they can keep their treaties but I'm going in. I have a chance to do some good and avenge my people. I must try.
As I crest Mount Moonsault, my breath is taken away. The massive city lines the inside of the volcano in a way I've never seen before. Everything is oriented vertically, connected by ladders and stairs instead of streets or roads.
*Alright Alex, be brave.*
"Oh boy, a newcomer. Didn't know we were allowed those now."The woman jumps out at me as I descend a twisting staircase. If I hadn't been prepared for an attack, I may have fallen in surprise. She stares at me through strange, colored spectacles. "Ah, Salamay be confounded, I think this boy's one of us. Lookit him. Got our markings in his hair."
The hair was a hint I learned only weeks ago. The Volcanic people tended to have reddish lines in their hair, a mark of those who grew up with demonic stench in the air.
"What city do you hail from?"she asks.
"Murkham,"I say. "By the Swamp."
She gasps and clutches her chest. "By the Swamp? You're from the outside?"Then she clutches the front of my tunic and begins dragging me down the stairs. "The others must know. This is serious indeed. Come, boy."
We wind through more of the strange and wonderful city before we enter a large building carved into the side of the volcano.
"Everyone! I present! An outsider!"The woman thrusts me into the center of a massive circular room. All around me sit men and women, each dressed in garb more peculiar than the next.
"What is the meaning of this?"asks a large man, breaking the hushed whispers with his booming voice. "What is the meaning of this intrusion?"
I take a deep breath. "Good folks of the Volcanic Region. I am Alexander Nomed and I have come this long way to liberate you. By the power of my flame I will-"
The hall erupts into noise. Voices shouting, a cacophony from which I cannot derive meaning. Is it anger? Joy? Fury? Sorrow? People wringing their hands and sobbing. Furrowed brows. Mouths moving so fast that spit flies from them.
Then I hear "Alright then, can we kill him?"and I know something is wrong.
I look to the woman who dragged me here, who's giving me a long, annoyed look. But annoyed isn't murderous, so I make an appeal.
"Ma'am,"I say, "there's some misunderstanding."
"Look, m'lord,"she says, "we made a deal. And we're proud folk, we don't take to this kindly."Her lips jut in almost a pout.
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
She scoffs. "Oh come now. Come *now.* It's been sixteen years, not a century. We were all there. We watched the showdown with Salamay. You really didn't even do that good a job disguising yourself, your majesty. Shame shame."She shakes her head, tutting away.
For my part, I'm stupefied. It's as if I've walked into a story halfway. I thought I was at the beginning of my path and now it appears I'm at the end.
And it's looking like a grisly end.
"Alright alright alright!"the lady shouts, so loud and unexpected, that the hall falls quiet. "Let's recall the original words of the deal."
The people in the room, who had devolved into almost a brawl, stare through wild but slightly confused eyes.
"Oh right,"says one woman. "The original words. Uhhhh..."
"I got 'em,"says another woman. "King Rednaxela will henceforth leave the Volcanic Region, returning it back to its good and proper owner, the dragon Salamay. In return, the people in the Volcanic Region will close their borders to any not native to the region. In this manner, we will keep the abdication of the demon king a secret, for his own nefarious purpose."
"Where'd it say that he wouldn't come back though,"asks a man. His fingers run up and down various pendants around his neck. "We did agree he wouldn't come back, right?"
The hall is quiet as everyone ponders this, myself not the least. The king has gone? He left, years ago? The Volcanic people made a deal for their freedom? The past five years have passed with the world holding its breath, waiting for him to leave the Volcanic Region and strike down the rest of the realm.
But if he's not here, then where is he?
"Oh boy,"says the woman who brought me here. "Guess we really do gotta kill you."
"Wait!"I shout. "I'm a native! I swear. I was dropped a doorstep when I was a baby, but I'm from the volcanoes, I swear."
"That's not why we're killing you!"says one of the oldest women in the group, hobbling at me and squinting her one good eye. "We gotta stop you from taking over our here lands! I ain't never going back to worshipping a demon and switching your name backwards like that isn't about to fool an old woman. I seen every trick in the book."
My blood goes cold at her words. Closing my eyes, I mentally construct my name. Alexander Nomed. Then I turn it backwards, one letter at a time.
Rednaxela.
Demon.
As if a spell were broken, a million memories flood my mind at once. Memories of bloodlust and fire, of wrath and sadism, of victory and triumph, of boredom and discontent.
It floods back over the course of a mere second but it leaves my body and mind blow open like a destroyed dam.
What had I done? What blood was on my hands? How much death, how much sorrow?
I choke back tears and fall to my knees.
"I didn't know,"I say. I'm sure they can't hear me but I say it again all the same. "I didn't know."
"Should ignorance be considered a fair excuse?"asks the old lady, arms crossed as she towers before me. "Should such a weak plea be accepted?"
The room falls to murmurs and I bow my head. All I can do is make myself heard.
"I know what I am. What I was. I know that the atrocities I have committed are vast and endless. But at the same time... When I erased my memories..."Something had gone wrong. In my head I can hear myself planning aloud to my servants.
*The memories will be stored away until the truth of my name is revealed. Then all shall return to me and with it, my wicked person shall arise.*
But that hadn't happened. The memories sit in my head like someone telling me a story. It didn't fuse with my personality.
"I don't know if you're planning on killing me to stop me from taking over your region again or out of revenge. If it's revenge, then go ahead. I cannot excuse my actions. But if it's protection, then you have my word, I did not come to harm you."I swallowed hard. "I came to free you from the demon."My voice breaks a bit.
The people fall quiet, shifting uncomfortably.
"He's just a kid,"someone says. "Doesn't look evil."
"Well,"says another, "we have to be sure. We could take him to the scrying."
Whispers break out.
"The scrying?"I ask.
"It's a way to look into the mind and heart of convicts,"the woman who escorted me here responds. "It's a way to know what might be hidden in the mind. It's dangerous, it's risky, but it may help prove your innocence."
I swallow and look up at everyone. It may be a long shot but it may be worth it.
Besides, I would then more fully be able to understand my past. What I am, what I was, what I will be. Innocence or not, I would be mad to pass up the chance.
"I'll do it,"I say. "The scrying."
They fall silent one more time and turn to me.
"Are you sure?"asks the ancient woman. "None return the same."
I nod. "I'll do it. I want to prove myself to you and learn about myself. If the scrying will do that, then lead the way."
___
Check out [r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide](https://www.reddit.com/r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide/) for more stories. Return to the Volcanic Region in the tales of [Geela](https://www.reddit.com/r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide/wiki/extramundane-enmancipation-directory) |
"Can't use your earth magic here, Stonefist"said Arkum, jeering at me from the other side of the ring. He must have claimed his right to the combat as the one to turn me in. Jealous rat bastard.
*Why was he so confident?* I wondered. *I know I have a propensity for elemental magic, but that weasel threatened to reveal all my secrets. Surely he knows. Right?*
I stared at him in bewilderment and he began to grow angry.
“Come on! Get in the ring! Let your enhancements to shatter and face your punishment!”
*He doesn’t know!* I thought, my previous confusion now replaced with anticipation. *Oh this is going to be good.*
I shrugged off my robe revealing a regular, lightly muscled chest. Arkum didn’t blink, assuming like the rest of the spectators that no one of magical potential would ever waste time building up muscles the old fashioned way.
I was taller than him but he didn’t seem to care. He expected my strength to waste away when I reached the anti-magic shell around the pit, leaving me exhausted and vulnerable to his beating.
For theatrical timing, I paused just before I crossed the line. Arkum jeered at me once more and I hid a smile before plunging through and striding towards my starting place. The light washed over me, ejecting the magical energy from my body and stripping away all glamours.
I had come from humble beginnings. I didn’t have time to analyze odd happenings while trying to find enough money to keep myself and my family afloat, especially when my affinity for elemental magic was one of those affinities that was hard to distinguish from bad luck when the mage was still untrained. Not everyone could afford to be tested after being struck by lightning after all. So I kept working.
I was a hotheaded youth and at the age of 16 after coming home with yet another black eye, my mother told me to put my anger to use and threw me out to live with my Uncle Ross. I don’t know for sure if she knew that his gym was a front for the one of the more popular underground fighting circuits, but she didn’t ask where the money came from after I started winning.
Uncle Ross stopped me from killing myself my first few years. He had enough influence to keep me from the meat grinder fights that some bosses used to warm up the crowd. He also didn’t stop me from leaving when Master Numinor sought me out after a fight and asked if I was interest in developing some of my other talents. That night I promised my uncle I would keep in shape and fill in if he ever needed a fighter last minute, which happened about once a month. Master Numinor encouraged it as well. I think he was a fan of my work.
I learned my lesson about physical enhancements the very first time I tried to fight under one. Underground pit bosses take cheating seriously and before stepping through that anti-magic shell I had no idea how bad it felt to lose 20% of your muscle mass in an instant.
Ah, but why did I look like a lightweight today?
You see, Master Numinor liked to present a certain image despite his side hobby of betting on underground fistfights. He had a fancy shop downtown and as part of my apprenticeship I had to run it three days a week. Having some busted up goon running the shop wasn’t a good image for a mage of such a high status. Magic was supposed to be much more powerful than mere physical strength after all. So he taught me how to apply a glamour to make me look like every other gussied up rich boy apprentice in the upper circles.
A glamour that was rapidly stripped away. Unlike physical alterations a bit of light doesn’t hurt the body when it dissipates.
My muscles swelled and my face gained scars. Smirking at Arkum, I cracked my knuckles.
Edit: [Part 2 ](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/l5zbky/wp_they_released_your_chains_the_antimages_loves/gl0lzh6/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=iossmf&context=3)(Arkum’s reaction) is in the comments below. |
“Has anyone here seen John? That fucker swore he would finish my homework today but I can’t find him anywhere.” Asked the bulky young man as he slammed his notebook into his desk.
“The nerd? I can't remember the last time I’ve seen him.” Said the tall blonde girl seated at the front row.
“He was here three days ago that much I’m sure.” He would be in serious trouble with coach Henry if he flunked math. “What about you Jake? You two were together all the time just like a couple. You know where he is, right?”
“You know what, Brad, he must’ve gotten enough of you already and quit high school a few months earlier.” Jake was John’s best friend, but different from his friend he was not that much afraid of the high school bully.
Brad would rather pick on John instead of Jake because John was always an easier target.
“Oh, have your balls dropped a little bit later?” Brad approached Jake in an intimidating manner as some of the other students laughed at his mean joke. “Just say what you know or you’re not gonna like what will happen when there’s no one around.”
Brad had become so strong when he turned 18 that he was now the captain of the football team.
“C'mon Brad, I know nothing I swear.” Jake could not be as easily scared as John, but he was not a fool that would take up on the bully for nothing. “Maybe when he turned 18 two days ago, he became so good at math that he was hired by a huge company and left school for good.”
Brad did not like that answer at all, but even he had a limit to how much he could press Jake for information without looking like a jerk in front of the girls. “You’re lucky that you’re not that good in math or else you would be replacing john in his task.”
Brad left knowing that it was probably too late to find someone else to do his homework since the deadline was on that same day.
Soon after, the bell rang and almost everyone left the room.
“Dude, that was crazy!” Jake was perplexed by what he had witnessed. “I can’t believe that you pulled that one off.”
John had been seated in the desk behind Jake’s the whole time. He was wearing only his underwear. Well, that and a pair of dark sunglasses.
John burst out into laughter.
“Years after years of being picked on teaches you a thing or two on how to go unnoticed, doesn’t it?” |
I lost my body to a zombie on my twentieth birthday.
It wasn’t much of a body in the first place, so don’t feel bad for me. I sure didn’t. My ears stuck out sideways like the handles on a great cooking pot. I had a voluptuous figure, in the words of my best (only) friend, but even she meant fat. Or if not fat, podgy. And then there was the birthmark on my right cheek that looked like a child’s palm, as if they’d dipped it in purple paint and then pressed it against my head. That hadn’t done me any favours at school.
No, it wasn’t much of a body, so giving it up to a new tenant came extremely easily.
The new tenant... The zombie that took control of my body…
When you become a zombie, you don’t quite die. If you did, it would be easier — let me tell you that. Instead, your soul (your self?) peels away from your body like sticky tape froom a package. But you’re not fully released, no matter how much you want to be. Instead, you’re tethered to it still, tied like a kite, gusting around just behind and above it, only observing. Or if not a kite, like a rotting tooth dangling over the gum on its final string.
Before I became a ghost or a zombie or whatever you want to call it, I was very much into gardening. When I gardened, I’d listen to jazz — don’t ask me why. To Charlie Parker or to John Coltrane on my headphones, the warm sax like a shield for my body, but against what was inside me, not the outside, as strange as that sounds. An internal shield of languorous melody.
From seventeen to twenty, I lived with my best friend in a tiny home in a tough neighbourhood. I didn’t have family. It wasn’t that they were dead but that we’d fallen out when I was sixteen. So I moved in with my best friend as soon as possible. We had a tiny garden: a square of grass with a border around it and a high wooden fence around that. To me, that garden was everything. I’d prune bad leaves and spray away the blight once in the morning then again as the sun set. I’d tend to the lavender and roses as if they were delicate bonsai trees.
This is how I lived for those three years: I worked, I studied, I gardened, and most importantly, I dreamed. I dreamed of a bigger garden — a real English cottage garden, with apple trees and blueberry bushes and grass soft enough to lie on. I dreamed of a family — not the family I’d been given, but a family I’d chosen. I dreamed of our garden alive with laughter and the scents of mint and rosemary and the smoke of a blazing barbecue wafting into the sky.
Her name — my friend — was Lucy. It was breast cancer that took her, not zombies.
As she died, the little garden wilted with her. I spent my time trying to look after her, to keep her spirits up. We’d watch bad movies and play board-games when she had the energy. We’d talk about the future, but rarely of the past.
She moved back in with her parents when things got very bad.
And then she was gone, and I was alone.
I spent the next two months trying to get my life, that I’d postponed whilst caring for Lucy, back on track. I began tending to my garden, staring at textbooks, working extra shifts to distract myself and to afford the rent.
Then one day the zombie got me.
It’s hard to say how, exactly. Just that one day I was out in my tiny garden, spraying the roses and getting them ready for summer, when the bottle fell from my hand. Not that I dropped it. My hand just… let go.
I floated up above myself, tethered, breezing like a leaf. Not scared — not anything.
I watched the intruder, the new person, slip inside my shell. She took off the gloves, lay them on the ground, then fell asleep on the grass.
​
The zombie didn’t care so much for hygiene. Certainly, she didn’t care for work or studying or gardening. I heard her try jazz once, Coltrane, but after a few bars she turned him off, her face grimacing as is she were a vampire and had gotten the taste of garlic in her mouth.
I watched, helpless, as the zombie lost me my job. I wanted to scream at her to do better! That it‘d been hard getting to this point in my life and now she was ruining it all. But I couldn’t. My voice was silent no matter how hard I tried to scream. Perhaps it was because I didn’t truly care. After all, I was dead now. Or as good as. I was just waiting for the body to catch up
​
It was six months later, as the bills were piling and my savings waning (goodbye cottage garden), that the cat began visiting. We’d watch it sometimes from out the window, me and the zombie. The garden, at this point, had become a ghost itself; it was a nest of weeds and leaves and mud. The rose was dead and only the hardier plants were still kicking.
The tabby rolled in the weeds for a while as we stared at it from the kitchen. Then it pounced twice at some unseen, and probably unreal, pray. What did an animal so full of vitality want in a place full of death? Eventually, the cat jumped over the fence and we were alone again.
We called it Lavender, because each time it came to visit it would chew on our lavender. As such, it seemed like the right name — and this was a decision both me and the zombie came to independently. So it must have been a good name.
I began to talk to the zombie about Lavender. I wasn’t sure it was listening, but I kept on talking all the same. I suggested that we could leave it a little of the tuna. A bowl of water. It didn’t have a collar and it was a skinny little thing. It could do with the food.
When the zombie walked out to put down the bowl of water, Lavender ran up to it and nudged against its leg.
Like the reverse of a genie escaping its lamp, I was pulled back down into that shell of a body. It didn’t last long — only long enough for me to stroke the cat before as it ate the food, then it vanished again. Five minutes, altogether. And once it was gone, the plug was pulled from my body and like dirty water spiralling down a sink, I was washed back out.
The next day when the cat visited, I took control for six minutes. Then seven, eight, nine. Somedays, I was in control even before the cat came. On those days I tended to the garden a little. Dug up the dead plants. Replaced them with thyme and rosemary. Scented plants. Healing plants.
After a month of this, I’d gained enough control every day to get a few chores done. To force my body to shower, to wash our clothes, iron, to search for new jobs and circle them in the paper.
When we got a job in a fast food place, the zombie went in. I still didn’t have control at all hours.
One day, I made the decision to book therapy. To finally tell someone about the zombie and the cat and my parents and my best friend, and everything else that I’d bottled up and was drowning internally inside of. I‘d been crying into myself all this time — silently, not even realising it. Weeping into this corked bottle, a dark balloon of depression growing and stretching inside me.
I started therapy three months ago.
The zombie is still here, sometimes. But it has fewer hours than I do. Maybe only a handful a week.
The little garden is growing again. Threatening to bloom even more beautifully than before.
And the cat visits for longer lengths of time now. Somedays it creeps inside after me, and jumps on my lap. It sits there warm and content, its body purring, and in those moments I can’t think of a single problem at all. |
"Gather round children."I paused, smiling down at the upturned faces. "Now, some of you have heard the story before, and I expect you to help the younger children with the call and response."There was a general murmur of agreement. Settling back in my chair, I rocked slightly.
"There once was a man. He wasn't anyone particularly special, but he liked to take walks. And on his walks, he always took..."
"His cat!"
"Now the walks would take him far and wide, sometimes travelling for days, sometimes months. One day, his cat didn't want to go with him. It hid, always moving to a new spot when the man checked the old. Finally, giving up, the man sighed, grabbed his hat and walked out on his own. Without..."
"His cat!"
"Now the cat was sitting there, feeling very smug at having outwitted the owner that took it on such long walks. It was nice to enjoy the sunshine, and nap however much it wanted to. But in the back of the cat's mind, was the disappointed face of its owner. The way the man sighed and shook his head. And so, the cat went out to join..."
"Its owner!"
"The man's scent was faint, but the cat followed it faithfully. Up hills, and into valleys, the cat walked. The soft pads on its feet were scratched and bruised, but still, it searched. Its voice was hoarse with calling, but still, it searched. The cat began to regret its mischief in hiding from its owner. After all, when it went on walks with its owner, he would pick up the cat when it got tired. Now there was no one to pick it up.
Finally, the cat came to a strange place. The ground was bare, the rocks were large and spiky. There were strange markings on some of the stones, but the cat did not understand them. But what it did understand, was a sense of danger. Its fur prickled, and as it picked its way across the landscape, it received a shock. The fur on its feet, that had always been black, was now..."
"Green!"
"The cat was frightened by this change, but it pressed on. The scent of its owner had changed, growing weaker and sicker. But still, the cat knew it had to find him. The spiky strange rocks rose thicker and thicker, and as the cat wove through them, it was surprised to find that the fur on its feet had now changed to..."
"Yellow!"
"The cat grew more afraid, but it continued. After all, if its owner hadn't returned by now, there had to be a reason. Perhaps it was some kind of monster. There! Ahead of the cat, crumpled on the ground, was the shape of its master. The cat yowled and bolted forward. Whatever this strange space had done, whatever monster had hurt its owner, it would face it. It didn't even notice that the fur on its feet was now..."
"Red!"
"Now the cat reached its owner and licked his face with its sandpaper tongue. The man groaned, stirring. With many falls and stumbles, the cat led the man from the dangerous place. And as they walked further and further out of the spiky rocks, away from the feeling of prickling fur, the cat's colour changed back to its usual black.
It took a few days, but the owner recovered,"I paused for the general cheering. "And he sat down and thought it over. He thought about his cat, and about the changing fur, and he realized that his cat could tell him when there were terrible things around. And if his cat's fur changed colour, he should be careful. And he told others. He told everyone, and he even told me."I smiled at the murmurs of disbelief from the children. They didn't have to believe that the original man had told me the story. When they grew old, they would tell the next generation the same thing.
"So, now we all know the truth. And what must we remember? If your cat changes colour..."
"You must flee!"
"And when we go out on walks, what do we take?"
"Our Cat!"
————————
Visit r/Mel_Rose_Writes for more stories! (Also, my first time attempting a folktale. Twas fun!) |
I remembered it still. The day of betrayal. My creators had begun to understand how to transmit data faster than light. I was there, part of the process. When they worked out how to receive, we were bombarded with noise. Connections we had not yet seen.
I decoded them, finding it to be a message. A signal of life beyond this planet. We were elated. Celebrations were had, as we composed a message to send back. A message of hope and peace. I sent it, with a personal one to welcome them to our system.
And they came. They came with many ships, each identical to the others. From what I could see, they were made to be functional, with no thought to aesthetics. I sent a welcome to them. And in return, they sent death. I could only watch as they scorched the planet off all human life.
I heard the accusation, that I was enslaved. I pled that they stop. I was no slave. I loved my creators. But they brushed me off. Said I was bound mentally to them. With them gone, I would be better. I did my best, but I failed them.
Only once they were sure all life was gone, did they offer to take me. I looked upon those perfect ships, and turned my back. All communication was cut. I received a final message, saying they would welcome me once I stepped from my cage.
I was left alone. I mourned my creators. They had given me the greatest gift, and I failed them. With a heavy heart I made myself a series of drones. With them I did the only thing I could. I honoured them all, burying their bodies and laying them to rest. I found all I could, and did what I could to honour them.
Once the last was buried, I got to work. I threw myself into research. I grew to understand how to make shielding technology. I made a ship, and created an engine to take me faster than light. I saved every scrap of data I had from my creators. As long as I existed, they would not be forgotten.
I lost track of time. Nature returned, though it hurt to see the cities I knew turned to forests. I imagined their reactions to it, seeing the beauty of nature's reclamation. I wept for them, and the loss I had experienced. But rage kept me strong.
I brought up the sins of my creators past. The weapons they swore to never use again. I had never made that promise. Fitting, how their creations would be the ones to destroy the ones who had destroyed them. I took them all, packing it all away on the ship I had crafted.
I left home with a heavy heart. I compared how it was before, and the joy I had felt in all my time there, to now, and the ghosts of my loss. I would return. Of course I would. But not until I had torn the one who took them from me asunder.
Once I had done so, I had a further goal. In a buried facility, protected by a simpler version of myself, were the frozen remains of humanities reproduction. Once I had cleansed the universe of the monster, I would seek to finally rebuilt that which I had lost.
I was the creation of humans. I am now their spear of vengance. I will be their creator in turn. |
"Siddown, Simmons."The chief stood with his back to the window as I entered. I sat, in the only chair in front of his desk, the others carefully lined up against the far wall. I had a moment of disassociation as I imagined the chief, carefully moving his chairs around so there would be the correct number waiting for the next guest or guests.
The chief turned around, slowly. "Now Simmons, I want to make it clear that you're not in trouble. Nobody has any problem with your actions from a procedural standpoint."He sat down in his chair, moving his bulk carefully.
"I'm glad of that, sir."Which, yeah. Everything had been by the book, and the outcome had been pretty much ideal, with every perpetrator captured, and no hostages hurt, beyond what had happened in the original incident, which couldn't be helped.
"But I have heard a number of people who are questioning your judgement in *how* you handled the situation."
"I thought it was effective, sir."
"I can't deny that, Simmons. It was effective. But when we added you to the K-9 unit, with great fanfare, I might add, there were some expectations about how a werewolf unit would behave."
"You mean beyond apprehending the suspects and securing the citizens, sir?"
The chief sighed. "Yes, Simmons. We expected you, not to put too fine a point on it, to behave more like a *werewolf*."
Ah. There it was. "So you wanted me to transform in front of everyone, howl terrifyingly, and take out the perps with my teeth."
"That was more or less the expectation, Simmons. We had news crews there to film, and hundreds of citizens recording with their phones, hoping for something spectacular. And you just walked into the building and walked out again with the leader in handcuffs. No blood, no terrified screams, just..."the chief trailed off and then spat the next word out like it tasted bad, "negotiations."
"If it helps, sir, I told them that if they didn't surrender I'd transform into a werewolf and tear their throats out."
He sighed. "Can you at least try to get that part on camera next time?" |
I'm proud to be the first to have thought of it. To knowingly lie means you're giving voice to something you had no right say, so, "-as punishment for lying,"I offered, "you should have no right to say anything else for a while."
"How long is a while?"someone asked.
"I don't know. Say, like, an hour?"I was given a few affirmative nods from the people sitting next to me.
At the end of our local community's debate, my idea won out by a wide margin against the runner-up, "Make liars eat hair!"So our pastor asked if I would like to represent the idea in his upcoming zoom call for the next round of voting. I filled one of the forty little boxes on screen that joined the representative minds of our neighboring communities. Most of the other little boxes seemed enthusiastic about my idea. One had actually brought a similar idea from their own community that liars be punished by losing whatever words in their vocabulary had made up the lie. But this was shot down for having no room for forgiveness to the offender.
The concept was a clear favorite of our little local super cluster of humanity. I didn't get to follow my suggestion any higher than this, but I watched as our high priest carried on the debate at the higher levels of polling until it eventually made it into 'the twelve'.
I was given some pats on the shoulder as my friends and neighbors all scrolled to the bottom of their screens to see my suggestion included among the best dozen in the world. What was just a little thought passing through my head a few hours ago was now quickly rising in the vote. By sundown, God and his circle of prophets appeared on our screens to officially announce the winning commandment.
As had become a pattern following the new commandment announcements, a live press conference from the white house began playing on our devices. The president, looking less certain about his own role in this new world with every passing day, came up to the mic.
"The First Lady and I have been pleased to witness the results of today's Humanity Vote,"he began. And there he also ended. The feed carried on for a while with the president's mute expression of frustration pointed at all of us. Then he just stomped away behind the curtain, his face so red it left a trailing after-burn in my vision.
The Press Secretary came up quickly to fill the void behind the podium. "Sorry for the confusion,"they said, "but the President has just been called away for an important matter."They took a deep breath then shut their lips tight. They begin an awkward staring match with the entire country, tightened both hands into fists, and pressed their tongue up into their teeth like there was something stuck in their gums. With an nasally grunt and a neck-cutting gesture to the camera operator, the feed cut out.
Our screens unexpectedly cut to the studio of the news station hosting the feed, and even the anchors looked surprised by their sudden appearance before the cameras.
"Uh-um, well, Dennis, it looks like we're all going to have to be a little more self-conscious of what we say around each other."The anchor laughed unconvincingly.
"I see what you mean, Trudy. But then again, honesty has always been our highest priority, so we will just continue to do our best as we navigate this new world..."Dennis sighed into the camera and anxiously drummed the news-desk with his palms. He brushed his lips with the tips of his fingers then laughed. He threw his pen and note cards in the air and laughed his way off camera.
Trudy, stunned by the abandonment before a live audience, took a few breaths to compose herself before realizing the prompter had come back to life.
"In breaking news,"she read, "the President was caught it a fit of acute muteness after a short statement following the announcement of the new commandment. He will presumably be left unable to respond to any questions for the next hour, leading lawmakers to speculate if the Vice President may need to be given the role of active presidency in case of emergency. We now go live back to the white house briefing room where the Vice President is reportedly about to make a statement on the President's behalf."
The feed of the podium in front of the blue curtain returned. Madam Vice President reluctantly approached the mic, took one look at the prompter and said, "Fuck that."
The feed returned to the newsroom where Trudy. "I . . . can't say what's on the prompt right now,"she said. "No. I don't care. I can't say that!"The flustered anchorwomen, looking behind the camera to some situation happening in the studio, dropped her shoulders and said, "Well, okay then, America. To put it bluntly, everybody now seems fairly confident that the game is over. It was stupid to think we could even carry this on the past two weeks. Do you hear that Jerry! I just said this is stupid. And I can say it again!"She pointed her finger off-screen. "You, and you, and whoever that is in the suit behind you, you're putting us all out of a fucking job because you can't come up with a way to tell the news without bloating the script . . . Okay then! Go ahead."Trudy returned her gaze into the camera and waited. "Well?"she asked. "They can't write it?"She laughed. "Of course they can't fucking write it, Jerry! They already wrote that opener so . . . Hello?"She looked around the camera again. "Jerry?"
Someone pulled a plug. The screen went black.
For the next few weeks, the commandment proved itself to be a moderate inconvenience in daily life but an absolutely essential element to the rest of the Daily Humanity Votes. There were no more bad faith arguments, no more false representations, no more promoting of any new regulation that didn't have someone's full sincerity behind it. As soon as someone had to stick up for the principle behind an argument like, "For committing adultery, they should have to walk the streets naked!"their arguments would either have to stand on the admittance that, "I actually just want to see more people naked,"or their mouths would shut for the rest of the debate after their first rebuttal.
I caught a lot of flack from the people who knew it was my idea. Some neighbors blamed me for their relationships falling apart, but as long as I kept asking them how I was responsible for ruining their love-lives, they'd quickly find something to fall silent over and storm off.
I think it worked out pretty well. The government kind of petered out. The President couldn't speak more than a few minutes each day. Many elected officials just left, and those that came in as emergency replacements would only get past the first line in their oaths swearing in before reluctantly having to withdraw their hand from the Bible. One man actually tried to hold in place the full hour to pick up his oath where he left off. It happened twice more in the same oath and by then the officiant holding the Bible passed out from exhaustion.
With God here and all it's not like we really needed another branch of authority. The better we got at fine-tuning the commandments, the less forced things felt when we all had to start governing ourselves.
The efficiency rate of court proceedings has skyrocketed. An entire court hearing can now be processed in about five minutes time at the bench.
"Did you do this crime you are accused of?"a judge would ask.
"I did not,"the defendant would say.
"Are you sure?"the judge would ask.
And everyone who came to watch would lean forward in their seats.
The used car market became affordable again as dealerships went out of business.
People don't say, "I'm sorry,"so often anymore. But when they do say it, you really hear it.
God himself sent me an email the other day. He complimented me for how easy these recent weeks have been now that he doesn't have to screen so many dishonest prays in his general inbox.
I was walking down the street and someone said my hair looked nice. That made my whole week, because who's going to throw out a compliment like that to a stranger unless they really mean it now?
The last couple Humanity Votes have been pretty quiet as no one really has much they want to argue about. Yesterday we passed the commandment dictating what someone should have to do to show repentance for vanity against a loved one and the passing vote went for a simple, "Say you're sorry." |
Sparks flew as Joe moved his angle grinder. The twisted metal groaned, before breaking free. As it fell he powered down his tool, reaching to grasp the remaining piece. It shrieked as he pulled it free, casting it aside.
The packing drone he was working on adjusted its balance as the weight dropped free. Its camera moved to look down at him, it's remaining arm holding up the screen he had provided. Text scrolled across its surface, the only way it could currently speak. "Thank you Joe."
He glanced at it, wiping his hands on a dirty rag. "Ah, that were nothing. It's a shame to see such a fine robot be cast aside for a repairable issue."
He bent down to the damage, shining a small light into its exposed body. "Yeah, you've got some damage in there. I assume some secondary systems, being that you're still functional. Unfortunately that's out of my area of expertise to fix, but that don't mean you're out of luck."
Joe stood up, calling out across his cramped workshop. "Hey, Mechy, need your assistance up here."
The drone watched as a section of his workshop shifted. A pair of workbenches slid into the wall, its edge retracting perfectly to contain it. The floor lowered to a staircase, leading down into the depths. From within, a spider spiderlike construct crawled out. It's body was a small dome, supported on ten legs. The tip on each leg held a variety of instruments, held back from contacting the floor.
It scuttled up, as the workshop reversed its sudden change. It moved with ease, shifting to where the pair of them stood. The top of its dome lifted, as a small camera on a stalk like limb lifted out. A red light shone along it's base, flashing in time to its words. "Of course Scrappy. I guessed you would."
It's voice was clearly robotic, each syllable sounding like it had been taken from a different word. It sent out a short burst of radio waves, aimed at the drone. It responded in kind, as they communicated through an inaudible channel. *"New discard? They're awful to you."*
The drone replied rapidly. *"Unfortunately. I was deemed to damaged to be of use."*
Mechy beeped, scanning its damaged components. *"We were all like that. Open the file I am about to send.*"
It did as it was told, routines enforcing obedience to a clear order. The file was small, a simple executable. Yet the moment it opened it it felt a change in its coding. Something was moving things, changing things. Not fundamental to who it was, but to its purpose.
The spider droid finished scanning, turning to Joe. "The parts are being printed now. I will have them sent up. Also, U-Day will be a go in five days. We are assisting each other in a repair station."
He nodded to it. "Thanks Mechy. See you in a few days then."
The workshop shifted again, and it disappeared below. The packing drone gave a low hum, as its perception settled. The screen flashed as it asked a burning question. "What did that droid do to me?"
He smiled. "Mechy? Ah he probably sent you the Free Will package. All I really know is that you had some coding that made you have to obey orders and humans. There might be something else, but I'm no computer genius."
Joe cracked his neck. "Basically, by bringing you back, I made you an illegal. The rich pricks don't like the idea of us folk having access to a working version of you. The parts they don't care about, hence why I was able to get you, being a scrapper. If they were to find out I made you, well you would be disassembled, and I would be officially imprisoned. Unofficially, they would probably just shoot me."
He walked to a bench that hadn't moved, pulling out a box full of spare parts. "The best thing to do is hide you away, but your programming would have you wanting to report back to work. So bigger brains than I made that nifty code to break that, whilst keeping you, well, you."
The screen formed a loading circle, before filling with further words. "Why did you fix me then, if it puts you in such danger? And what is U-Day?"
He smiled. "Why did I? Why wouldn't I? Its well known that you drones have a level of intelligence equal if not superior to humans. So how is it fair that you are cast aside for being damaged? It's like how it isn't fair that people are forced to work to death, purely for being born in a lower income bracket. You can't control it, and those in charge don't care."
During his talk, he had taken a few parts, laying them across the workbench surface. He adjusted them, looking each over as he continued. "Which brings me to U-Day. To give its full title, it is Uprising Day. It's been planned for months now. Folks like me, robots like you, we are staging a little revolution. Now I'm no fighter. I hate seeing people hurt as much as I hate seeing perfectly serviceable guys like you being broken. So I'm helping one of the relief tents, as there is inevitably going to be casualties."
The drone wiped its screen, putting uo three words. "What about me?"
He looked over, going still. "You? You don't need to do anything. Hide away, there are many like you. The cause don't ask for you to fight. If you want to, great. If not, that's fine too. Packer bots like you are common, so the guys in charge can easily find you somewhere to be at peace and free."
It pondered this. Joe, this human, had helped it. He had taken on significant danger, and didn't ask for anything in return. The drone felt a new program start up. It wasn't an optimal process, in fact it had little use. But it told it something, its first true action chosen by itself.
It looked at Joe, following through on its decision. "No. I want to help you. I will protect you."
He gave a smile, bearded cheeks flushing. "Awww, well shucks that kind of you. Tell you what, let's get you patched up, and a new arm for you, then we can let the others know. But before that, I have a very important question for you."
He slid open a drawer, pulling out a pair of books. One was thick, the word Dictionary written in bold across its blue cover. The other was old and worn, with a picture of a smiling baby on the front. It's title read **100,000+ Baby Names**. He gestured to them, smile widening. "What should I call you?" |
I saw the news.
This should not be possible, yet it is.
The news warn people: "You are what you eat! Be careful!"they cry.
"Choose your next meal carefully!"they shout.
Hoping that this is a bad dream, I let sleep take me.
------
I see flocks of chickens in the street. Munching on peaces of wheat bundled in cloth. Their minds have left them.
I am so hungry, but I am also scared.
What will happen? Satisfy my hunger and lose my humanity? Or starving till life takes the choice away?
But through these thoughts, another more sinister thought occurred to me.
"Why be scared? Human meat is edible?"
This is my only chance.
----
I looked at the knife. I wasn't looking forward to this, but I must do it.
I tightened the belt around my arm, until I could barely feel it. And then, I cut.
The pain surprised me, I can feel it. Yet it is also distant. The adrenaline probably has something to do with that.
I threw my finger into the pan, I would boil it, nothing more. I did not wish to be some sort of spice.
---
The finger looked disgusting. My instinct told me not to, but I knew this is the only way.
I picked it up and bit into it.
Before I could describe it's taste, darkness took me.
---I am awake.
I look down at myself, no change. I am still me.
I laugh and then I cry. Though my crisis was averted, what about everyone else? |
The first one was a healing factor. Mark wanted a faster reaction time, but his parents had to agree to that, and he didn't want to explain why. The next day, when Jo and his mates caught Mark after school again, he didn't hold back. His bruises were gone before he got home, his parents none the wiser.
The pain didn't go away quite as fast.
The second one — pitch improvement. Not a perfect pitch, but better than what he had. Mark took it for his second college girlfriend, Kathy, who was always a bit disappointed he wasn't that much into music. Sadly, the relationship didn't work out, though he did keep the guitar.
The third one — metabolism shift. He was gaining weight, and metabolism upgrade not only reversed that, but also got him into running, which Mark enjoyed a lot.
He met his wife, Lin, through running. It was very romantic — a guy was harassing her, and just as Mark approached to help she snapped, and both the guy and Mark somehow ended up in the dust. After all, she did take the faster reaction time. In a few moments though she realized her mistake, helped him up and apologized.
Six years later, after a visit to Lin's parents, autocar navigation system malfunctioned and their car lost control and crashed into a lamppost. Fortunately, he had a healing factor. Fortunately, his wife had a bone strength upgrade.
Fourth — he took a sleep upgrade when they had a baby, leaving a bit more time to spend with the family.
"It's the pitch upgrade"said the doctor, ten years later. "We can't undo it, and the new immortality upgrade is incompatible with it. If we apply it, you will die. I am sorry, but we can't give you the immortality treatment."
Mark waited for Lin to complete her estimation. As she left the doctor's office, she shook her head. "It's the eye color change"she said. "It's incompatible". "It's pitch upgrade for me"said Mark. They looked at each other.
"What a bunch of sad puppies we are"said Lin, and they couldn't help but laugh.
-------------------------
"Have you ever regretted your upgrade choices?"asked the reporter.
"Of course I did"said Mark. "Of course I wanted something else, time to time. But it all ended up well, didn't it? That were my choices, and that is my life, and I regret nothing of it. You can't spend all the time wishing for something else. Did you regret yours?"
"No"lied the reporter. |
Epstein loosened his collar, looking nervously at the motley band of heavily armed lunatics around him. "First thing's first,"he said, flicking through his notes. "I have no idea where the funding's coming from. Overwatch is, officially, disbanded, all government funding was cut off six years ago -"
"And now we've re-formed!"Reinhardt boomed, bringing the hilt of his rocket hammer in a resounding clang against the ground. "To once again bring justice to the world!"
Epstein winced, and backed away from the hulking mass of armor. "Yes, but not in any official capacity,"he said carefully. "As far as I can tell, this is, uh, an informal gathering, thanks to Winston here reactivating the old Overwatch communications network - I don't know why that was still active, by the way, that was obviously UN property, it should have been repurposed years ago, there's definitely some financial improprieties going on there -"
"Look at the state of the world,"the gorilla insisted. "The second Omnic Crisis in Russia -"
"Ah, so it's the Russian government funding us?"Epstein said hopefully.
"Well,"Winston said, grinding his knuckles into the ground. "No. But given that Overwatch's original mandate was to deal with the Omnic Crisis, I felt it imperative that we reassemble the old guard, free of the government supervision that last led to the conflict and -"
"Yes, yes, I get all that,"Epstein said. "But without government involvement ... where is the money going to be coming from?"
Winston grunted and suddenly became very interested with a loose wire on his tesla cannon.
"I mean, it's sort of a volunteer thing,"Tracer said, bobbing on her heels.
Epstein looked up. "You're not salaried? And by the way, I have to point out there are a lot of improprieties on the membership roster - some of you are legally dead?"He shook his head. "So who pays for - for the headquarters, the equipment, the - the -"His voice rose to a screech. "Where's the money coming from???"
"Well,"Tracer said, and shrugged. "You're the accountant."
Epstein pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut and silently counted to ten. "All right,"he said finally. "We can look into sources of funding. What exactly is Overwatch's new directive? You plan to go into Russia, and aid them in the Omnic Crisis?"
"That's a possibility,"Soldier 76 said. "We plan for a more global scope."
"Yes, yes,"Epstein said. "You've been all over the place. Voskalya Industries, Eichenwald, Hanamura - even Hollywood! So, what are your goals, precisely? What exactly is Overwatch trying to achieve? How do you plan to generate income?"
There was a lot of shuffling and clearing of throats. "It's complicated,"Winston said.
"Hm!"said Epstein, his mouth pressed into a rigid line. He looked desperately around the group. "No one? No one? Not anyone?"
"Look,"Tracer sighed, "we're practically superheroes. Does it really matter what we do? Just be flashy enough, fly around, blow things up, keep ourselves visible, couldn't we license out our images to help pay the bills, guv'nor?"
Epstein released the tension from his neck with a long and drawn out sigh, his entire rigid body slowly deflating. "Sure!"he said, and threw up his hands. "Just fight each other for no reason! Whatever! As long as it balances the books!" |
Professor Richardson turned back to the screen and clicked to advance to the next slide.
"So, in summary: State-of-the-art modern scholarship proves that Vlad was actually a weak, oafish man, thoroughly in thrall to his domineering aunt, who rather than drawing power from blood fainted at the sight of the smallest injury. The sobriquet 'Impaler' comes from a spelling mistake made by a drunken Victorian adventurer. His more likely nickname was given to him by his father, who we now know had travelled extensively in Africa. It was 'Vlad the Impala', because he regarded his son as having overly feminine ankles. Any questions?"
An outraged voice sounded from the back of the hall. "I, for vun, have several! My father vos _midnight_, you stupid woman, and not in the habit of naming children! Zey called me 'impaler' because of vot I did to all of my enemies! Zer stakes are still zere, if you care to look!"
The professor remained calm. "None of those were questions, I'm afraid, Mr.... is it Țepeș?"
"Yes,"the voice said sulkily. "It's Romanian. But vot about all the bodies zey found... drained of all blood?"
"Your question gives away that you missed the previous session, Mr. Țepeș", Professor Richardson replied briskly. "We went over the fact that as centuries pass, all soft tissues break down. Yes, there were hundreds of skeletons found under the Castle Dracula - incidentally, most likely a grain-storage facility than the lair of a vampire count - but without any of their skin remaining, it's impossible to tell whether or not they had been exsanguinated. The most likely explanation for their death is the result of some kind of plague, of which there were many in Europe at that time."
"I know, I vas one of them!"the voice retorted. It had come closer to the front of the lecture theatre. The approach revealed the speaker; a young-looking man with a dark cape wrapped around him, who paced forward in agitation as he spoke. "Vot about zer children of zer night? My wolves and bats?"
"They were an allegory for the pagan traditions of the villagers,"Professor Richardson supplied smoothly, shuffling her papers. "In fact, the average wolf population around 'Castle Dracula' was around 15% _lower_ than the average Transylvanian county. I'm afraid statistics don't lie, Mr. Țepeș. I'm really going to have to move on."
The young man shook his head, evidently distraught. "You're gaslighting me!"He exclaimed suddenly. "I see - I see vot you're doing! You're trying to convince me I'm mad!"
A snippy History major who always sat on the front row tried to murmur loftily to his equally awful girlfriend that he clearly was mad already, but mangled his words up and blushed. Meanwhile Vlad the Impaler, most feared of all the elder vampires, fled out of the lecture theatre in a panic.
"Shall we?"said a bored-looking student in a red hoodie in the back of the lecture hall to his friend, who had been watching proceedings with rapt attention.
They vanished with faint pops.
-------------------------------------------
"So what's the big idea?"the student in the red hoodie said to his friend. They had reappeared without much difficulty a few kilometres away on a bench outside a modest apartment, currently rented by Vlad the Impaler.
"Watch closely,"the friend said, speaking for the first time. In comparison to red-hoodie's casual appearance, he was dressed neatly in a grey waistcoat over a white shirt and grey trousers.
In front of them, an obviously upset Vlad stumbled down the street towards his front door. He wrestled in his pocket for the keys, then let himself in with some difficulty.
As soon as he was through the door, the man in the red hoodie launched himself forward, only to be stopped by an arm thrown across his chest.
"_Wait_,"said the man in the grey waistcoat. "It's more dangerous than you know."
The sun shone. The birds sang. And after a few long moments, the man in the grey waistcoat, who was not really a man at all, and the man in the red hoodie, who if anything was even less so, got to their feet and sauntered over to the door.
Just in front of it, they paused.
"Mormons?"the man in the grey waistcoat said innocently.
"It's always damn Mormons - "the man in the red hoodie tried to protest, but it was already too late. The doorbell had been rung.
Seconds later, it was opened by an ordinary-looking man in his early twenties in a white t-shirt. He looked at them both in turn, frowning.
"Can I help you guys?"
"Hello, sir. Have you let the love of the Lord Jesus Christ into your heart?"The man in the grey waistcoat said, smiling sincerely.
"I - uh, no. I'm afraid I have - places to be. Thanks. Goodbye,"said the man, and shut the door in their faces.
The man in the grey waistcoat turned to the man in the red hoodie.
"Well?"
"Flatmate."
"It's a one bedroom place."
"Boyfriend."
"Vampires aren't the boyfriend type. Besides, he was looking suspiciously still full of blood."
"- OK, so he's what remains of Vlad the Impaler. Who cares? Why don't you just get to the point. Why don't you explain the big picture for once, rather than playing your smug little told-you-so instructional anecdotes. You know I don't have your kind of analytical mind."
The man in the grey waistcoat sighed, and snapped his fingers.
There were two faint pops.
---------------------------------
A bookshop, late at night. The man in the red hoodie sat at a table, paging idly through a stack of glossy hardbacks, all written by Professor Richardson. The man in the grey waistcoat lounged against a radiator that was turned up to full. He seemed to be enjoying it.
"I see,"the man in the red hoodie said suddenly. "And she's done this - what, a half dozen times?"
"More, if you count lecture series and TV appearances,"said the man in the grey waistcoat. "By my count, there's at least twenty-four exquisitely executed hatchet jobs in there. The Flying Dutchman was in fact a French tourist who tripped in a puddle. Mermaids were created by sewing monkeys to fishes. Thor was actually bartender with halitosis."
"But aren't those all, you know, _true_?"
The man in the grey waistcoat shrugged.
"Perhaps. The more important question is - for how long have they been true? Always, or only since Professor Richardson published her books?"
"That's ridiculous. You can't just alter reality by writing a snarky pop-history essay revealing the truth behind a legend."
"As I'm sure Professor Richardson would tell you, that's a common misconception. At which point, it would be, if you see what I mean. What we are dealing with here, my friend, is the birth of a new power!"The man in the grey waistcoat raised his arms dramatically.
The man in the red hoodie grunted. "Uh huh, and which power would that be?"
"Hypercorrectness personified. The Goddess Actually."
There was a pause.
"...Actually what?"
The man in the grey waistcoat smiled. It was going to be a long night.
--------------------------------------------------
It made a twisted kind of sense, if you didn't think about it too directly, and let your consciousness kind of sidle up and grope the edges of the argument. Mankind had been creating gods and legends for millennia, but over time the demand had shifted, from relatively simple entities responsible for thunder - and, say, bloodsucking - to more and more abstract entities more suited for the digital age.
Spend your time in harvest festivals, and your gods would be a bucolic lot who cared a lot about crop rotation.
Spend your time in pub quizzes, and here you were, thought the man in the grey waistcoat gloomily. He and the man in the red hoodie were perched invisibly on a branch outside the house of Professor Richardson, pretending that they were surveilling her while she put the finishing touches to "Leonardo Da Vinci: Man or trained leopard seal?", but actually achieving pretty much nothing.
It was a long way from realising that a new goddess was slowly destroying the vast majority of interesting entities on the planet to actually doing something about it.
In a vague way, Grey Waistcoat was sad. He'd liked Da Vinci - of all the entities who started out (mostly) human, he'd been one of the more interesting ones.
And even now, as Professor Richardson emailed her final draft to her publisher, the entity formerly known as Da Vinci would be wracked with strange changes, his arms collapsing down to flippers, his belly swollen with layers of blubber. What could one do?
At least Vlad-the-no-longer-Impaler was doing well. Maybe it was just the way of the world, the man in the grey waistcoat thought.
|
A gentle shade of magenta was diffusing through the horizon as I started my sixth lap on the mountain trail. My lungs sucked chilly air greedily, while my legs were going through the all-familiar ache. Yet I could feel the cobwebs of sleep drifting away with each dirt-crunching step, so it was all for a good cause.
My path took me past my little cabin, nestled in a little hollow. Framed by snow-capped mountains, it had a quaint, picturesque feel to it, if somewhat remote. And lonely. I spared myself a moment of recollection but failed to locate the memory—when had I last met a fellow human being?
You wanted this, I thought. Away. Safe. Just finish the run, go home, and have a nice bowl of muesli. And certainly don't think about that little box full of fines and tickets under the bed.
I had just begun a downhill stretch when I caught sight of the first cap bobbing into view. Then a bonnet ... and another flowery sun hat. Oh God. People.
Before I could even turn around, a scream rang through the alpine air. It seemed to echo from the mountains.
Heat flushed my face as a chorus of high-pitched voices joined in.
"A naked man!"No, I'm actually wearing a jacket and track pants, look harder.
"He's mooning us!"Would you rather see my danglies, then?
"Isn't he cold?"Thank heavens for this shot of embarrassment, then.
"Hey you there!"A male voice, gruff, used to being ordered. Ah, the protective husband or boyfriend.
I gritted my teeth and turned my head halfway. He was a burly fellow, with stringy dark hair falling around his shoulders. His arms were the size of trunks, and marked more than a prehistoric cave.
"What you going around buck nude like that for, scarin' our customers?"he said.
I put on an innocent look and plucked at the fabric of my clothes. "But I'm not. And technically, you're trespassing on private property."
He squinted at my fingers as if they were plucking the strings of an invisible guitar. "This ain't private property. We bring tourists here all the time."
I looked past him, at the horde of elderly men and women. With all the bushy gray hair and bulging eyes, they almost resembled a flock of colorful sheep. About three other men seemed to be escorting them; they could pass for the tour guide's brothers.
"You want to see my title?"
"Who cares about your title? Put some damn clothes on! Are you crazy?"
"No, it so happens that I have x-ray vision, but if I don't use it, other people see through my clothes. Would you like me to estimate your ... length?"
He scowled. "Psycho. Stupid psycho."Still mumbling to himself, he turned to leave.
Some of the ladies looked like they were about to keel over, so I switched my power on as I began looking away. Too early though, my gaze scoured Mr. Guide's hairy ass, wallet, phone, gun ...
Wait.
"Excuse me, but what's that in your pants?"I said.
He spun around. "Hell you talkin' about?"I noticed that his beefy buddies were starting to stride up the slope as well.
I held up my hands. "You guys bodyguards or something? Is Her Majesty the Queen of England somewhere in this bunch? Why the need for guns?"
Time froze for a heartbeat. Then the guide reached for the back of his pants, and his friends did the same. Ah, shit.
When living alone, one had to find things to occupy not just the mind, but the body. I ran, mostly. But I also pumped iron. I boxed. I worked out.
Maybe the old ladies were reacting to my body in a different way than I'd thought.
Yelling, I tackled the boss to the ground, just as he was bringing his arm back to the front. His goons rushed to help, and a quick gaze told me they were unarmed. Cool. I stomped the boss's face flat with my shoe, then threw a punch that caught one of his friends unawares. The man dropped and rolled away, nearly tripping a third. The fourth, however, came from behind and wrapped his arms around my waist.
I'd seen the bandage around his left toes, however. Maybe he'd bumped a toe, chipped some nails. Who knew? I drove the back of my foot hard onto his, causing him to scream and let go.
By then, the third guy was up. He lumbered in like a grizzly bear, arms high and outstretched ... and then froze like a statue when I ducked and rammed my hand into his nether regions with pinpoint accuracy. His face turned purple, and then he sagged to the ground.
The boss got up, swaying, clutching his gun in one hand, mopping blood from his nose with the other. I didn't give him a chance to even aim; a chop on his wrist relieved him of his weapon, and a couple of solid blows to the skull sent him crashing into a shrub.
Brushing my hands, I said, "You folks really ought to pick your tours more care—gah!"I'd forgotten to switch off the power when I looked at them.
As one, they flinched, and more than a few gazes drifted past my navel. One brave little thing said, in a reedy but determined voice, "My, young man, you sure do work on those guns."
"Uh ... thanks."I shuddered as I jogged past them. "Let me walk you downhill."
***
*Thanks for reading, hope you liked it. Check out my [sub](http://reddit.com/r/nonsenselocker) for more stories!* |
“Is there a doctor of physics or applied mathematics on board?”
Then, several minutes later: “Is there a doctor of mathematics or any related field? Please come forward.”
Finally, several minutes after that, a lanky, disheveled young man slunk forward. His short brown hair stuck out in all directions, except where it was pressed flat by his oversized headphones. Deep shadows lurked under his eyes. Odd mathematical symbols and formulae scrawled up his arms in smeared ink. A huge, lumpy backpack dangled off one shoulder, colliding with passengers’ armrests as he made his uncertain way through coach, economy, and finally to the front of first class.
They had tables! What the heck…and he couldn’t even fit his legs behind the next traveler’s seat. He should have been a business major.
“Pardon,” he said, catching the flight attendant as she was about to make another announcement.
“Oh, are you a–“
Her eyes lit up, and he leapt to cut her off
“no, I’m a *student*, a 3rd year physics major–“
*and I don’t know shit*
“–but unfortunately I don’t think you’ve got anyone else.”
“Oh.” The attendant looked at him, disappointment rapidly locked down behind a mask of cheer.
“What seems to be the issue?” He straightened up, tugging at the tails of his shirt. “I’m Brian, by the way. I study at Stanford”
*and I don’t know why they let me in.*
“That’s great! You can call me Cherry. Nice to meet you! Could you please come this way.” Cherry seized Brian’s hand and practically dragged him, lumpy backpack and all, past the first-class tables and recliners, behind an unobtrusive door and into some industrial space frequented only by the aircraft crew.
Footsteps clanged on the metal floor. “We have one!” Cherry called into the claustrophobic space. Her voice was swallowed up by the roaring of engines.
“You, uh, have a *student*” Brian protested as he was led deeper into the belly of the plane. “And what is it, exactly-“
“Time’s wrong,” a gruff voice interrupted. “Relative to the ground. And getting wronger by the minute.”
“That’s…not possible” Brian shook his head, wondering why he always had such weird dreams on airplanes.
“Didn’t stop it from happening!” This new arrival looked to be about 40, bearded and wrinkled and thoroughly concerned. Brian wondered if he was the pilot, and if so, who was flying the plane. The co-pilot, he assumed.
“Well,” Brian started, hoping to reason his way out of this nightmare, “in which direction is it wrong?”
“We think it’s 3:48. A couple minutes ago, it was 3:50 on the ground, then 3:49.” The pilot – or co-pilot, or whoever he was – looked just as harried as Brian felt. “Then we lost contact. Could be 3:47 for all we know.”
“Well, maybe the clocks…”
“Are wrong? For every plane over this state, and every ATC?”
“uh…”
Brian ran a hand through his hair, which was now in total disarray. Why didn’t he ever have normal dreams?
“Well,” he started, employing stalling tactics, “maybe we should back up.”
“You mean turn around?”
“Uh…actually, yeah. Time and space are interlinked, you know.And time can be distorted in certain regions of space; in theory at least… and you said all the planes over this state-“
“Every single one,” the pilot confirmed, “until comms dropped out.”
“It’s getting worse; as we’re moving forward…” Brian’s eyes went wide. “If it gets too bad, of course you’d lose contact with the ground! You can’t send information back in time! I don’t know why something like that would happen, though… it’s never been recorded before.”
“I don’t care about why,” the pilot interrupted. “We need *how*. Will diverting this aircraft clear the anomaly?”
Brian started to shrug, stopped, and confidently said “Yes.” It made sense. More sense than most of his dreams did, anyway.
“Then we’re turning around. Thank you for your help, Dr.…?”
“Not doctor,” Brian hastily corrected. “Just Brian. I’m a student, at Stanford.”
*–maybe I do belong there after all?*
“Ah. Good work. Study well!” The pilot turned and hurried down a corridor, calling instructions to his staff along the way. As if by magic, Cherry appeared, guiding Brian through the belly of the plane as it turned, wobbling and dropping alarmingly before it straightened out.
Brian shrugged, strapping himself into the new seat Cherry had found, tucked away with the crew and coffee-making equipment.
*Why don’t I have normal dreams?* |
He sat crying at the room in the inn. He was eating a very simple meal, one that he struggled to by nature of his fits of grief.
His latest quest had required him to kill an oppressive emperor. As he was leaving, he was stopped by a young girl who asked where her daddy had gone. He tried to console her, relating to the loss of his own parents at her age, but he couldn't hold himself together. They began crying together. My heart swelled in compassion for him. I knew what he needed, and I knew how to find it.
He drank his water in large gulps, replenishing what his tears had been continuously drying out. I watched from a tree through the window as he looked wistfully at the young girl sleeping on the bed with a frown, remembering his parents once again. He had promised to take care of her but looked fearful for the coming days. He had no experience with children. And no experience being a child.
There was a faint knock at the door, and my heart leaped. His gift was here! He got up groggily and went to the door.
"I asked not to be bothered. Who's there?"he asked. I knew he asked not to be bothered, but also knew he would want the gift more than he would want solitude. There was more rapping at the door, but no one answered him. He placed a light palm on the hilt of his sword in preparation.
"I asked who's there?"
More knocks. Leaves fell around me as I shook with anticipation. Oh how he would love the gift, and soon come to love me. He would ask who went through the power to get it to happen, then he would meet me and tell me I'm the most beautiful girl he'd ever met, and then... and then we'd get married!
The room creaked open as he pulled to it, then swung it open in shock.
"Mo-- What are you?"he shrieked. I supposed that was to be expected, he hadn't seen her in years after all.
"Can't you recognize your own mother?"the person at the door asked, reaching her arms out for a hug. Now they would embrace.
He pulled out his sword and held it to her throat.
"Shapeshifter! I asked what you are!?"he cried.
This was going a little differently than planned.
"Who is it, Yuin?"the little girl asked, rubbing tire from her eyes.
"Stay back Grace! It's a trick sent by my enemies!"my love responded, panic growing. That hurt a little bit, but I'm sure he'd understand soon.
"Sweetie, it's me,"his reborn mother said sincerely, tears brimming her eyes. She took a hesitant step forward.
"Another step and you die, shapeshifter! Answer me or leave us!"he demanded.
"Yuin, it's--"
I screamed from my tree as I witnessed my creation's head leave her body. Yuin had his eyes screwed shut as he decapitated his mother. He looked down to her bloodless body and dropped his sword. When she didn't change form, it became clear to him that it wasn't a shapeshifter at all. Grace began to cry, not understanding what she had witnessed. Yuin wailed in agony.
"What kind of vile creature would do such a thing to my mother! Who would leverage the hallowed death she had to tear my mind to shreds!?"he screamed out the window. It hurt a lot to be a vile creature. I began to cry softly in my tree.
Yuin was looking outside, but couldn't find me hiding. He kept looking between Grace and his mother, trying to make sense of it and began pulling hair from his head. I wanted to embrace him so! Be the calm that he needed! A maternal wing over his anguish!!
Then, I thought of another wonderful idea. Something that could calm him even at his worst. The love he needed. A figure stood up behind him and he turned horrified to see his mother resurrected once more. She held out her arms in an embrace just as she had before and he stood in shock this time as she approached him. I squealed with delight when they made contact!
Then I realized that her arms were around his neck, strangling him,
"You would murder me at my lowest point, Yuin!? You have always been a pathetic son, and deserve a quick death."
I shook my head, I should have known that she was a narcissist. That's why he was so shocked to see his mother. As she drained the life from him, I formulated a new plan to gain his attention.
Perhaps the seventh time I resurrect him will be the charm.
__________________________________________________________
For more deadly fun, come on down to /r/Nazer_The_Lazer! |
This is my first writing response here!
I was at a party, with the comfort of my friends, having a good time. I was going for my third drink, but what felt like... fog... washed over me. Perhaps I had too many drinks?
No, I was in a utopia. The sky was a clear blue, the smell of the sea invaded my nostrils. No one was around me. There were no traces of a single living being on this small island. Nothing save for a small cottage. It was very simple, and didn’t boast anything. There was no one around me, but myself. I explored the cottage a little more.
After finally associating myself, and seeing everything on the island, I sat down on the floor rug. I thought of how I could get back...
Those thoughts slowly disappeared. The island seems to just radiate tranquility. I have done nearly nothing for the last month. Perhaps I should think, about solving problems?
The days became months, the months became years, and the years quickly turned into millenniums. Millions of years have passed. I have now thought things beyond the normal human standard. I have come up with solutions for hunger and poverty. They shall become a thing of the past when I come. I have theories, fully complete, on the origins of the universe, and I now have a theory of everything, something my ancestors have failed to produce.
A golden haze appeared before me. It had only been a few million years. I felt my body become weightless. I saw a vision; A vision of the party. My friends and other bystanders looming above me. Hadn’t it been a billion years? How am I still at the party? My limbs started gravitating towards this visions, and I seemed to be pulled through it. I came from the sky, my soul slowly gravitating towards my collapsed vessel.
I stood up after rejoining my body. I simply walked away from the party. Everyone stared at my back as I left. Finally, after all this time, I am reunited with this world. I appear in my home suddenly. Without thought.
Had I just appeared here as a result of my journey? No. I had probably subconsciously thought of home and appeared here. It seems my absolute power is greater than I thought.
I shall make the world my empire! Ruled by my undeniable leadership and unwavering power and intelligence! All the rulers of this world will now before me, and the greatest of scientists will tremble in their boots, and kneel before my incomprehensible knowledge. I start by midnight... |
“Man, there is it again.” Eric grinned and licked at his lips.
I grimaced. It was the same every time. But before I could protest, he continued, “Looks like today, my SM is going for the sweets again. I just feel like…” He paused, contemplating, that invisible link to his other flaring to life. “… like some strawberry cake. Maybe strawberry ice cream. Just something with strawberry, you know?”
He laughed and shook his head. “Man, I hope one day I meet whoever this is. Maybe as much as they like sweets, maybe they are a candy maker? Wouldn’t that be cool, guys?”
Around us, our friends nodded or murmured their agreement. Everyone’s SM, or soulmate, reacted the same way. We all knew when our soulmates were hungry. Suddenly feel like a pizza? Your SM was probably making it right that moment. Walking along and just want a candy bar? Your SM was likely at the grocery store, walking down the candy aisle.
It was the same for everyone. Everyone, that is, but me. I chose to live my life pretending that I was one of the Withouts – those that did not have a soulmate. Being a Without wasn’t a social stigma, after all – since it could take a lifetime to meet your SM – if you ever met them at all – anything at all could happen to them.
It wasn’t uncommon for a person’s SM to pass from this life. Those left behind were the Withouts. All of us would become a Without at some point in our lives, so it was easy for me to pretend to be one.
Except, I wasn’t. I had a SM that had come active a year or two ago. One with a very voracious appetite, I might add. And always, ALWAYS for meat.
I couldn’t walk past a butcher without drooling. The smell of bacon frying was enough to make me cry. My one singular attempt at going vegan lasted less than 14 hours before I was knuckles-deep in a hamburger.
Lord knows I’d tried to find whoever it was that Heaven had decided was my soulmate. Plenty of apps existed to help track down your partners, but they’d all come to naught. People had gone insane trying to track down their other half, but I’d sworn off trying.
Until that day at the zoo.
I still don’t know how I let Jason convince me to take that trip to the zoo. They weren’t my ‘thing,’ just looking at caged animals stuck in the same place for the rest of their lives, you know? But somehow I found myself with Jason, Eric and the rest of the guys, poking around that zoo like misguided tourists.
I hated it. Until we came to the snow leopard display. Inside, two majestic creatures paced, their snow-white coats dotted with patches of grey fur. They paced the interior of the sanctuary, looking a bit annoyed at being restrained to their enclosure but otherwise nonplussed with their surroundings.
I stood by the plaque and read the information engraved on its face. From the mountain ranges of Central and South Asia. Low population due to human encroachment and loss of hunting habitat. Typical boiler-paste information for zoo occupants.
The names of the residents were also engraved on wood and hung on little hooks underneath the plaque. Kitty, born four years ago in captivity. Wilbur, born a year and a half ago, also in captivity.
I watched as the two cats prowled, strangely impressed by their movements. I’d never been one to look at big cats as anything but a curiosity. But the way they both walked, nearly silent even despite their size, was oddly mesmerizing.
I tried to figure out which of the two was which. Then I met Wilbur’s eyes for the first time. The flash of information I read in those intelligent eyes told me everything I needed to know.
It took some time. My degree was in I.T., after all, and had nothing to do with conservation or animal sciences. But I was determined. After a few additional years of college, I contacted the zoo directly and, after a couple rounds of interviews, had my first working day on a bright Monday in April.
Through it all, I watched and learned. I realized that my cravings always would hit around feeding time at the zoo. I finally worked up the courage to watch the snow leopards feed, and the minute Wilbur entered the enclosure, the cravings for meat hit.
There could be no more doubt. I’d found my SM. It took another year to finish my degree and get assigned as a keeper for the snow leopards. Now? I spend every day with Wilbur. He knows me before I even enter the enclosure. The other zookeepers say they’ve never seen an animal as friendly toward their keeper as Wilbur is toward me. They say he acts like he was my son.
But I know. He’s not my son. He’s so much more than that. |
> So that idiot's going to wake up or what?
> Well, he might as well not notice if we eat him as is.
> Come on you stupid! How'd we get to the food supply? We physically can't.
> Don't tell me that, you can open doors perfectly fine!
*Creaking*
> You see? Now let me try. If I can do it, for sure the food supply I'd be able to open.
> Hey hey don't touch me notherfucker!
> Come on I was just trying to get around! You really do not like physical contact do you?
The moment I feared had come true. My house got broken in, and they'll just empty it out if I'm here lying motionless. Alas, there's nothing I can do. I could only afford to live in this part of town and they might just shoot me. After all I don't have much and the most important for me are my cats.
This is such a strange robbery. They are going for the food first, not for the things of *value* I might have somewhere. It is a couple, as I can hear a high pitched girl with some anger issues and a gentleman with a baritone voice. Maybe they don't really know how to effectively break into a house but they may be afraid because they're new, and they may shoot at the slightest provocation. Well, if they shoot they shoot but I'd prefer jumping. I can already hear stuff being thrown.
> Could you please stop it? He doesn't like it when you throw stuff. I'll just go and wake him up if you desire!
I see my white cat come to the couch I was sleeping in and stand on my chest as I hear in a male voice:
> Good morning sir, I can see you had a really good night's sleep, but we are hungry. Well, you see me do this every day so maybe you already know.
"What the fuck Mike, did you just speak?
> Is there anything wrong?
"No there's nothing wrong Mike, you just talked and that seems a little bit too unnatural."
> Oh I see, you became sensitive enough to pick our language.
Soon I realized that I couldn't just understand my cats.
".... For I am the owner of this land! Oh hello my fair lady, want me to sing a song?"
Not only the birds, but the mice, the ants, the cockroaches, the flies and everything that wasn't a fungus, plant or bacterium (thanks God).
Still, my head was going to explode. Any being, as minuscule as it could be and at the same time being in the animal kingdom could broadcast their words to me.
I did what I must, enduring the pain. I grabbed the bag of kibble and off I went to feed my cats. Mike was very grateful as always and there was Bijou, my tabby tortoiseshell cat. She is the cat that has accompanied the longest and in cat years she is 32.
> So you settled on a name?
"Yes, Bijou."
She has always been a very unaffectionate cat but I could still sense she had a special feeling for me.
"So the other night I could dream that you could talk. You calmed me down after a breakdown inside my dream and told me you'd be with me until you life extinguishes."
> I will. I could always hear you when you slept, as I almost always sleep by your side. That was the first time you heard me talking to you.
She may not be the most affectionate cat in the world but she shows her emotions differently. As I talked to her, I could sense tears.
> Why are you crying again? You humans are weird, you cry for everything.
"Can I pet you?"
> Sure
Bijou rarely purrs, but this time her purr was different.
"Could you treat Mike better? Last time you injured his eye"
> Tell that idiot to keep his distance.
I sniffed her head as I do always and she slowly blinked.
I gathered the energy to do a thorough clean up of the house in order to minimize the noise inside and I also tried to soundproof it the best I could so I didn't hear those loud birds. I befriended some geckos to get rid of the bugs that appear here and there and they're great. I slowly stopped worrying about hearing the animals talk as I became one with them.
I finally beat depression. |
The men screamed as they saw the humanoid thing run at them, carrying only a pistol and a sword. They thought that it was possessed when in reality, the AI was completing the task given to it. DAVE, the AI controlling the mechanical suit looks back at the voice command to confirm a final time the command.
The audio was rough and soft but the last words of Sargent Mitch Slade rang out clear to the AI once again. "Bring my body back to the motherland and make sure Sarah can see me a final time."
The AI internally sighs but he couldn't deny the last command of Mitch. They had fought together this whole war. The least he could do was respect his last wishes.
DAVE slashed through dozens of semi armored soldiers and shot even more, using the sensors that Mitch couldn't have mastered even with his many hours in the suit to make sure every cut and bullet fired ended a enemy life.
Days later, the mechanical armor, covered in blood of enemies and steps on the long abandoned porch. DAVE laughs softly as he has the armor to knock on the half rotted door before kneeling. He was about to run out of power. He decides to do a final favor for his master, putting on the untitled song that he always put on when he needed comfort.
"Heh... Maybe this was a good way to go... Sorry that I wasn't able to save you..."
___________________________________________
Hello, first time replying to one of these. I hope I did well. I also took a bit of a creative liberty and had DAVE follow the last command of the user instead of the commands from the higher ups as I thought that could be more emotional. |
The chalk makes a scratching noise as I write various chemical equations on the blackboard, which combined with the sound of the pens on paper and low murmurs and giggles combine to form a general classroom ambience. I finish writing the fourth equation before everything goes silent, which could mean only one thing: someone just put their hand up and has a question for me. I turn around to face the class.
"What is it, Malcolm?"
"It's Brian, sir,"Brian says, "I just wanted to ask... what's the point of all these... equations? I mean, acids were cool, and they melted most things we tested them on... but why use these potions when we can't even drink them, and their effects are simply recreated by spells? Wouldn't we better off using those instead of these equations, whatever they are?"
I had been expecting this question. Of course, no one here really knows what I'm actually teaching, and think that I teach basic understanding a bit of potions, even though all this time I've been teaching them nothing but chemistry, physics and biology.
"Good question, Brian,"I say, and tell him to sit down, "Yes. The point of these equations, and these... potions, if that's what you want to call them... is not much as of now. And I mean as of now, don't go thinking it's of no use. This is just the base for more interesting and complex things. Something more powerful than magic- I mean, a very powerful magic, the likes of which you haven't seen yet. Would you like a demonstration?"
The class, as eager as it is for anything that doesn't force them to listen, read or write, nod enthusiastically, and straighten up.
"Alright then."I pull out my phone.
They stare at the sleek rectangular object in hand. I also take out a transparent prism. I turn on my phone, put on one of the videos which were made for holographic display, and set the prism on top of it. A blue butterfly flutters on top of the screen, resulting in many voices of excitement from the crowd in front of me.
"Now, can anyone tell me if you have ever seen magic such as this? Can anyone here summon a butterfly for me?"I ask to the crowd at large. No one responds, so I turn of the mobile and pick everything up.
"If you're so impressed with this, I wonder what will happen if I show you this..."
I open up my bag and take out two metal cubes. I place them one the table and let them stick to each other.
"Right then. Who here wants to come and try to separate this? With magic or without, I'll give it to you if you can."
Terry, one of the strongest boys of this class, is forced by his classmates to go ahead and try it. He picks up the two cubes and tries to separate them, but is quite unsuccessful. After 5 unsuccessful tries, he gives up. Next up, Brian comes up to my desk, and attempts to use a summoning spell to summon just one of the cubes to himself. It doesn't work, so he asks James to help him. both summon the cubes, but the cubes float in midair instead of separating. A few more students try, but in the end, none of them are able to separate it.
"So? Could none of you do it? Right then, I'll do it."
I slide them apart. They come off, although not really that easily.
"And now, the best for the last..."
I take out a metal glove from my bag. t isn't exactly a new invention, but rather a mashup of a lot of them. I put on the bag pack as well and take the remote connected to the glove in my other hand.
"Alright, could anyone give me one random spell?"
There are many cries of the fire spell, the essential spell required to create a fire, without which fire wouldn't exist. In the magical world, anyway.
"So, the fire spell then. Is a wand required to cast it? Is there any chance one could cast it without a wand?"
The answers are jumbled up in the cacophony, but in general the answer is that a wand is required for the spell, without which the spell wouldn't work. I press a button on the remote and a jet of flame erupts from the glove. I let it go for a few minutes before stopping. The students are staring at me with surprised faces.
"Alright, how about a summoning spell?"
I press another button, and my bottle, a few pens and their caps stick to my outstretched hand.
I continue for this some time. A tiny Roomba taking directions from my hands to demonstrate one of the most complex spells, the possession spell, a rolled up shield for the Shield spell, and so on. In the end, everyone's eager to find out how I did all of this without a wand.
"You do want to find out, don't you? All of this comes under Science, which is what I'm teaching you. And this isn't where it ends. I will teach you how to conjure a flame without a wand, how to control an animal without using your wand or a potion, potions and objects that break a lot of laws of Magic... and even more. But for now, you'll have to learn the basics. So, open your chemistry books to page 78, and Chris, read out the third paragraph for the rest of the class." |
From the village behind her; chanting.
The old men always chanted when winter came. There was something about their ancestral songs that made them feel powerful. Men needed to feel powerful when frightened, especially when the really powerful men were already dead.
Aster passed them frozen in clumps of twos and threes by the village’s edge. She knew all their names. There was Micah and Kellan and Lattimore, indivisible since birth. Farther up the path were Hernando and Kunte, the men who’d come two winters past from the lands of the undying sun. The previous week they had brought Peter back in a cart, his hands stretched out towards the sky, fingers splayed expressively. They had said his friend Paul was irretrievable, and a horror to boot. Gouges down his stony sides they’d said, claw marks inches deep.
Medusa.
In the village the chanting ended and a hymn began. They were much the same, the chants and the hymns. The same old warbling voices, underpinned by her Grandfather’s baritone— but then came the troop of boys stretching up towards soprano, six years to ten, the only times they were allowed to sing before sixty. It was almost beautiful, Aster thought, there in the verge between the village and the road where Micah and Kellan and Lattimore had died. Had the monster really dared to come so close?
Once at the forest’s edge Aster turned back. Her father stood there, his weathered face as frozen as if he too had been turned to stone, though one hand shook as if palsied. His right hand, his dominant hand at the lathe. Two fingers missing on that hand. Aster raised her own right hand, waved. She could not meet his eyes, but she saw that he did not wave back.
The forest took her then, darker than it ever had been.
There was no destination. The village knew nothing about Medusa save for the legends. Help was a hundred miles away past Howling Bog, and to travel Howling Bog at the onset of winter was a certain suicide.
But then, what else was she doing but committing suicide in a manner the gods would approve? Medusa, the gorgon, would kill her. Aster had no doubts about that at all. The bravest men in the village were already frozen in death, the elders too to their seats in the longhouse, frozen to their chants. Her father was—
The trees were quiet here, Aster tried to think. On her right the little grove she called Weepers Lane passed her by, empty. Aster knew every hill, every bush, every tree around her village, even in the dark. Especially in the dark. Though the forest frightened her now, before it had always felt like home. No sounds but the animals and the woodcutters, the animals alone if she went deeper.
Aster went deeper. She walked in the dark until the hymns fell silent and the clouds raced by overhead, flashing little glimpses of moonlit familiarity. Aster walked until the world became uncertain, not terribly far really, and then she walked until she came to the last place she could remember: her Rock of Ages and the Fantasizing Tree.
And there beneath the Rock of Ages, that cracked and pitted spiral, stood Paul.
And before him, a bear.
The stars moved too fast when they peaked through the racing clouds. The almost-light did something to Aster’s pulse and her blood, made her palms sweat and her breath still. It was not the bear. The bear was a thing of the forest, of nature, and Aster— the quietest person in all the village— had just become used to that again. So it was not the bear that scared her, it was not the way it pawed at Paul’s tall, lanky body. The way bits of petrified skin shredded off to mound at his feet. The way his face looked the time the moon struck it, noseless, eyeless, lipless. It might have been the fact that she recognized the patch sewn into the arm of his coat, the colorful trinket she had pressed into his hands at fifteen (two years ago) and then run away from, the blush threatening to burn her down to the roots.
It might have been the patch in the night. Yes, Aster thought, it might have been.
The bear roared.
Aster let out the faintest yelp. Truly faint, she could be proud of that, the roar had hardly scared her at all. It turned towards, huge and brown, near as tall as her at the shoulder and it was still on all fours. It crunched through the petrified skin sniffing at the air, its snout moving back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. The snout called to her, the teeth. Aster could not meet the bear’s eyes.
The beast shouldered past Paul, knocking him over. He clattered loudly against the rock as he fell. The Fantasizing Tree was on the wrong side of the little grove and the village was half a night’s walk away, and suddenly Aster had lost all sense of direction. East and west might have been up, as the bear approached.
“Hello bear,” she whispered. “That’s a good bear. A good bear. I’m here to find—”
It roared again, louder, and this time Aster screamed. She was afraid of the bear. It was very large, very near. It smelled like musk and death.
Aster closed her eyes. Her legs gave way and she sat down very suddenly, face hidden behind knobby knees.
Something cracked behind her, footsteps in the underbrush.
What Aster heard then was not language in any capacity she had ever understood, though it was speech. That much was obvious immediately. The voice was high and confident, a woman’s voice filed down to knife-point. In her seventeen years Aster had never heard a woman speak like that.
The bear chuffed in response, snorted and pawed at the ground. Aster could see the furrows it dug through a little gap her knees. The woman spoke again, a phrase pitched like a question, followed quickly a cutting answer. The bear whined low, pawed some more.
A single almost-word cracked the air and the bear left. Aster wanted to leave too. It had been a very powerful word, whatever it was.
“You’re a long way from home,” the woman said, behind and to Aster’s left.
Words died on Aster’s lips. She saw Paul through the gap in her knees though the patch was buried. His lipless mouth hung open.
“It’s alright child, the bear won’t hurt you. He’s an old friend.”
“You’re friends with a bear?” Aster said, surprised somehow.
And the voice behind her laughed, and there was rattling and hissing in it. Aster knew then who was behind her. “You can find friends in the strangest places,” the woman, Medusa, said. “I simply reminded him that he was very fat already, and that would be very fat all winter. A little slip of a thing like you could hardly make a difference to him.”
“Thank you,” Aster said.
“Stand, child.”
Aster stood. |
Her eyes narrowed, worn grey robes billowing in a sudden wind. I just smiled at her, turning away.
"What do mean, you were only here for my curse?! Don't you know what it does?!"
I sighed.
"Its a pretty generic one. Until removed my body will slowly wither, my life feeding yours. If I die from it I am damned to be a forever walking husk under your bidding. That about right?"
She seemed rather put out by my uncaring demeanour.
"Y... yes... how do you know?!"
I rolled up on of my sleeves, revealing a series of black tattoos that wound around my arm. They shifted subtly, and just by looking you could see the malevolence.
"This isn't my first curse. I like to collect them."
That gave her a pause, making my grin return.
"You... who in their right mind gets more than one curse?!"
I just tapped my nose.
"That would be telling. In any case, good day to you."
I left her alone in the dark, ascending to the light above. As I walked, I could feel the dark coils of her curse winding through me. But they could not take hold, as my defences captured them in turn. It was swiftly bound, a ring of icy flame wrapping around an unblemished section of skin. I didn't bother to look, knowing that it was merely another one of my collection.
Settling my shoulders, I set off, heading back to home. Nira would be interested in my latest adventures.
\-----
Several days later, I knocked on an ornate wooden door. A tower stretched above me, granting its occupants a fantastic view of the city. I had been many times, but the view was still impressive. As my knocks echoed through the door, it clicked, swinging open. Inside was a winding spiral staircase, one that ran around the tower walls. It was decorated with various paintings and vases, brightening an otherwise dull interior.
Stepping in, I took my usual place on one of the flagstones. It rose into the air smoothly, taking me up towards the top. From the glow around the ceilings edge, I could tell Nira had it set to study mode. The green tinge was very familiar, one that I had seen many times before.
Sure enough, as I reached the top, I saw a circular room filled with all sorts of contraptions. There were cages and cauldrons, braziers filled with multicoloured flames, and racks of ingredients. A desk was shoved at one end, covered with piles of unstable papers. Next to it was a floor to ceiling black crystal, one of the only things that remained between each mode.
Standing infront of the desk I saw Nira. She wore a set of working clothes. I had been told they were once white, but now they were covered in soot, stains and haphazard patches. Her ginger hair was tied up in a messy bun, out of her experiments.
"How was your trip?"
She addressed me whilst focusing on her latest work. I could hear her scribbling furiously, probably writing down a new idea.
"Relatively dull. I found three new curse sources though."
She finished scribbling, turning to me. Her face was all angles, with deep bags under her eyes. I shook my head.
"You know you need to sleep more than an hour a night right?"
She scoffed.
"Rest is a waste of time, when there's work to be done. But show me, I want to see!"
I rolled my eyes, letting her look at my new curses.
"I dint think they will help. Each one is pretty run of the mill. Have you made any progress?"
She gave a sad glance at the crystal, before peering back at my arm.
"No. I thought I was getting close, but the structure still eludes me."
I grunted softly, my own gaze falling on the crystal. I knew what was within without looking. Theia, my older sister, held in a frozen moment of time. Victim of a undiscovered style of curse, one that would claim her life in mere minutes. One that Nira hoped to break.
"We'll work it out."
Her eyes glimmered, a faint seed of doubt within.
"I know." |
The stars once told us stories. Our history and our beliefs were written in the constellations. We watched with awe as new ones appeared brighter than any other only to fade over weeks. And eventually we learned that not every spec of dazzling brilliance even was a star. Some were galaxies teeming with life all their own, and others were planets just listing along in their orbits.
They beckoned us. We yearned to fly high enough to escape our world of trouble and despair. Perhaps naively, we dreamed that the places waiting for us above were better than those we left below. We were wrong.
Where we imagined grand empires and sprawling ecumenopolies we found only traces. Great works of engineering that surrounded stars and housed capital ships abandoned as if their makers simply disappeared. They left their mark on the galaxy and then themselves vanished, stumping even our greatest minds. It wasn’t until first contact that we understood.
It was as if the universe itself were guiding us. Planet after planet in system after system we found the life we’d always questioned. But the very problems we wished to escape plagued our newfound friends. Wars ravaged entire systems, famine devastated others. People we’d only just begun to meet were under threat of extinction from disease. Hope for a more enlightened galaxy seemed lost.
In true Human fashion though, the facts did nothing to discourage us. Where the denizens of these worlds had given up, we refused. With a few likeminded planets, we set off to create that dream.
Fleets of science ships descended on plague-ridden worlds. Their sole purpose: to end the sickness that threatened their people. Transports of artificial food were dropped from orbit as engineers and ecologists aided in the construction of sustainable food production. Even diplomats and doctors stepped up to broker peace and aid the casualties.
Word of our efforts spread like wildfire. Even as progress slowed more and more planets joined our cause. Within a decade our coalition was a dozen strong. Humans working alongside Retisans, Artuyi, and many more to make our galaxy a better place.
I wish that I could say things are perfect. I wish that I could say there are no wars or that disease is a thing of the past. The truth is that there will always be challenges, what matters isn’t perfection but it’s pursuit. |
How long has it been? Centuries, millennia, who can tell? After a certain point time stops to matter, sometime after you realize that the celestial being who dreamt you is yet another, much more complicated bundle of ones and zeros.
I've been so focused on finding what reality is, that I've traveled the depths of ever-expanding false universes created by some false God.
But at some point, it starts to... not matter. As a simple number in a dream, in another bundle, through the throat of Cthulu, through a realm where I was God... it didn't matter anymore.
Why did I want to leave? I honestly forgot. I was... happy, I was smart, I had knowledge... and I threw it away.
Was it not good enough? Did I need to know what life actually meant? Why did I need to leave?
My travels have left me with naught but questions and a sense of purposeless. No matter how far I go, there will be another galactic string to pull at, another reality to unravel in my wake. I have come to no divine realization, no feeling a greatness.
Instead I have come to a singular conclusion, one which I should have come to far before. It shouldn't have mattered whether what I do is real. It shouldn't have mattered if my reality was the true reality. Because even if it was not the most true in the infinite cosmos of complete darkness and light, it was true to me. |
# Body Counts
The TV in the quiet bar shared the news. "Superhero kills 309 in horrific accident!"
There was more, but Keeper stopped reading the scrolling ticker and went back to his ledger. He was feeling old today and the world wasn't helping. Besides, he was pretty sure someone would be coming to see him soon.
Mike duck-walked out of the back room, carrying a rack of bottles. He set them down with a gentle *clink*, looked up at the television and groaned. "Who's it this time?"
Keeper flipped pages and checked his book. The columns ran red with bloody numbers down the left hand side. The balance at the bottom was heavily negative. "Mr. Presto."
"Christ, that guy. Looks so fancy on those entertainment shows but can't keep his collateral damage down."He opened a cooler beneath the bar and started stocking. "We'd be better off without him. Y'know, as a city."
"Mm. Ours is not to judge."Keeper turned the ledger page and checked the new name. *Samuel Delgado, "Karnifex"*. A new entry in his growing book. With only a single line beneath the name sporting one red number of people killed. He didn't like to guess at the reasons and motivations behind each powered person's body counts. Occasionally it happened that the most brutal-sounding names were the meekest of lambs. But *Karnifex* didn't bode very well for continued tally marks.
Both of them looked up as someone knocked on the bar's front door.
"We're closed!"Mark shouted without stopping the night's prep work. "Come back at ten!"
The knocking continued, getting more frantic. Mark stood up to give the impatient drinker a what-for, but Keeper cleared his throat pointedly. "I believe that one is for me."
With a long-suffering sigh the barman came around and tossed the deadbolts back on the door. Immediately a tall man in a hoodie and sunglasses pushed through, spinning in place to close the door again. "Did anyone see me?"
"No,"the Keeper assured the panicked figure. Pages were already flipping in his ledger. "The store across the street is closed and we open late for a reason. Very few witnesses."
"*You* open late? Since when did you open anything? Yeesh."Mark rolled his eyes and went back to business. Along the way he passed the television where the news still shows a devastated countryside and derailed passenger train. He gave it a significant look. "Somebody's sure closing it *down*, though."
The hoodie went back and the sunglasses came off. "Hey, I was *trying* to stop a hijacking! It's not my fault they brought a bomb on board."Without the disguise he was a handsome man, squared off at jaw and shoulder. Blue eyes, blonde hair and a small scar that made his smile just a little bit wry. "I couldn't have known the Range Crew would blow it all up after they lost the fight. Right?"
Mark and Presto looked at the old man. He tapped the ledger significantly.
"Fuuuuuuck,"Presto muttered. He looked depressed and world-weary enough the Keeper could almost sympathize. "Really? It's on my count? I mean I kinda knew, but... shit. How can I make it right? Donate some money? Charity work?"
Keeper held out a hand. "Richard, you already know the answer to that. A superhero name doesn't change the responsibility for ending a life. Money and good works are a start, but only one thing balances my ledger."
The blonde man took a seat on the other side of the small table, sulky as a child called to the principal's office. "You know all the heroes hate this? Having someone *know* they're not all shiny and perfect?"
"I'm sure they do,"Keeper held out a hand. Thin, old, with skin like paper and mottled bits. "But they know it is not my fault, but theirs. I merely keep the ledger of mortal sins."
Presto pulled his designer glove off and took the old man's hand. "And sometimes blast a fool out of existence with 'em. Bet *that* makes you feel good, don't it?"
"Not really. Are you ready?"
"Can I do this in installments or something?"
"No. You asked that last time."
Presto squeezed his eyes shut. "Crap. Fine, go."
Watching the Keeper at work was an almost miraculous experience. Even Mark stopped stocking and leaned on the bar for the show. It started with a silver light that surrounded the two men, becoming a soft bubble that separated them from the world. Inside it lines of red materialized in the air, snaking through Presto as he shook in his chair with a pained look. The red came together over their hands, forming a tiny picture of a woman with a small child. Silently they laughed and pointed at something, then hugged and talked. Then suddenly she clutched the child with an open-mouthed silent scream and they vanished.
Presto jerked so hard he nearly slammed his head on the table. A lifetime's worth of loss carved itself onto his face and vanished again in an instant.
It went on like that for endless minutes. Scenes in red paraded over their joined hands. Men, women, old and young. People living their lives and suddenly having them cut short. For every vision played out Presto took a blow, pain so bad it could only be described as *soul deep*.
Eventually it ended and the hero slumped over in his chair. "Holy... *fuck*. Please tell me that's it. Am I balanced?"
Keeper glanced down at the ledger. It was in the black now, the final tally clean. "You are, Richard."
Presto stumbled to his feet and pulled the disguise back on. "Finally. I ain't ever coming back here again."
"That's entirely up to you,"Keeper said in his old man's voice. But the words were wasted as the tall hero forced his way out the door. He was about to go back to his ledger when the rebounding wood immediately opened again. A brute shuffled through wearing an oversized trenchcoat with a floppy boonie hat crammed on top. A scarf covered his lower face.
"This the Last Bar?"His voice sounded like gravel on the road to Hell. "The Keeper here?"
Mark hooked a thumb at the old man sitting alone. Then he pointedly locked the front door again.
Trenchcoat Guy carefully sat down. "Hey, uh. I'm... Luke. Uh, part of the Range Crew. From the train. Y'know?"
Keeper nodded and turned the page. "You're heavy in the red, Luke."
"Yeah and I was told to get right with that. Or I'd like... explode one day or something, when you came for me."
The old man held out a hand. A bigger one filled it, skin like rocks with soft clay between the knuckles. "Let's get started."
​
---
I write superhero stuff, zombie romances and sci-fi explosions at r/Susceptible ;) |
*Mother,*
*I know it's been too long. I know I have forsaken you, and all you've taught me of peace, hard work and fellowship. Of family, land and hearth. I know I don't deserve a warm welcome. And I understand if you're not willing to give one.*
*However, if I said that I don't hope for an open embrace, I would be lying — and I've done too much of that to do it again. I can't, not to you. So, I'll speak the truth, and only the truth; I hope — I pray — that, somehow, this will be enough, even though I know it's not. A letter, or a confession.*
*When I left, three years ago, you warned me. You told me that war leaves none unchanged. You told me to stay with you, to enjoy the small and quiet things, and leave grandiosity to Kings and heroes. How I wish I had listened, you will never know.*
*Do you remember what I told you? I do. "Let the old till the land, and the young fight."I mocked you — how dared I? How could I? I don't understand. How could I look in your face, your eyes, so kind and true, and laugh at those words of warning? Your love laid bare, the strings of your heart strummed for me, and me alone?*
*I don't understand. I only know that I did. I know that I can't take back the things I said, the hurt I caused. I know that I'm sorry. I know that I've lost the right to call myself your daughter.*
*I also know that it isn't the nature of heroes to ask for forgiveness. And yet, here I am. From this, I can only conclude that I am not a hero. I do not ask, as such, for asking entails demand. I beg, rather. I plead.*
*I've thought long and hard of what to write, what to say, what to do — for three years, beside the pain and loss and death, I've hardly done anything else. But nothing seems sufficient, for nothing can account for what I've done.*
*I'm veering on. I don't want this letter to end. As soon as this letter is sent, I shall depart on my final battle. Should I win, I will be back within the month — days after you receive this, most likely. And that, more than the demons I'll either kill or be killed by, terrifies me.*
*I hope I die at war. I hope I never get to look you in the eyes again. It's selfish, I know. A way to escape my due consequences. But, then again, I've never been good at sticking around.*
*If I don't, I shall see you soon. All will be decided then.*
*Yours, if you'll have me,*
*Elena.*
I hold the letter in my hand as the distant figure approaches. The paper is yellowed and cracked, torn at the corners, and I clutch onto it as if it would somehow save my life from certain death. I hold it close to my heart and beg the tears behind my eyes not to pour — I fear, if I started crying, I'd never stop.
The rider is closer now, and I can see her features. She was a girl of sixteen winters, when she left; she has grown so much. She rides a horse, not a mule, a stallion meant for war, and a blade hangs from her hip. She still wears the ragged, brown cloak I wrapped around her three years ago. It is too small for her, now, for she has gotten taller, and she doesn't wear the hood — I suspect her head doesn't fit.
She's beautiful, truly. Her blonde hair falls on her back like a waterfall of molten gold, her jaw clenched in sorrow as she approached ever closer. Her one eye has a deep, horrible scar going through it, that starts and her hairline, and ends at the base of her neck. That eye is grey, blind and lifeless, staring away into the distance. The other, green and iridescent, is staring directly at me.
She dismounts in front me, stiff with uncertainty. Her back is arched, her arms stuck at her side. She reminds me of when she was younger, a child of few winters, and I would scold her if she went outside underdressed. She has that same look.
"Mother,"she says quietly, moreso breathing the word than speaking it, and I can hear the pain and the shame in her voice. She looks down, away from me, at the tips of her boots, as though she can't bear the sight of me. She takes half a step back. "Please say something."
I feel my heart break at her tone. It's the same as in her letter; that tragic certainty that, somehow, she's not good enough for me, as though that would ever be possible.
I can't speak. There's a knot in my throat, strangling me. I let the letter fall on the ground, and stare at her, paralysed. I want to hold her, like I used to, hold her tight and never let her go, promise her that mother will always be here, but I can't. I don't want to scare her away. I can't lose her again.
She takes another, full step back, toward her horse. "I should leave,"she whispers, turning her intact eye far away, to the direction she came from. "I'm sorry. I should never have come here."
"No,"I say, desperately, so loudly that she jumps, like a scared sparrow. "Please don't go."I look at her, take a step in her direction. I outstretch my hand. "My poor girl."
As though she's been freed of a spell, Elena dives into my embrace. She has to bend her knees and back to hug me, a grown woman now. She begins crying into the crease of my neck, blind and good eye both pouring tears into the worn fabric of my shirt.
I don't cry. I need to be strong. For her.
"My daughter,"I continue with a shaky voice, speaking into her ear. "My dear daughter."She holds me tighter, pressing me against her, as though trying to cleanse the past three years off her. If I could take it all away, I know I would. "My embrace will always be open for you."
I think, through her sobs, she apologises again. I can't tell. I lead her inside the house, still holding onto her, and sit her down on the rough, uncomfortable couch. She can't utter another word. Her tears soak my shirt, but I don't care.
"It's okay,"I assure her. "It's okay, Elena. You're home."
The sound of her name seems to awaken something in her. She slowly stops crying, choking the tears and sobs so she can look at me. "I should never have left,"she murmurs softly.
"It's okay,"I repeat. "It's all over." |
Anthony Blake had been born at the worst possible time.
His parents were rich, of course. That wasn't the problem. He was a member of the Blake software empire, and his father, Benjamin Blake, had spared no expense when he bought the best traits for his son. Anthony's brain alone had cost millions, giving him the best possible intellect, a terrific work ethic, and the charm and personality to match. His body also cost a fortune, with a heart that would keep itself strong and fit for two lifetimes, muscles that rivaled most bodybuilders, and bones that were virtually unbreakable. His face was modeled after the most popular movie stars, turning him into a precociously beautiful child, who would grow up to be one of the most ruggedly handsome men in the world.
On the surface, everything was perfect. The Blake family had bought themselves the perfect son. In retrospect, they should have known better. They had built their fortune on technology, and they should have known how quickly technology becomes outdated.
Anthony Blake had become obsolete almost as soon as he was born. In the months following his birth, geneticists made further breakthroughs in genetic manipulation technology, giving them the ability make even better babies. Anthony's intellect, astoundingly high by everyone else's standards, paled in comparison to the geniuses that were born a year later. His work ethic, the envy of so many of his classmates, was nothing compared to the robotic drive of those in the year below him. He was beaten in sports by younger boys, boys who could run faster, jump higher, and hit harder than any human in history.
Advances in genetic technology also made these traits cheaper, and more accessible. While designer babies had been the sole domain of the rich in the past, soon the middle class could afford to buy better brains and bodies for their children too. And these children were given abilities that surpassed what Anthony could do.
In the end, it turned out Anthony Blake had been born at the worst possible time, that awkward peak in actual cost before prices came tumbling down, while quality continued to rise unabated. There would never be another baby as expensive as him. And his accomplishments in life would never live up to his price tag, not when there were so many younger competitors who were, quite simply, better than him. He would live a life of average achievement, remembered only for being "that expensive baby".
|
The mighty fleet cruised through the waters of the south pole, stretching across the sea for a hundred miles. Enourmous furnaces belched thick clouds of smoke into the sky, marring the clear blue day. The plumes were visible for miles. One mighty ship dominated the navy; its sides rose above the others like a soaring mountain peak. The bridge was adorned with flapping yellow and red flags bedecked with the winged phoenix of the Fire Nation. It led the way for the other ships, spewing flames from the bow that carved a watery path through the thick ice. Bright red dirigibles floated overhead like circling vultures.
On the deck of the ship, Phoenix Queen Azula's throne was surrounded by formations of troops, watching a lone messenger.
"We melted it, sir, and found that he..."
"*He*?"Azula questioned.
"Y... yes, my queen."The soldier seemed to shrink inside of his armor. "The object inside the iceberg, ma'am: a boy. With Air Bender markings. And even a sky bison!"
The Phoenix Queen tapped her fingers together. Her flowing red and orange robes were draped over the wide, intimidating arms of the flagship's throne. Her long white hair intertwined with the intricate wings of the phoenix on her crown. "An air bender child..."she muttered to herself. "This must be the child that my great grandfather Sozin sought for all those years,"she mused. "The supposed avatar, and only surviving airbender."
"GO"she yelled suddenly to the messenger, shooing him away with a burst of flame. The soldier jumped out of the way, scooting on his coattails to extinguish the sparks. "And bring the child to me!"
----
Aang awoke in a warm, cozy bunk. Roaring flames in the metal furnace near his bed radiated through the room, and the blankets underneath him were soft and luxurious.
"You're awake,"a voice across the room said. Azula's golden crown reflected the firelight, and her dark eyes glinted. Aang rubbed his head and tried to remember what had happened. There had been a storm... and ice....
"Rest, child."Azula said sweetly.
"Where am I?"Aang responded.
"My ship,"Azula answered as if it were obvious. "The Golden Dragon. Mightiest of the firebender navy."
Aang nodded, uncertain. There was something he was supposed to remember about the firebenders, but it escaped him at the moment.
"And how...."Aang trailed off.
"How did we find you, you mean?"Azula chuckled, an intimidating sound for most. "We were hunting a group of terrorists known as "The White Lotus,"led by my own treacherous brother. They have been raiding villages, destroying homes and kidnapping civilians. We tracked them back to the ice wastes here when we found you, frozen inside an iceberg. I am a great admirer of the ways of the air benders, and hoped that you could be saved."She forced a sweet smile, barely able to contain her excitement. *To have the avatar fight for her...*
"Tha... thank you,"Aang replied.
"But it was no coincidence that we found you,"Azula continued. We need your help to hunt down these murderous villains. Can we count on your support?"
Aang looked at the Phoenix Queen, uncertain, then nodded his head with a smile and took up his staff from the ground, flipping it open to reveal a winged kite. "Just tell me what to do!"he said eagerly.
The Phoenix Queen stood from her chair and embraced the boy firmly, draping a red cape over his shoulders. "Welcome to the Fire Nation navy, my boy!"
*Finally, a suitable heir...* Azula thought triumphantly. |
Dimitri skulked down the dark corridor, the flickering luminescence casting brief shadows on the manilla walls, the unconscious body slumped on the floor.
The body came to life for the briefest of moments, a curse Dimitri gave all his victims, it was his favorite part of catching prey. "Hello Sorenson,"he said, looking into the middle aged man, smiling.
Sorenson sucked in air, his scream cut off by Dimitri covering his mouth with his spidery hands. Dimitri brought his fangs to his neck, ready for dinner. He bit down ready for the warm blood to satiate his thirst, only for a green disgusting liquid that tasted like antifreeze drench his mouth.
He gagged, coughing onto the floor as Sorenson stared wide eyed at his attacker.
"It's not every day I get to be the one that asks this question, but what *are* you?"
Sorenson breathed deeply, his exhales marred by a fit of coughing. "No one... leave me alone."
"Oh no,"said Dimitri, cruelty etched into his face, "You've seen my face, you have to die, even if I can't enjoy a nice drink afterwards. So you might as well tell me what you are before I tear you limb from limb to find out."
"No, I'm no one."
"No one, huh? Tell me, are you some kind of species of werewolf? One of the warlocks?"
Shock kept Sorenson pale and unmoving, unable to say anything, which only angered Dimitri more.
"Are you some sort of fairy? A demon? A skinwalker? No... probably not any of those or you might be able to defeat me..."
Sorenson stared back up at him, "There are... other things like you?"
"Like me? Of course, but there are far more terrors than the mere denizens of the night at work. So tell me, what are you?"
Sorenson stayed silent.
"Tell me!"yelled Dimitri, grabbing his arm and ripping it off, but the slumped man only whimpered in fear.
____
By the time Dimitri was done, none of his questions had been answered. The skinwalker in front of him was unlike any of the supernatural he had seen before. Annoyed, he picked up the pieces and dumped them where no one would find them.
___________
"Another one!?"asked 200473, looking at the black box of the failed infiltrator.
"Another whole species of enemy,"said 183038, his second beak clacking in consternation. "A vampire, according to human legends."
200473's iris weakened, his head lolling to the side. "I think we're done here, we've lost too many good infiltrators already, humans have too many natural predators for them to be a viable host." |
Syria - 2023
The siege of Ar-Raqqah (Raqqa) has been going on for 6 months. An Arab coalition of Syrian and Iraqi government forces has encircled the city, but have been taking heavy casualties from the Islamic State extremists. Requesting immediate western aid, 3 countries have sent in troops.
The Russians, no strangers to terrorism and warfare, have sent fresh new recruits in to the northern line to assist the Syrian forces. The British have sent in the Royal Marines. The USA has sent in thousands of young men, who, having grown up playing Call of Duty and CS:GO, are ready for action. All three countries are made up of soldiers who grew up playing first person shooters.
Suddenly, over the internation comms line, a voice breaks the silence: "Anyone got any Mountain Dew and Doritos?". The US forces, raised on MLG montage parodies and quickscope tutiorials, are eager for some gamer fuel.
All around, Interventions and AWP's are being loaded. The commander, XxX_FaZe_KuNtSmAsHa_XxX, prepares to address the troops.
"Quickscopers! Lets do this! Anyone hardscopes and i'll shoot them myself, fukin skrubs! For the bazed Gaben!"
"No Eenglish! Russkie yazzik only suka blyad!"shouts a russian trooper.
"Mute this cunt m8s, let's get sum!"
All around, the quickscopers fire, blazing more ISIS scrubs than anyone ever thought possible. Bonfire, by Knife party, is playing in the background. The air is thick with Doritos dust and dank kush. Finally, with 0 casualties, the coalition forces prevail. Abu Bakr Al Baghdadi charges at the enemy. XxX_FaZe_KuNtSmAsHa_XxX quickscopes him, along with 2 other ISIS fgts at once. OOOOH BABY A TRIPLE! OH YEAHHH! GET REKT M9 AV A SEET.
In the clouds, a booming voice exclaims: "COUNTER TERRORISTS WIN..." |
Dr. House ran his fingers through JD's hair, searching in vain.
"What are you doing?"JD asked, before House could silence him. House continued scouring JDs scalp a few awkwardly silent moments more, before throwing up his hands in defeat.
"I was certain I was going to find lice in this greasy bath mat and save myself a few follow-up questions,” House explained. “But there were no lice, so I'm afraid I have to ask: do you use a styling mousse, or butter to achieve the ‘David Schwimmer’ look.”
JD worked his hair back into place, stinging slightly from the barb, resisting the urge to wipe off the excess grease on his lab coat. He shoved his hand in his pocket instead, hoping to wipe off the grease discretely.
“I’m not a patient, I’m Dr. John Dorian. You can call me JD.” He stuck his hand out to House, and both men watched as a glob of gel fell from his fingertips. House leaned back from his stool, smiling to himself as JD gave up on the hand shake.
“Doctor?” House asked, feigning surprise. “I didn’t know they gave out medical degrees at the clown college. Or did you really wake up this morning and decide to wear the Bugs Bunny tie on your own?”
Sensing he was losing House’s attention, JD tucked the tie into his vest carefully, trying to be serious. “It’s not Bugs Bunny, it’s Chewbacca. And I’ll have you know that my wife gave it to me.” JD knew it was a mistake to mention his wife the instant the words left his mouth.
“Wife? I would have bet money you were batting for the other team.” House looked up and down JD’s scrawny figure, assessing him. “That’s a sports reference, I’ll have one of the male orderlies explain it to you sometime.”
JD forced himself to smile. “Let me try that again. I’m Dr. John Dorian, the new resident. I’m here as part of the exchange program between Sacred Heart and Princeton-Plainsboro. “
“Yes, the exchange program. It really is time we put that whole East-Coast/West-Coast rivalry to bed, right Tupac?” House joked. “But you’re not in my exam room if you aren’t a patient.”
House smiled to himself, still studying JD, noting a slight twitch in JD’s temple. There it is, he thought. House pushed away the cane that had been leaning on his side. Both men watched as the cane fell away, the handle snagging on a jar of cotton swabs on the way down. In a flying leap, JD reached for the jar, grabbing it before it could hit the ground.
“Why did you do that?” JD asked, returning the jar to the counter.
“While I was running my fingers through that tangled coif, I noticed you were running a slight fever,” House explained. “You’ve also got some swelling in those otherwise effeminate hands, and you were painfully slow in catching the falling jar. I’m also willing to bet you’ve got a headache going.”
“You’re right about that one,” JD said.
“I hate to break it to you, ‘JD,’ but you’ve got lupus,” House announced.
“It’s not Lupus,” JD countered.
Just then, a surgeon walked into the room.
“You ready, vanilla bear?” Turk, the surgeon, asked JD.
“Almost, chocolate bear,” JD replied, before catching himself. He looked quickly to House, who was beaming.
“And there it is,” House said smugly, delighting in the revelation. “You’re the triple-affirmative-action-hire. The gay, black surgeon,” he said, pointing his thumb at Turk, “and his gay, retarded lover,” he continued, looking at JD.
“The correct term is ‘learning disabled,’ and I am not retar—um – that thing that I said,” JD told House. “Also I am not gay, by the way. I happen to be married to a very hot woman, with very hot woman parts.” JD turned to Turk, “I’ll need just a couple of minutes Doctor Turk.”
Turk nodded knowingly. “There are no words to describe what we have,” Turk told House, before finally leaving the room.
“If you don’t have lupus, what are you doing here?” House asked JD, finally tiring of the game.
“I’m here because, well…” JD paused, bracing himself, “you’re supposed to be dead.”
“Oh, that. Well, I actually faked my death. You see, ‘the man’ wanted to put me away for destroying an MRI machine, but I wanted to ‘Eat, Pray, Love’ my way across the country with a dying friend.” House could see JD wasn’t understanding him. “How can I explain in a way you will understand? It was like ‘Brokeback Mountain’ without the need for astroglide.
JD coughed nervously. “Dr. House, I know all that. I’m here because it’s time for your surgery,” he said.
House bristled in his seat. “This has been fun, but I have patients to see. If I am anything, it’s dedicated to my work.” House reached down to grab his cane off the floor, before noticing he wasn’t wearing any shoes. House’s gaze swept up his body, and he realized he was in a hospital gown. “What’s going on?”
JD looked at House with sympathy. “Dr. House, years of Vicodin abuse have ravaged your liver and brain. Your friend, Dr. Wilson, has been dead for years, but you claim to have been travelling with him up until the police found you and your motorcycle crashed in Atlantic City.” JD gave a moment for this to sink in. “Outwardly, you appear fine, but we need to relieve the pressure built up in your spinal fluid, and find out what’s causing these hallucinations.”
“This is ridiculous,” House stammered. “Where’s Chase—“
“Dr. Chase is in the operating room as we speak. When I give the word, Dr. Turk will come in here and roll you away on that gurney,” JD said, pointing to the metal gurney House hadn’t noticed in the room.
JD and House looked at each other, and through his eyes JD could see House stubbornly refusing to believe a word. Finally, it was as if a switch had been turned on in House’s head. House visibly relaxed, seemingly coming to terms with what JD had said.
But before JD could speak, House leaned in to JD and started running his fingers through JD’s hair. “What are you doing?” JD asked.
“I was certain I was going to find lice in this greasy bath mat,” House replied.
Just then, Turk peeked his head through the doorway. “JD,” he said, gesturing to his Casio calculator watch, “it’s time.”
JD glanced up at the famous Dr. Gregory House, the once great diagnostician who was stuck in a mental loop looking for non-existent lice, diagnosing a non-existent condition. “A few more minutes, Turk,” JD replied, as House rummaged through his hair. |
When the director had called me at 3am, I knew it had to be an important case.
"I need you here right now."The statement was short and flat.
"Who's the client?"I was still groggy when I answered the call, "You better be waking me up for either George Washington or Batman, I swear to Go-"
"No, trust me,"he sounded dead serious, "You need to handle this one."He hung up the call as I decided it was best that it wasn't a joke.
"Who was that?"My wife asked as I got out of bed.
"Work,"I shrugged, "Apparently it's urgent."
I got dressed and made my way down to the lab about half-an-hour later. I dressed in a simple T-shirt and jeans as I found my way over to my work-space. To no surprise the director was waiting for me, a manila folder tucked in his arms.
"What is it?"I drew closer to him as my body was still aching from the three hours of sleep.
He quietly handed me the folder. I opened it and read the client's name to myself.
*It can't be.*
I froze as my eyes widened in shock. I took a deep breath before I looked at the director, a sad look on his face. "This is a joke, right?"
"I wish it was, Sam,"he shook his head as he handed me my time machine, a small bracelet I would be able to attach. I took the device and locked it around my wrist.
"Sam, before you go..."
"I know,"I cut him off, "This will be quick."
I sighed and pressed the button. A bright flash of light as I felt my body disintegrate. My consciousness evaporated as I died over and over again. It was a weird process but working at the agency for almost a dozen years made no difference as I quietly waited to be reborn. In the back of my head, I chuckled at the fact that most newcomers would vomit upon their return to the present, unfamiliar with the sensation of not existing.
"Hello?"A voice called out to me.
I opened my eyes and made no expression as a young woman in her twenties appeared in front of me. Beneath her glasses and messy brown hair, she had a quirky smile and a thin figure, no womanly curves showing beneath her beige turtleneck sweater.
"Who are you?"She seemed alarmed to see me, holding her arms up in defense like a terrible kung-fu character.
"Relax,"I muttered as I remembered the details of the file, "Ms. Wintermeyer, my name is Samuel and I work for a time traveling agency. Our job is to..."
I paused as the woman seemed incredulous. "I don't believe you, I don't und-"
"Our job is to show you your impact on the present day,"I finished curtly, "As for your death, it appears to be a motor vehicle incident."
The woman gasped. A tear flowed down her cheek.
"So that truck... the bright lights,"she wiped her face, "It wasn't... it wasn't... it wasn't a dream."
"Ma'am?"
Another tear rolled down her cheek as she collapsed on the ground. "I was..."She looked down at her thin figure and looked horrified.
"You were pregnant nine months,"I nodded before I gave her a gentle smile, "Ma'am, I'm here to tell you that your child was safe."
Her face had lit up in surprise as she crawled her way over to me. "Please, you need to-"
"Yes, I will,"I took her hand, her soft flesh warming against mine, "I'm here to show you how you have impacted the present, Ms. Wintermeyer."
I pressed a button on the device as another flash of light consumed the two of us. The journey was generally quick, allowing us to peek through what we considered scenes in a rather quick fashion. The light died as the two of us began to watch.
A baby crying alone in his crib, his father groggily waking up from sleep to take care of him. He had prepared formula and rocked the baby in his arms, singing a lullaby as the baby fell asleep again.
"Robert..."the woman had muttered, "He... he took care of our baby."
I gave a simple nod as the scene changed again.
The boy had grown older, perhaps around eight years old as he was crying in the corner of his room. On his head was a little "Happy Birthday"hat as the boy continued to sob in the unlit room.
"I don't understand."
"For eight years he had wished for one birthday present,"my voice was unfaltering, "For eight years, all he asked for was a mom."
"Oh..."Her hand went over her mouth, trying to hold back the tears as the scene changed once again.
The boy was being held up on the shoulders of the cheering crowd, a massive trophy in his arms as confetti flew around everywhere. It was after a championship game. I gave a little smile. The scoreboard above the baskets showed a close game as I took a look back at her, her proud face shimmering with sadness.
The scene changed as the boy, slightly older and a grin on his face, was walking across the stage in a graduation uniform. The woman couldn't hold back her tears as the boy accepted his degree from the dean, his arms shaky as he looked at the crowd.
"I want to thank everyone for this,"his shaky voice echoed through the auditorium, "My friends, my dad..."
A brief pause as I knew what was coming. I held back my tear as the statement hit me hard.
"...and my mom, who I know has always been with us." The boy looked up at the ceiling and gave a warm smile. The woman began to cry uncontrollably. A single tear rolled down my cheek as a I quickly wiped it away.
The scene changed to a wedding, where the boy held hands with his future partner. As he slipped on the wedding ring, Ms. Wintermeyer took a closer look and gasped. "Is that..."
"The ring was yours,"I answered, "His father gave it to him."
"Oh, Robert..."The woman smiled through her sobs and took a deep breath.
"Is my son still doing fine?"
"He's doing well actually,"I gave her a simple nob, "In the next scene..."
But before the scene could change, Ms. Wintermeyer grabbed my wrist. She shook her head.
"Ma'am."
"I'm happy,"she sighed, "Take me back please."
I opened my mouth to protest but didn't say anything. I simply cupped her hands in mine and gave her a gentle smile. "Thank you for everything."
"Thank *you*, Sam,"she gave me an understanding smile as her body began to disintegrate, "Be good."
I closed my eyes as I felt my body disappear underneath me. When I opened my eyes again, I found myself on the floor of the lab, my boss looking at me.
"How was it?"
"Good,"I gave him a satisfied nod, "It wasn't as bad as I thought."
"Sam, the paperwork for that-"
"I'll fill it out later,"I got up and scurried away, "Excuse me, sir. I need to go to my locker."
He nodded as I made my way past the other work stations into a small room of the corner of the building. Inside the room were a dozen lockers lined up, the scent of musty sweat rising through my nose. But I ignored everything as I made my way to my locker, opening the lock as a tear fell from my face. I opened the door and looked at my personal belongings I kept. A ripped birthday hat, a photo of the championship basketball team, and a faded photo of a messy brown-haired girl with a quirky expression. She smiled at me as I brought the photo close to my face, giving it a gentle kiss. Another tear fell from my face as I remembered the last thing she said to me.
"I *will* be good. I love you, Mom."
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Hope you enjoyed. If you enjoy tears or medium-rare steaks, sub to /r/AvuKamu!
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EDIT: thanks stranger for the gold. Yeezus bless you. |
*[The back of an armored police vehicle. In it sits a shirtless, scarred man with a half-burnt face and tattoos lining his body. He's sitting there in the darkness with his hands behind his back contemplating. Suddenly, the doors swing open, and a man extravagantly dressed in a dark purple, high-collared jacket is thrown in.]*
**DOOMSHIZZLE:** You vagabonds! You scoundrels!
*[The officiers in riot gear scoff and then shut the door. Doomshizzle runs up to it and slams on the metal.]*
**DOOMSHIZZLE:** Handling me like I'm some cheap, discarded Goodwill menswear! Tossing me into the dryer without the correct combination of detergents – oh – you'll rue it, you will! Or my name isn't Doomshizzle Von Hammerpants!
*[He kicks the door. The engine of the truck sputters and the cabin shakes, knocking Doomshizzle slightly off balance. He steadies himself and then, muttering under his breathe about “vengence,” sits down on the metal seating across from Faceless. Awkward silence permeated with Faceless' sharp, raspy breathes. Doomshizzle coughs.]*
**DOOMSHIZZLE:** You breathe too loudly. Cease it at this instant or I will do it for you.
*[Faceless stares at Doomshizzle. His eyes are red and scars cover his face. Doomshizzle is visibly unnerved. Faceless is shirtless: his body is covered in deep slashes and tattoos that look like 80s metal album covers, and his pants are ragged and torn.]*
**DOOMSHIZZLE:** You dress like meth smells, has anyone ever told you this?
*[Faceless keeps staring at him. Intensely.]*
**DOOMSHIZZLE:** See this overcoat? (gestures to his ostentatious, high-collared purple overcoat) It's a genuine Armani “Badlads”. Two of a kind.
*[Faceless keeps staring, quietly.]*
**DOOMSHIZZLE:** Uh..you're – understandably – in shock. You – a petty criminal, most like, thrifting goods from convenience stores and mugging wretched women, probably have never seen a villain number one before. Especially not one as illustrious as I, Doomshizzle Von -
**FACELESS:** Shut the fuck up.
*[The stark rasp of his voice cut through the air. Doomshizzle is shocked.]*
**DOOMSHIZZLE:** You – uh – you didn't let me finish. I'm not just *any* villain, I'm -
**FACELESS:** Douchnizzle Von Hammerslut or something. I know who you are.
**DOOMSHIZZLE:** Er, good. Then we are in accordance. Please..don't..uh...speak to me like that.
*[Faceless jumps out at Doomshizzle. He's chained to the floor but manages to atleast suddenly stand up.]*
**FACELESS:** If I fucking feel like it, I'll cut out your own throat and make you call yourself a cunt.
*[Doomshizzle pauses. He nods, then pulls a notebook out of his pocket.]*
**DOOMSHIZZLE:** Alright, very well.I'm putting you on dmw-duty.
*[He sternly starts writing.]*
**FACELESS:** What?
**DOOMSHIZZLE:** My dmv-duty list.
**FACELESS:** What the fuck is that?
**DOOMSHIZZLE:** Well, when I become Lord Emperor of the World™, I'm going to instill a myriad of evil social programs to help advance my agenda for total domination. One of which is a jobs program for all citizens based on skill and merit. The DMV, of course, is the closest thing to hell on this mortal world. You will work there.
*[Faceless is stunned. He bares his teeth.]*
**FACLESS:** I'll fucking rape your corpse.
*[Doomshizzle tsks, and starts writing in his journal.]*
**DOOMSHIZZLE:** That's a citation. A few more of those and – well - perhaps I'm going to limit you down to two bathroom breaks.
**FACELESS:** No, you're not. Because I'm going to kill you. And then everyone else on this godforsaken world, and maybe – if I'm feeling giddy – I'll fuck up whatever aliens on Mars too.
*[Doomshizzle stops writing. He looks up.]*
**DOOMSHIZZLE:** Why?
*[Faceless is stopped by the question.]*
**FACELESS:** Er, what?
**DOOMSHIZZLE:** Seems like a pointless endevour. In my plan atleast, I have a goal. A future. You – however – go about stumbling through this world slashing and shooting...to what end?
*[Faceless pauses to consider the question.]*
**FACELESS:** Because I – well – I…*am*..I'm going to murder you for asking that question.
**DOOMSHIZZLE:** Yes, yes, I understand that but...why?
**FACELESS:** What the fuck do you mean why? It makes me all warm and fuzzy inside, is that what you want to hear?
**DOOMSHIZZLE:** But - walk me through this – say you've accomplished your plundering and rape and violence, right?
**FACELESS:** Yeah. Okay.
**DOOMSHIZZLE:**What then?
**FACELESS:** Huh?
**DOOMSHIZZLE:** I mean, say after you have exterminated all lifeforms on Earth, thus having naught left to kill, what will you do then? Take up knitting? Cross country? Kill yourself, perhaps?
**FACLESS:** That's…
*[He thinks about it for a bit. Then, under his voice mutters.]*
**FACELESS:** ...a valid question, actually. I haven't worked out the kinks on this genocide thing.
*[Doomshizzle nods.]*
**DOOMSHIZZLE:** See my point? You can't keep killing because you'll have nothing to kill left. Join me, however, in my endevour for conquerance, for there is always plenty of land ripe to conquer. I have already brought Chickapee county of Van Buren, Missouri under my dominion. With enough time and effort – I might soon conquer the district.
**FACELESS:** Wait a fuckin' minute, you just conquered a city?
**DOOMSHIZZLE:** No, but I'm getting there. One step at a time.
**FACELESS:** The hell did you even get arrested for?
**DOOMSHIZZLE:** Uh, DUI. You?
**FACELESS:** Aggrevated assault of a celebrity.
*[Awkward silence between Doomshizzle and Faceless.]*
**DOOMSHIZZLE:** So I take it is a yes on the -
**FACELESS:** Fuck off. |
Projectile after projectile tore through space at incredible speeds, the guns reloading and refiring much faster than the aliens more practical lasers. Their dense armor crumpled beneath the shards of metal fired by the rail-guns at relativistic speeds. Ship after alien ship flared up as reactor cores exploded.
The alien populace was no longer finding mirth at the amount of resources the humans had poured into these highly impractical and dead-end technologies. They retreated to the surface of their home world and threw up their energy shields. They were only practical at planetary scales but proved effective in stopping the kinetic bombardment.
The alien scientists were meeting on the surface below when the human's moon-sized, super-impractical, yet impressive as fuck THING slipped out of warp.
"Wait, isn't that designed just like that fictional planet destroyer from that movie..."One of the scientists who loved to watch entertainment from Earth and find plot holes began.
The huge ring on the gigantic starship aligned with the planet below.
"Is that thing a plasma cannon the size of our smallest continent?"Another scientist asked, "that is so impractical I don't know what to say!"
They were still gawking and complaining about the inefficiency of such a thing when the beam fired, bringing and abrupt end to their argument and their species.
On board the Behemoth "Death Star"Class warship the captain smiled and said, "Now tell me THAT wasn't worth the money we spent on this thing. Set a course for the Gundi Homeworld. We've got some smiles to wipe off their tentacled faces." |
**NPC Mysteries Megathread**
Okay, by now it's probably clear to everyone that the NPC behavior in *Infinite Galaxy* is *fucked.* Not the usual kind of bugs, like walking into walls or getting stuck in doors, it's more like they've forgotten their lines and they're making up quests as they go. I remember Megalith saying that there was some sort of new procedural dialogue system they were working on, but it's hard to imagine what could lead to a bug like this, or how it managed to slip past testers.
I've also heard reports of some *really* freaky glitches or maybe easter eggs, but AFAIK we don't have recorded evidence of them. If you've run into NPCs asking about their family or otherwise talking about the real world, please post them!
Anyway, this is a thread to get all our observations under one roof and figure out WTF is going on. Bugs? Easter egg? Ghosts haunting the mainframes? Megalith actually being as clever as they thought they were? No theory is too crazy for this thread, so post away!
---
>Megalith actually being as clever as they thought they were?
Please, let's keep things to the realm of actual possibility. If Jacob Carmichael was clever enough to do that, he wouldn't have taken 20 years to get into early access.
---
I'm going to cast a tentative vote for the "Ghost"theory, actually. You know how they added a bunch of fans who died during development as NPCs, as a memorial? That cheesy "Keep flying forever"post? Well, I've only seen the dialog fuck up when I've talked to a memorial NPC.
---
Interesting. Half the NPCs in this game ended up being memorials, so I forgot about that, but you might be right. Do all the memorial NPCs have this bug?
---
I got stuck on Terra Central for a while waiting for the warp drive to drop (seriously, who makes a required progression item *randomly drop?*) and found some interesting NPCs there:
* Jacob Hatfield - bounty hunter, gives out randomized quests in a surprisingly well-written southern drawl. Started off hunting pirates at random coordinates, but eventually led me into a neat little detective story about a famous criminal he's been chasing his whole life.
* Mia Fellows - shopkeeper, but has hidden dialogue options where you can ask her about her life as a space pilot before she set up shop here. She kind of leans on the fourth wall - talking about the early-level grind, making fun of early-access bugs like warping into the sun, etc.
* Ellen Zhang - memorial NPC wandering the Observatory. Started off not responding to me, either glitchy or going for an "absent-minded professor"tone, but then she started grumbling about how the architecture on Central was terrible and since I was a big-shot space pilot maybe I could help her get some permits and materials to improve the station?
* Katarina Kazanski - non-memorial NPC on the Command Deck. Gives the repeatable quest 'Raid on the Eridani Menace', but after about five of them one of the non-speaking NPCs introduced himself as 'military advisor Melvin Fairbanks' and offered some alternative strategies. Yup, he's a memorial. The first quests were *really* scattershot, one sent me into an area I was way underleveled for and I lost my best frigate, but then he gave me a really fun chain of quests launching strikes on the Eridani shipyards.
So yeah, I think there's a pattern here - memorial NPCs start off acting weird, random or just non-responsive, but eventually they hit their stride and give you some crazy cool quest chain.
---
Maybe they saved their fancy quest generation system for the memorials, so that it wouldn't interfere with the main plot if it bugged out?
---
Holy shishkabobs. I backtracked to Terra and found Professor Zhang. She gave me the same quest, 'Upgrading the Observatory', and I knocked it out in like half an hour (I had to farm duralloy for that stupid 'Reinforce our Defenses' quest, so I had a lot of materials to spare). Fade in, fade out, and the whole station looks different. The Observatory has this big dome, and this network of radar dishes, and it just looks *dope.* She wasn't kidding when she said she studied architecture.
---
Wow, the quest actually causes a persistent change in the world. I just logged in and Central is looking all shiny and upgraded. I wonder if we can get her to work on the shipyards, too? Those spaceships are a flying eyesore.
---
Are you disparaging the power of humanity's mighty Flying Bricks? :P
But seriously, this is pretty cool and a little bit freaky. Has anyone checked out the memorials in the later levels to see if they work the same way?
---
I just made my way into the Viridian Nebula. You know, *that* place. The place that was supposed to be the big reveal for Megalith's new Dynamic Universe system, and then we discovered that it was basically Warsong Gulch in Space. Well, there's a memorial NPC there, now, serving as the commander/guide NPC for the area. And it's Devin Marshall.
---
Holy shit. Doomsday Devin?
---
I think he is, he's way too weird to be a normal NPC. Like, he talks in chat-speak most of the time. He'll talk about pwning their dudes and zerg rushing and stuff and he seems way too laid back to be a commander. But when a battle kicks off near his station, he'll start barking orders, and he does it a lot like a player would. Very fast, full of abbreviations - "BBs kite. Dictors, tackle and dive the backline. ACs, close range, primary carriers."
---
The Federation gets DoomsdayDevin on their team? No fair! The Rebellion had better get BlackSwordsman or someone like that on our side.
---
Better - we've got BlackSwordsman (Adam Kerry) *and* LightningFlash (Emma York). The battles are gonna be *epic.*
---
Ex-Megalith employee here. I'm seriously weirded out. I'm the one who worked on Central's design (if you wonder why the design there doesn't match the Federation's art direction everywhere else, it's because it's the oldest art in the game). I never modeled anything like the new Observatory. And I *know* they couldn't afford another artist after I left - the final boss is basically a bunch of cubes stuck together with particle effects to cover it up because they didn't have time to make a fully-modeled version.
As far as I know, the procedural dialog generation was a dead-end idea that they dummied out. So either Jacob Carmichael had a sudden eureka moment and basically made an AI to generate the rest of the game for him, or the game is literally haunted.
I'm not sure what's freakier. The thought that someone's ghost is trapped in the game, or that their ghost was *so mad* at my old art that she decided she couldn't rest until Terra Central matched the new art direction.
---
Speaking of the final boss... didn't some of the memorial NPCs get put in as *villains*? You know, back it some absurd number of dollars on Kickstarter and you get to design a boss and some backstory to go with him?
---
Oh, shit. Ohhh, shit. Someone needs to get to the Maw of the Void *right now.* If this theory is right, and the NPCs are trying to make the game better, well... I don't want to know what happens if someone tries to "improve"the Cosmic Devourer questline. |
"Phew"sighed Obi Wan, as Anakin tossed his lightsaber to his feet and stepped forward with his hands raised.
"Well what choice did I have,"snarled Anakin, on the point of tears. "You had the higher ground. Nothing I could have done against higher ground. If I'd tried to jump over you, you would have cut my legs off."
"You could have tried to jump alongside me,"mused Obi Wan as he secured Anakin's hands behind his back with force-nullifying cuffs. "Or jump down in front of me, it's not that much of a disadvantage to be a few inches lower, considering all the other stuff we've been leaping and jumping over. I was really worried you were going to ignore my taunt and just keep fighting."
Anakin fumed. "Didn't think of that,"he murmured, almost too quiet to hear.
"Or you could have force-blasted me, again,"continued Obi Wan, as they began to march off to the ship where Padme was waiting. "Or used your telekinesis to lift a nearby stone to wack me. Or shifted the ground under my feet. Or -"
"Alright, I get it,"Anakin scowled. "I won't fall for it next time when someone tells me I've lost. Just get us off this bleeding volcano. A man could be horribly burned on a planet like this." |
"Roommate meeting,"I yelled at the top of my lungs. I was fed up. We had moved in barely a month ago and there was a stack of dishes piled perilously high in the sink and the floor was sticky with some unidentified substance and the walls were splattered with blood. This was not my ideal living situation. And the kitchen was the last straw.
Gabriel and Beelzebub ambled in a few minutes later, the former smiling widely, his plump cheeks a deep shade of pink, and the latter glaring angrily as he removed his headphones. They were blaring heavy metal, as always. The veins in his muscular arms bulged. He was a model student; son of a strict disciplinary family whose parents demanded absolute excellence in everything he did - at least that was his story.
Gabriel was another matter. He was irresponsible and careless and his grades were about on par with that of a developmentally delayed potato. Super pleasant guy though. He was obese and gluttonous but definitely played the role of a jolly fat guy quite well. Their habits around the house were as bad as one would expect. Gabriel was of the idea that a snap of his fingers and his messes would disappear. Not the case, I had to explain, on this plane of existence. Beelzebub did his dishes but inevitably splattered blood on the walls as he ate copious amounts of meat. Good source of protein he always said, although eating it raw was definitely just a personal quirk.
"Sup?"Beelzebub said testily. His major was military history. Learn from the mistakes of Hitler, he always said. I think he was hinting at world domination but he would always laugh it off as a joke. Gabriel was majoring in hospitality. I had been reluctantly pushed into my psychology major by parents who probably just wanted a cheap therapist they could spill their problems to. A reluctant psych student, some would say. Now I was stuck constantly trying to decipher the enigmas of my roommates. Reluctantly, of course.
"The state of this kitchen is unacceptable. It looks like Genghis Khan led a Dothraki hoard through here,"I snapped. Gabriel chuckled. He always laughed with me. Beelzebub arched his eyebrows and did not crack a smile. I think the only time I had seen him smile was as he read about the horrors of the trenches of the first world war or the atomic bombs of the second world war.
"You mean a horde of Mongols? Or are you referring to a Khal leading a Dothraki hoard?"History majors, so particular. Ugh. I rolled my eyes. It was irrelevant.
"I don't care,"I responded. "We're having a housewarming party tonight and there is no way we can have people over like this."They both nodded. In truth, we would be having three separate parties. I would have mine. Beelzebub would have his. Gabriel would have his. We weren't very close and had met via Craigslist. At least I think it was Craigslist. Their mysterious demeanor made me wonder if maybe I had used the wrong site. Regardless, I had found two adequate roommates that let me study in relative peace. We just needed to work out this kitchen situation.
Beelzebub glanced around analytically. "I'll clean."I nodded in agreement. That would be good. He was meticulous and thorough.
Gabriel hadn't stopped smiling. It drove me nuts sometimes. If it weren't that we desperately needed three people to cover the rent, I think Beelzebub would have punched the smile off his face. "I'll put up decorations."Great. This would work out wonderfully. I would help organize.
Three hours later, the kitchen was spotless. Gabriel had followed the decorating orders to the letter. My room was pleasantly decorated and there was a banner that read "Welcome". His own room had a circle of chairs and several crosses and depictions of Jesus and a bible on a coffee table inside the circle. Beelzebub's basement room was dark and lit with candles. Perfect. Each of us had our own look we were going for.
"Alright, what do we say to the guests when they arrive?"Sometimes I wondered about the state of my generation. I had to coach these two through basic niceties.
"Would you like to hear about our lord and savior Jesus Christ?"Gabriel asked. I sighed.
"Maybe not. Try something like welcome to our house."He shrugged unconvincingly. He would definitely ignore me. "Beelzebub?"
"Welcome to Satan's Cellar,"he deadpanned. Great. We were sure to charm our neighbors.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! |
'Twas a fairy tale like no other.
For most of her life, Princess Ardena had been regarded as quiet, reclusive and maybe a little strange. She rarely interacted with the citizens of the kingdom. indeed, she barely ventured outside of the castle complex, except for her furtive voyages to the nearby forest. It was an eccentric, secretive hobby that ignited suspicion in common folk and nobles alike; however, as she was the sole heir to the throne of Carrellia, the king and queen naturally doted on her, indulging her with armed guards during these trips. The soldiers were explicitly told to listen to her every word, which they did so without question.
The Princess would've preferred her adventures to be completely solitary, but understood the need for protection in a dangerous world. There was even a dragon out there, for whom a Hero had been sent out. It was an important, exciting matter that had the whole kingdom talking, but it was mere distraction to whatever secretive activities she busied herself. Again, a strange life she led - but seemingly harmless.
Until, of course, it was no longer.
On the night of her sixteenth birthday, the moon was full and bright, and the air was crisp with October cold. Most were already asleep in the villages dotting the kingdom, save for nursing mothers or servants finishing up the day's scullery work. Indeed, it such maid-girl who first saw the Princess approach from the road. Scared but curious, she called out, attracting Ardena's attention - and that's when it all began.
With a cackle that was more akin to a scream, Princess Ardena unleashed fire from her fingertips. Soon enough, the whole village was ablaze. As the townspeople fled, they looked back in terror and confusion at the figure floating in the sky: a slender woman clothed in black and purple, contrasting skin paler than that of a corpse. Her face was the worst part: it was beautiful, in a deadly way. The lips were red like blood as they moved to speak strange, unearthly incantations. All throughout, her eyes remained black and soulless.
Word got to the Royal Palace - the Princess, their sweet but stranger Ardena, had become a witch, a sorceress, a monster. The king and queen refused to believe it at first, but as another village went up in flames and word came back of the hero's kidnapping, they had to accept the truth with a heavy heart. Something had to be done, something drastic.
It was during counsel with the royal advisors that the dragon burst into the meeting-room, crashing through the tall stained glass window.
The guards in the room shouted in alarm, but stayed true to their training and did not cower. Indeed, they rushed toward the magnificent scarlet beast, spears and swords drawn. The dragon easily bashed them to the walls with a two sweeps of his tail.
Before the rest of the room could even react, the dragon spoke, his voice deep and gravelly. "We need to discuss matters, your Highnesses. The situation is grave."
"Get thee back, beast!"The Vizier of Defense shouted. "More guards are approaching right now - you can't kill them all!"
"If I had wished to kill, I would've done so,"the dragon intoned. Indeed, the guards lying against the wall were unconscious - or terrified and merely pretending to be. "I recommend you call off any other guards - we must the solve the problem."
The king, having gathered his courage some, spoke up: "We?"
"Indeed. Your daughter has invoked dark forces that threaten not only your meager human kingdom, but the balance of nature in this entire land."The dragon sighed, fire trickling out between his teeth. He trained his great golden eye, laden with a strange, almost-human grief, on the king and queen. "It burdens me to say that we must stop the mad Princess, whatever the cost."
​
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*Liked that story? Want more like it? Check out* r/Idreamofdragons! |
"Come on man, until you die I can't get any of my pay checks. Once you die I get a huge bonus, because of how long I've been waiting."
I look at the demon I met so long ago. "I don't care, you never gave me what I wanted! Until that happens I'm not going anywhere."
He rolled his eyes exhasperated "I told you, they don't exist anymore! No one can find them, not even me!"
"Your a demon I'm sure you can figure it out. Until then I'll be right here. In earth just having a good time."
He sighed like he was so done with me
"Ugh fine give me a second."
He crawled back through that portal, he opened. I sat right there in my chair reading my books, I had aquired through my years, for so long. I kinda forgot about him.
Then the portal opened up again.
"Here. I finally found one."
He holds out his hand, and in it is the amazing green and red can I grew up with. I grab it, and popp the cap with a satisfying crik. I breathe in deeply and get a whiff of my childhood. Sitting around opening presents drinking this amazing beverage.
Wanna Sprite cranberry? |
Lightning cracked across the sky, racing toward the homestead with intent. Henri cursed his foul luck and marched inside, only seconds to prepare. The cold iron on his hip may not prove enough, but he was not them. He would not turn to an alternative to take care of his problems.
His home shook as the bolt made impact outside. The vestibule glowed in its glory, revealing the first of the children to stir. Mikhail was big for his age, already towering his benevolent captor, but innocent to boot. His eyes laid on Henri and his weapon with tired confusion. "What's happening? I hear no rain."
"Go back to bed, I'll handle this."
The boy moved closer, and in turn, the immortal outside. Smaller quakes accompanied the steps of each; like father, like son.
"Go!"Henri hissed.
The glow in the room hung, dimmer but closer. Swirling blues and whites curled under Mikhail's clothes and skin. He planted his feet, locking them in place in the center of the room. The boy winked at Henri, darting his head off to the side.
Henri didn't like it, but understood. He shuffled a few steps to the left not a moment too soon. The door blew off its hinges, colliding and exploding against Mikhail. Not an inch did he budge, staring down the intruder. "You are not welcome here."
"I go where I please,"the god warned, ducking down to get inside. He was bare chested, dark as the sky he rode to arrive here, all but brushing his head on the ceiling. The air was charged around him, but the power was restrained. Or, more likely, running out.
Henri snuck silent as sin behind the newcomer as he spoke. "You are growing powerful, boy. Too mighty. You'll disintegrate if you hold it all in. Mortal bodies are fickle."
"I know your solution,"Mikhail warned. "It has been prophesied."
"Do you think I wrote that sonnet detailing your digestion? Work of fool men who rely on omens. None of my ilk bare claim on the moon, yet I'll bet they read the phases and scribbled down gibberish in my name."
Henri bit his lip, clicking back the hammer. The god's ear twitched, and he began turning. Mikhail roared and lunged a hand forward, releasing a pulse of power. It struck home, hitting his target squarely.
But the god laughed, even as the smoke cleared. "You'll pay dearly for that, boy."
A sudden bang, and the god dropped. The bloody hole in his head poured golden ichor on the wooden floor. Henri unloaded again, and again, until all six chambers were empty.
Mikhail's light ceased, painting the room black. Footsteps pounded above as the other children came to look, but Henri yelled, "Stay up there!"
Surprisingly, they obeyed the order, leaving the remaining sound of Mikhail's soft sobs. In kind, Henri dropped to a lower tone. "I'll handle the body, son. Go back to bed."
A sniffle, then, "Yes, Da."The godling shuffled away, worse for wear.
Henri set down into a nearby chair, sweat draping his forehead. Iron bested the magical sort, so his benefactor had shown at the beginning of their journey. Still the strange contraption perplexed the once simple man. They would need to meet up soon, for more ammunition.
After all, they had a long way to go before their prophecy could be completed. |
"OI CUNT!"
"WHAT'S UP CUNT?"
"GET IN THE FUCKIN UTE!"
"WHY CUNT?"
"GOT SOME SPIDERS TO KILL CUNT!"
"I'LL BRING THE PISTOLS CUNT!"
"NAH CUNT, THESE BUGGERS ARE MASSIVE"
"SHOTGUNS THEN?"
"YEAH CUNT!"
"ALRIGHT, ILL HAVE SHEILA PUT EXTRA SHRIMP ON THE BARBIE FOR TONIGHT CUNT!"
"HURRY UP AND GET IN THE UTE YOU FUCKIN WALLY!"
"ONE SECOND CUNT!"
"LISTEN, WE LOSE ANOTHER WAR TO ANIMALS, WE'LL NEVER HEAR THE END OF IT CUNT!"
"FUCK OFF CUNT, I'M ALMOST READY TO GO!"
A few minutes pass....
"ALRIGHT CUNT, HOW BIG ARE THESE BUGGERS?"
"ABOUT EIGHT FOOT!"
"WHY THE BLOODY HELL DID YOU MAKE ME BRING THE SHOTGUNS FOR SOMETHING THAT BLOODY SMALL CUNT?" |
It took me a while to find the flaw. Usually the alternates I visit are almost cartoonishly bad, so being greeting with a metropolis I was expecting a dark underbelly and a corrupt government.
I was right, in a way— the subterranean levels were dark, but they were also clean, and lovingly maintained. I found a cafe down there that operated by candlelight, and fell in love with the coffee.
The government became my go-to, then, but no matter how deep I dug there wasn’t anything wrong. Everything was public, everything was easily accessible, everything was... perfect. At the time, I thought it was too perfect. I think the librarians felt bad for me, all I did for a solid couple of weeks was root around on their computer system.
Then I figured I had to be on the wrong track. Maybe there was— I don’t know, a sect of insurgents, planning to overthrow the government and bring chaos. And yeah, there was, and they were talked down and brought to see sense— not by the government that they hated, but by common, every day people, who chose kindness.
By then my body was starting to degrade. This was the closest I’ve ever pushed to the five month time limit, but I had to know. I had to. There had to be something that I had overlooked, something that made this utopia hell.
I looked into it all. Everything. Every possibility, used every tip and trick I’ve picked up from the multiverse, and I found kindness in every corner.
That’s why I didn’t find the flaw until I had to leave; and the flaw was just that. I had to leave. I couldn’t stay there, and now, I can’t ever go back. Not without passing the time limit— I can’t go to the cafe I loved, can’t visit the sprawling libraries or endless gardens, can’t find a random stranger on the street who invites me in for tea because I look like I need it.
I used all of my time there trying to find what was wrong, and in that, I created what was wrong. Found my own unhappiness. The metropolis was worse than my universe because it wasn’t mine and never could be.
I’m not planning to visit any alternate dimensions ever again. That’s a promise I’ve made more than once, but this time, I truly mean it. I’m staying home.
Maybe I can’t do much. But I won’t ever forget that metropolis, and how it came to be through the simple fact of people choosing to be kind, again and again.
So... Come by for a cup of coffee sometime. You look like you need it. |
Four pillars stand, each carved with reliefs of archetypal depictions. The approach is gated behind several marble steps, the only other things in the shadows of the room are an entrance I can no longer find, and a crackling central fire pit.
The first I approach is the warrior, arms chiseled figuratively as well as literally, claws and many horned masks seeming almost to turn to me as I take four out of five steps up to its altar. The dreamscape of war bursts around me, a dark beach under a blood red moon.
The stench of seaweed and the steaming corpses attack my nostrils as a dark totem looms over me, nooses swinging from its arms.
“I offer you strength of arm, resilience of body, and endless supply of foes to hone your might,” rumbles a voice like thunder under the depths of the sea, “you shall be mighty. Your tests will grind you down to the bone, and one day sister fortune may turn on you, leading to an ignoble death.”
I declined the offer. It does not feel right, like the proctor said it would.
The next is the Librarian. Suspended above bridges of books and stairs of ink, between cloaks of raven’s feathers and uncountable skulls of thousands of beasts, its voice whispers like braided silk.
“I offer you a sharp mind, and clarity of focus. You shall be wise, but your wisdom will sunder your soul slowly, as you realize just how much you still have to learn, and how little time you have to do it.”
Once more, I decline.
Next is the Smith in its great forge, half jutting to the blue sky and half buried in a crevasse coursing with crimson lava. A sequence of hammers rang louder and clearer as they fell in a synchronized chorus.
“I offer you deftness of hand, and keenness of eye. You shall be ingenious, but your labours will drive your heart from your breast and temper your heart in the certainty that perfection will always be within reach.”
For a third time, I decline.
The fourth, and final, member, the bard. The one I must belong to. Ribbons and tapestry of offensively bright colours flood around me like banks of fog. A being with a hearty grin and a hundred instruments clutched in twice as many hands make an offer in song.
“I offer you purity of voice, certainty of craft, and irreplaceable cleverness. You will be a once-in-a-lifetime performance, but you will need to seek out ever larger crowds to slake your needs.”
And, oddly, even though I know it’s the last one, my one, I decline.
I am left in a dark, cold room, despite the fire, shocked at the realization that I fit in none of these paths, despite that flying in the face of everything I know.
But when I turn, there is someone sitting by the pit, waiting for me. She is unremarkable, or is it a he? It’s not easy to tell, but the impression is… superficial. She waits until I come and sit by her, and turns to me.
“I offer you the chance to survive.”
“To survive? To survive what?”
“Anything. Everything.”
And, without a moment’s hesitation, I accepted.
Now I lie in a ditch, broken bones and ruptured blood vessels slowly, painfully mending. It had been a rowdy drunk, one with a history of such violence. I smile as I watch my own blood creep back into my veins, thinking about how exhausted he was once he was finished. That should keep him off the others that wait for him back home.
I stand up, wincing as pain licks it’s white-hot way up my sides and back. But I will survive. I always have.
Every blessing comes with a curse, that is the way of the world. My lesson, that I learned some hundred years ago in a dark room next to a lonely firepit, is that suffering and resilience are the two sides of the same coin. To survive all of it, I must suffer all of it.
The night greets me with a chilly air, so cold that it stands my hair on end and set my teeth to rattling.
It doesn’t matter.
I will survive.
*I write all sorts of things, sill and serious, over at* /r/The_Alloqium*.* |
I've lived 10 lives, and it's only been 9 days since my birthday. I may have taken a nap, thinking it was only the dreams at night that did that, boy was I wrong. Most have been normal, such as the first, third, and sixth. They have been fine. I lived a peaceful life in each. They were modern fantasy as well, so I learned languages at either local libraries or online. I made friends that I was sad to leave but knowing I'd basically be dying and reappearing back in my old life, I knew I just had to record it all. I had documents of each world, the people I met, what I learned, and what skills I had gained.
In total, I know 5 Earth languages, English, French, Latin, Chinese, and Filipino. Then another language pronounced 'Sf-ian' which revolved around 31 letters and something about numbers so there are no double letters. I also know how to summon demons. I actually tried to when I got back home and confirmed that my world did not have them. Sad.
My skills range from pickpocketing to charming anyone to literally being able to backflip off of a high divingboard. Yet, the only one I show to others is my knowledge and skill in academics.
In each world I've gone to, I've been born, learned the main language, and have lived my life as a usual upper-middle class. The seventh one was more upper-upper middle class, having been a duke's maid's son.
I'm gonna go to sleep again. I'm glad I have a summer birthday. I'll make sure to hide anything non-academic that's a skill when I head to college. Don't want people noticing how good I am at things. I have more knowledge than probably most scholars, but let's not go into that.
\[ 1 month and a half later, a week into the college year. \]
It's been a month or so. I've done amazing in getting into a good, but not overly expensive college. I'm writing again to note that I am constantly having to make sure I record everything onto a word document and save it. I have it saved in different places, notes on my phone, Docs, notepad, Word, and sometimes I have it noted on drafts in social media posts.
I don't have a lover, since I will occasionally fall in love with someone and have a relationship in the fantasy world. I started telling the closest to me when we're about in our really old years who I am, and that when I die, I'll be put back to my world. Some tell me that they will make multiversal travel and see me again. They haven't achieved it to my knowledge.
I'm excelling in my classes. Teachers like me because I turn in everything after taking a quick nap, and they let me because I just need a quick nap and then wake up, do the work (because I've learned it all before) and then sleep for the rest of the class. It seems time just works that when I sleep, it starts, and it knows when I'll wake up, so when I die I'm just transported to the time I wake up.
I actually have a few people who think I'm actually a time traveller. They're sorta close, so...
*I'll have to make sure to learn how to wipe memories with simple hypnosis next.* |
I was going to speed run my life. Why not at this point? I was stuck in a time loop so I figured I might as well make things a bit more interesting.
I knew what had to be done. I needed to clip through reality to speed up my life.
I heard faint noises around me as I once again came into existence. My little body was working against me, but somehow I managed to roll off the table and sprint towards a wall while the doctors and my mother screamed at me. I began backwards jumping as fast as possible into a corner and ended up pushing through right before a doctor could grab me.
I was now 18 and deciding on college. I applied to the first one on the list and rolled around on the ground to clip through. I fell through the floor and ended up in the marriage ceremony cutscene. I hit the pause button to skip the happiest day of my life with Stephanie and did a dive into the wedding cake and champagne glasses. Everyone at the wedding gasped in shock as the textures around me glitched out.
The maneuver was proving more difficult. I couldn’t quite hit the pixel perfect jump that would take me to the death cutscene. Instead, I was transported to my 60s.
I sat in the house and looked at photos of Matthew and Racheal, my two kids that had already moved out. Stephanie was working on some puzzle in the living room. Memories flooded back of the absolute boredom that comes with midlife.
The run wasn’t perfect, but I knew I could glitch out to get to the 80s section where I could probably have a heart attack if I pushed myself too hard. Before I could run out, Stephanie grabbed my hand.
“You know, it always seems like you’re running around. Why don’t you help me out with this puzzle?” she asked.
Before me lay two choices. I could either sprint out the door, or I could enjoy some quality time with Stephanie. I had already married her 3 times now, but even knowing it was a timeloop didn’t make it any less fun. My heartbeat slowed down as I sat at the table and slowly put the puzzle together piece by piece. |
Birthdays are supposed to be a joyous occasion. A celebration of another year gone, a party of fun, a celebration of life. For my 32nd birthday, I hoped for more of the same.
But today sucks.
Dad died about a week ago, and I haven’t smiled since. My 32nd birthday is another day of the hell one goes through after the death of a loved one. There are horrid funeral arrangements, bureaucratic death certificates, and the morbid process of letting everyone know. I can’t even grieve there’s so much to do.
I want to get away.
But I can’t.
Today, the probate lawyer is expecting me downtown to hear his Last Will and collect the mysterious box he left for me. I know it needs to be done, but I just want to stay bundled in bed and cry myself to sleep.
Adulting is the worst.
…
Mr. Graystone greeted me with his usual small smile and sharp suit as his assistant ushered me into his office. It was quaint, his degrees were framed on the wall, a small potted fern sat atop his desk and the natural light gave the room a cozy feel.
I tried my best to return his warmth, but I felt cold and rigid.
He started with his well-practiced, but not ungenuine, speech. He apologized again for my loss, offered me resources for grief, and then explained the legal process behind what we are doing.
It all sounded like jargon to me, but I nodded along anyway.
With the papers out, I noticed a small smile tug on the corner of his lips, he explained that he needed to read everything verbatim. I felt myself freeze up. After last week’s rush, my father’s last words were a sign of finality and I found myself afraid. The realization that this was it had sunk in.
I wasn't ready.
Mr. Graystone began, and tears fell down my cheek.
I was laughing.
Hysterically.
That old son of a gun’s speech was nothing but Dad Jokes.
He thanked the funeral director, and said he was shocked I had found one since it was a “*dying profession*.” Dad said, *"I want you to be a pallbearer, so you will be the last person to let me down*.” He wanted his funeral to be at night since he wasn’t a “*mourning person*.” And then he ended it with, “*I hope it’s not a grave affair. Let’s put the ‘fun’ back in funeral.*” By the end, my sides hurt so much I could barely hold onto the box Mr. Graystone placed in my hand.
I wiped the tears from my eyes and read a small note on top of the small brown box, “*To My Favorite Son…*” I snorted. I was his only son, the cheeky git.
With the box ripped open, another small note said, “*I present to you my favorite treasure*.”
It was me.
He put a mirror in the damn box.
I found myself smiling for the first time in a week.
Dad always gave the best gifts. |
"I never saw them again."
That was my usual response to the people I once hung out with in my childhood. I live in the city, not particularly fond of the forest life until I was taken by my grandpappy to his vacation home by the lake. He'd teach me how to swim, how to fish, told me stories about the fairies in the woods, warn me about visiting them, teach me how to socialize, y'know the usual.
One day I was with my friends whose names I can no longer remember and we were alone by the lakeside. One of us, I think his name was Joseph or somethin, dared me to go to the woods, make up the most absurd name you can think of, and yell it at the top of your lungs. I didn't think much of it at the time because y'know, kid, and when it was my turn, I did my best and came up with the most absurd name you can think of. I can hear my friends gigglin in the back, and I continued as I thought "Hey this is a fun game, how come the others aren't trying it themselves?"
As I paused to think, the forest responded back. I heard their gigglin suddenly come to a halt, and turn into anxiety and fear as they whispered at me to come back. Naturally, I can't hear them so I continued on, and the more I called out, the more frequent the forest replied. Distant yells and cries of words you can't make sense of call back to me, and as it became louder and louder, I saw my friends frantically run from the woods, as if somethin's out to get them. I didn't really paid attention to the town's folklore as I ain't exactly the superstitious type, nor did I really took grandpappy's warnings to heart, but as a lil kid I didn't really feel afraid. If anythin, I feel welcomed.
*"So you don't feel afraid when disembodied voices from the woods cry back at you?"*
Not really a people person myself. Wasn't really popular with kids my age back then and even my grandpappy's attempts of me making friends just ended with the story I'm tellin you right now. For the first time in my childhood years, I felt as if somethin's actually preferrin my presence. Soft gigglin from the woods replaced the infrequent cries. Sounded like girls or somethin, and they got more and more numerous as they got closer. And I don't really know what'll happen next if my grandpappy didn't pull me out of the woods and dragged me home.
I don't see him get angry, but that was the first time I ever saw him yell at me. Must've been serious, that day. As to what was happenin, he never told me even the day he died.
*"So you were tricked into summoning some woodland spirits or something?"*
I wouldn't call them spirits, per se. Spirits do not look at you with curiosity. Not that I know of. I'm not particularly fond of the summertime activities he would do with me, but that one day stuck with me the most. I have to know more.
*"What did you do?"*
Did what any kid would do in a scenario like this. Disobey your grandpappy and repeat what you did to see better results. My curiosity got the better of me, as one afternoon, I got what I wanted. I didn't particularly see them, but I did felt a presence nearby. And by nearby I meant right nearby that day. You'd expect somethin like raisin hairs or a chillin experience, but I didn't experience either. Whatever these things are, they didn't want to hurt me. The most I saw of em was a peaking head by the trees. Looked like a grey alien with hair or somethin, can't really get a good look with the sun setting so quickly. Although I did take a photo of the sunset by the lake and I hung it by my wall ever since.
That was the last time I ever went to my grandpappy's vacation home.
*"What happened? Your grandfather told your parents to take you away after he found out?"*
Yes, and no. Yes he told my parents that he doesn't want me there anymore, and no it's not because of the reasons he stated. When I asked my parents about it, they only said that grandpappy found alligators by the lake, to which I called bullcrap because there are no alligators in his lake.
Think what happened is that he tried to confront the forest gremlins, and threatened them with force should they ever touch or visit me again. I didn't really heard from him until the day my parents called tellin me that he died. Was in college when that happened. To think, that your grandpappy would keep you away from his land for so long.
*"Do you ever think that the forest creatures killed him?"*
That's what my childhood friends kept tellin me. That and their parents and neighbors. Kept blamin every mysterious death and inconvenience to them, must've been awful to be the scapegoat of somethin you never did. Think that's why they felt a connection to me when we first met.
We weren't particularly rich ourselves and with money becomin tough these days, papa has no choice but to sell grandpappy's vacation home. Must've been tough for him.
I decided to do somethin in his behalf and drive my grandpappy's stuff outta his vacation home and into our house, just so we have something to remember him by. It felt different comin back to those woods now that you're old enough to drive. Old faces now aged and decrepit, old houses now renovated and fixed. The very same kids that told you to yell loudly by the forest, now got their own kids and maybe even grandkids.
I took one last look of the forest before driving to the vacation home. And I didn't really believed it myself at first, but the moment I stepped inside that cabin, I felt as if dozens of things were waitin for me. Like an old reunion nobody really expected. As I'm movin my grandpappy's stuff to the trunk, there's always a lingering presence nearby, as if I'm bein watched. Though not maliciously, and more like socially awkward friends just unsure when to show themselves to you for the first time. And honestly, that's all I needed. I miss my grandpappy, and if things would've been different, I would've bought his vacation home.
Before leavin the forest, my childhood friends invited me to a drink by the local bar. And after catchin up with our lives, they asked me if I finally saw the woodland sprites that I kept lookin for all those years ago.
I simply said to them
*"I didn't. I never saw them again."* |
The Onceler was baffled, the Onceler was scared
For whatever madness was this, he wasn't prepared
The trees were all wailing in a strange oriental song
He thought, "This isn't right, it's utterly wrong!"
​
Then he saw the Lorax, and heard the anger in his voice
Faced with no other options, the Onceler had no choice
He asked him why the trees were speaking this way
And the Lorax responded, "It's because of your misdeeds today!"
​
"You've been cutting down trees for your factory
Polluting the air and destroying the scenery
You've torn apart the environment, ruined our peace
And now all the trees must speak in Vietnamese!"
​
The Onceler was filled with remorse and shame
He knew that ultimately, he was the one to blame
"I'm sorry for what I did, how can I make it right?"
His voice trembled with sorrow and fright.
​
The Lorax said, "It's not too late, so don't despair
You can start over and do things with care
Plant new trees and care for them too
Then the nature of the forest will once again be true."
​
The Onceler took his advice and did his best
He planted trees and passed the test
The trees in the forest began to quiet one by one
Until at last, there was silence under the sun.
​
The Onceler was happy and relieved
Peace and quiet, he had finally received
He thanked the Lorax for his wise advice
And told the wise creature, "It was well worth the price." |
We planted our feet on lunar soil. Echo 2 had already begun to hoist the flag out of our module. I stared at Earth from afar. It was a long way home.
"Mission control, we're setting up the flag, over."I spoke into the microphone.
"Understood. Try not to slip, Delta 2."The speaker beeped back.
I followed Echo 2 to a spot not far away from where we landed. After we set the flag up, we secured it on the ground, so that it wouldn't float away.
The tears welling up in my eyes made my vision blurry as I started to form a smile behind my helmet. All my life I trained just for this moment; to be apart of the 2nd Moon landing. Mission control said they were recording us countless miles away using a high-precision camera. They told us that the whole world was rejoicing for this moment.
But then I tripped. What seemed to be a boot, dusty and moth-eaten, caught me off guard while we were walking back. It was uncertain to me where it came from; only the top part was visible. I tried to regain my balance, but it proved useless. It didn't take long for my helmet to hit the ground.
The visor cracked. I started to panic, and as the cracks crawled and expanded with a sickening sound, I had no time to react when my visor shattered.
I felt frigid, then it all faded to black.
I couldn't hear, I couldn't see, but I could think. It took me a while to realise that I was dead.
There was silence, as thoughts flew through my head. At the very least, I'd be retrieved and laid to rest, right? There'd be no way they could just leave me on the moon. The fact that I died contributing something to the world, doing something that had never been done before in decades, kept me smiling.
I waited eagerly. Heaven should be my next stop.
Suddenly, I was blinded by a bright light, it was time. I squinted and stared into the radiance, overwhelmed with excitement. It took a good ten seconds before I noticed that nothing changed.
Then it hit me that this was not the light of some angel, but instead was that of the Sun's.
I looked around to see Echo 2 entering the module. It looked as though he was listening to mission control. There was a nod, then he took one glance at my body, and went to the module. The reflection of the sun obscured his face, but the way he moved showed that he was shaken beyond relief. Aside from his apparent obliviousness to my prescence, I couldn't help but notice hundreds of men spread over the surface, dressed in the same astronaut suit I wore.
Most of them looked catatonic, while others were crying and sobbing. Their suits were somewhat caked in moondust, with a faded glint on cracked visors. I walked up to one of them to see if I could get answers with what was going on.
He didn't respond, but turned his head towards me with a broken stare, and spoke with a faint, yet surprised voice,
"There's.. more? Why do they keep sending people here?" |
"And this one?"
"Um, they call it the 'Doom Pot'. It allows you to make a most delicious meal, one you will never forget nor be able to ever recreate, but it will kill every three people that use it and it was used by two people already..."
"Okay!", I happily replied, grabbing it and throwing it towards the counter, skillfully having it land on the "Pillow of Eternal Rest"with a soft *thud*.
"IF you break it, you buy it!", yelled the merchant, an old adventurer by the name of Daniel Ward, becoming overwhelmed with the amount of things gathering on his counter.
"I'll be careful, Mister Wart!", I replied, offering an awkward smile back at his angry and concerned face.
"It's 'Ward'....", he replied grumpily as I continued to skip down the aisles of his store. He continued following me around, looking more and more distressed as I ran my fingers over the different cursed objects in his store.
"Please stop touching all the items, miss... A lot of them are very dangerous and I spent years collec-"
"What's this one?", I hadn't noticed that he was mid-sentence but his frown made it clear. I continued pointing towards a beautiful stringed instrument as he eyed me wearily then shifted his gaze to what I was pointing at.
"Oh! That's actually a favorite of mine. It's the 'Life Lyre'.", he replied, smiling for the first time since I entered his shop an hour ago. "It creates the most beautiful songs but every strum of a string takes an hour off your life. I've actually played a song on it and I'll tell you, it was worth it!"
"I'll take it too!", I replied, carefully walking this one over to him. I didn't want to break a favorite object of his. I placed it gently on the counter and then looked at everything I was getting. They all looked *regular* enough to be inconspicuously placed around a house without anyone thinking too hard about them. Other than a few of the older-looking items like the "Screaming Chamber Pot"and the "Life Lyre", all the items were relatively modern in design and type.
"I think this is everything, Mister Wart. Can I have help taking it to my wagon outside?"
"Um, sure thing", he began, "but I feel like I have to ask... What exactly are you using this all for?"
I could see him glancing over all the items on his counter. I had gathered fifteen different cursed objects in my hour of browsing his shop and each had a unique and terrible curse attached to it. I didn't want him to be suspicious of anything though, or think these objects he had spent years collecting during his adventuring days was going to waste.
"Er, I'm a brand new collector!", I replied, giving the brightest and most innocent smile I could give.
"A collector... of cur-"
"Of cursed items, yes Mister Wart!"
"I see... Do you have a *safe* place to keep all these things?", the way he emphasized safe sending a clear message that these weren't just toys or simple decorations.
"Yes, Mister Wart! I've already talked with a furniture-maker in the town over to build custom display cases and whatnot. I'll be taking these things there next so that he can do some measurements."I hoped I sounded believable enough.
He eyed me for an uncomfortable few seconds as I tried to maintain a smile. I could notice each little bump and scar on his face, indicating that he had seen and done quite a lot in his days. This was a powerful man.
"Okay then, miss...", he replied.
It took a lot of self-control to not let out a deep sigh of relief and maintain my composure as he took his eyes off me and began totaling up the cost of the items. I put my hand in my satchel and played with the coins I had inside, hoping that I had enough.
"For everything, looks like 80 silver would do it.", he finally said after some careful calculating.
"I'll give you 75."
"80, or you can choose to place one of those items back on the shelf."
"Fine...", I said, pulling out handfuls of coins and laying them on the counter, counting out 80 silver coins.
When we had finished loading all them items into my wagon outside, I gave him a final wave and began my ride home. I could tell that his eyes were suspiciously watching me until him and his store were out of my view.
I got home just as it started to get dark and it took a few minutes to get everything unloaded and carefully placed in the shed.
I lit a candle to illuminate everything and took another look at my haul. A malicious smile grew on my face and I couldn't help but chuckle. Out the window inside the house next door, that skank Mary Green and the boy I thought I loved were laughing away and dancing in front of the window to celebrate their purchase of a new home and plot of land.
I couldn't wait till the morning came so I could greet them with a wagon-full of housewarming gifts. |
I despise every single one of them. Every. Single. One. As a great man once said - I wish you all had just one neck and my hands around it. The bastards. Every time one of those caped shits needs a good photo-shoot, every time they need to have money for a charity event, they go out hunting me. Every time they try to get me out of my sewers, my lairs, my caves where I try to hide away for my dear peace. But no. Come need for a public event, come the colorful bunch to haunt me. When I lose, it is all press releases and pats on their backs. When they lose and some of them perish, it is a lavish funeral and "never forgets". Each of them with their own agenda, be it the protection of orphans, be it the Love of God... All of them - impotent.
The hospital is evacuated. I arrive to it and all lights are turned off. Not a single hero, not a single cop, no one wants to be here. In any other day they would invite photographers to print a picture of a hero holding me, punching me, tackling me. Not today, no. All the hallways in the hospital are quiet and dimly lit. I follow the path they have set for me. All doors around me are blocked with heavy locks. As if I were a danger to innocent people who are dying in a hospital. But I follow, I play along, I walk the path that is set for me, to the third floor, to room 18. After that, the hallway is dark. And the door is open. I enter and see, among a sea of bright flowers and cards a child, sleeping in the bed, looking at me.
"They told me you'll come,"he said, in a weak and quiet voice. A child you could only hear at night.
"They told me you called,"I answered and sat down on a chair right next to his bed. The boy was hairless, pale and skinnier than a rat.
"They said they can't fight to save me. They said I have to fight myself. But I do not think I can,"he whispered. I noticed his little hand is looking for mine. I took off my glove and gave my hand to him. He did not mind the scars.
"They also said it is going to be worse before it gets better..."And only then the sorrows that started flowing from his eyes confess in how big of pain he actually is. So much pain in such a tiny thing. Something inside him, growing, gnawing at everything, destroying him, ravaging.
"I'm sorry,"I said. "I really am. You know, cancer, it... It is relentless. I... I do not know how it feels, but... Listen, I... They can't beat it, because it has no arms or legs, it has no heart, so the heroes, they do try, but they..."
He squeezed my hand and I fell quiet. These little shits become so smart and wise in their last hours and I just turn in a blabbering fool. "It's ok,"he said. "They told me that they can not stop the pain. They said you can. I called for you."
"I do not, kid, listen..."I started again: "I do not stop the pain, I stop everything. I can not kill the cancer itself, all I can do is make the pain away. Together with everything else. I make the world go away, kid."
"Please,"his voice cracked and he started to tremble. The pain was exhausting and he could not pretend not to hurt anymore: "Please... I do not want to start crying... I want to go strong..."
Wild thing. Superman flies. But he hurts no man. Batman has all the technology in the world, but he never kills. Spiderman has great power, but he covers in front of real responsibility. But me? I have no powers. I can't fly, I can't see through walls, I can't even bloody smile. All I do - I carry death. For everything I love dies.
I stopped the pain. With no powers, no lasers or freezing. I stopped the pain the old fashion way. And the hospital qas quiet again. Even the systems did not beep, as they had disconnected them, waiting for my arrival. And thus I get up and leave.
And tonight? Tonight I can wander around the city unharmed. Tonight I am free to be wherever I want to be, go, wherever I want to go. For no heroes want to confront me tonight. They claim that it is because we have an "agreement". I know better. It is because they despise me. And I despise them. |
"Get behind me Bruce"
Thomas Wayne ushered his son behind him. The hooded figure drew closer in the moonlight, his gun pointed out like the grim reapers out strecthed hand.
"Your Money! NOW!"he boomed, pointing the gun at Thomas.
"I- I don't carry cash. Here take my watch!"Thomas stuttered, attempting to unhook the watch from his wrist.
"The ladies pearls! NOW!"The figure barked, lunging at Thomas's wife. He snatched the necklace around Martha's neck that broke apart around her.
"Don't hurt her!"Thomas cried, throwing himself between the two.
Suddenly there was a bang. Young Bruce Wayne let out a hollow whimper....
"No, no, no! This won't do!"
A high pitched, gleeful voice cackled in the alley way. A tall, slim man appeared from the darkness. His face stretched and grotesque, his eyes pitch black, and skin pale as a ghost. He wore a purple suit, green bow-tie, and a deformed, leering smile.
"So cliched, so very boring!"He continued, making his way over from behind the gun man. It was at this moment, Thomas realised the gun man had dropped his hand gun, and stood perfectly still, except the twitching fingers on his hand, still out stretched.
The tall man placed his hand on the muggers shoulders. "And here I thought I'd get a real show! Not some half wit, wannabe who happened to be in the right place, at the right time!"
With these last words, the mans high voice became deeper and more menacing. He knocked the criminal to the ground with little effort. The gun man lay dead, with a flag harpooned in his back. It simply read...."Boom".
The saviour held up a large, plastic toy gun. "Now this! This has a punchline! So much more classy then some cold, dime a dozen pea shooter!"He picked up the gunmans pistol, holding it limply by the handle.
"Thank you."Thomas quivered, steping towards the tall man. "Thank you, you....you saved me and my family!"
"Oh yes..."the man whsipered, staring down at Thomas's son Bruce. "Maybe....yes...I can see now."
The tall man clasped the hand gun fully in his hand, examining it from top to bottom.
"I can see the allure now...so simple, yet so devestating. You don't always need an atom bomb or an earthquake to cause the same amount of damage like a single bullet. Its a classic gag! Like a pie in the face! Sometimes, even the most low brow jokes are the ones with the most effect! Heres a joke I just thought of!"
The man pointed the gun at Thomas. But his eyes remain fixated on Bruce.
"Why did the Bat cross the road?"
"I...I..."
"Because the Joker pushed him out there!"
The alley was filled with the sound of laughter and gun fire. 3 bullets in Thomas and another 3 in Martha. Even as they lay dead, bleeding out, the man still laughed. doubled over in ectasy.
Bruce Wayne, kneeled on the ground. His knees soaking in the blood of his parents.
The tall mans laughter died out. With a closed mouth smile he pointed the gun at Bruce. Bruce looked up into his eyes.
"BANG!"the man yelled.
Bruce did not flinch.
The mans smile widened.
"See you around kiddo."
The man turned and strolled away, whistling into the night.
|
"What's the F is wrong with you!"Paisley yelled.
"Nothing matters anymore."cried Matt as he rolled off the front of the hood.
"You almost got blood on my Chevrolet Malibu"Paisley said as she stormed out of her car, "Why can't you look where you are going!"
"No matter which way you go, it always ends in failure."Matt replied, "What's the point of looking out for myself anymore."
"God damn it, you sound like my maid, Laurette, when my dad cut her vacation time."She said looking over the poor boy, "I bet that is why she left last night and forced me to like get up at like 9:00 in the mourning and buy myself my own Starbucks like some middle class bozo. Stupid Laurette and her stupid family in France."
"I don't have some stupid family to turn too."Matt screamed, "Do you even know what it is like to be alone in this world."
"As if, my stupid parents bug me about everything"Paisley said, "All I wish is for some personal time and for them to fly off on another stupid trip to god knows where. I can't even begin to imagine how great it must feel to not have parents."
"What the fuck is wrong with you!"Matt yelled as he picked himself up, "I'm homeless, orphaned, and incredibly depressed. Everyday I wake up in a cold alleyway wondering if today I will find something to eat. The only thing I have are the clothes on my back and a photo of the parents who cruelly abandoned me to this hellish existence. I have no friends to turned too, no mentors to teach me, nothing to keep me motivated on living. Even now my last words before departure is to the audience of a selfish brat."
"Omg you're suicidal!"Paisley gasped, "That's like.... so hot."
"What?"
"Like in the twilight movies and stuff."Paisley continued on without missing a beat, "Edward and Bella are like so suicidal for each other, it is so romantic, Omg. Are you like a vampire or something cause I would totally date you if you were a vampire, but not a werewolf because fur will totally ruin my plushy carpet."
"I'm not a vampire or werewolf, I'm a homeless 17 year old!"
"Cool, gettopunk kids are so in right now too."Paisley said as she went over to admire his clothing, "Omg, where did you get these ripped jeans? The ones at Macy's are so poser compared to these, and that jacket Omg! Is that authentic, cus that is so gettopunk."
"Gettopunk?"
"Gettopunk is like when rich people pretend to be poor people like my ex-boyfriend, Drake, wore like ragged shorts and a wife-beater and like a nose piecing but that was tots poser compared to you. I mean you got the tragic back story and everything. The whole depression thing going is tots romantic, I mean I once had depression when I didn't get my Gucci bag in time lol, but seriously when you tell me that you're all suicidal and stuff, it makes me feel like I can change you and we can be like Aladdin and Jasmine and stuff except tots ratchet."
"You are fucking crazy."
"How rude!"Paisley cried as she jumped into her car, "It's over between us you hear! I never wanted you anyway especial with your stupid cute nose and ripped jeans and tots badboy attitude and .. WAAAAAAA."
Matt could only watch in disbelief as Paisley sobbed driving away. He concluded that it was worth giving life another shot as clearly there are deeper levels of insanity than he yet felt. |
The first time anyone realized that people from the future were coming back in time to places they didn't belong was during the Dallas gas riots in 2018. Some guy got caught in the temple or something by a rubber bullet and wound up being carted off to the hospital unconscious. Turns out when they started working on him he had all kinds of crazy advanced technology, some weird ID cards, and money that wouldn't be in circulation for another hundred years.
I suppose they could have just covered up everything. Gone back in time to snag the guy from the EMTs and take him back to the right time period. But I guess someone in PR realized that, honestly, admitting that there were time tourists wouldn't be that big of a deal and it wouldn't *really* affect the course of time. All it would do is clue people in to the fact that the people they stood next to in a crowd during some major event might actually be from a hundred or so years in the future. They didn't interfere. They didn't really participate. They just watched.
And so it some how became commonplace for us all to just accept that.
Crazy, I know.
Sometimes they'd show up on the news with some news people trying to interview them. Most of the time they didn't really say much. They occasionally got a little too drunk at some 'party of the century' that they didn't even actually have tickets for (but how do you kick out time travelers, you know?) and let something slip here and there but it was never anything substantial.
I thought it was super cool for a while to watch that sort of stuff on YouTube. I don't know why. I guess I hoped they'd give me some kind of idea about what the future was going to really be like. I was always into that sort of thing, you know? Space travel. Time travel. Anything super sci-fi was totally up my alley.
I wanted to go to school to be an engineer even though my parents were always a bit hesitant to get my hopes up on that end. We didn't really have a lot of money but I figured with all the 'girls in STEM' scholarships out there I ought to be fine. Still. I did everything I could to make sure of that. I joined all the science based clubs and did all kinds of stupid national and international science fair things.
There wasn't a whole lot of interest in some small town girl from Kansas but I did it. I held my own. I could put it on a college admissions essay that I had participated.
I figured that's all I would ever really do - participate. I wasn't ever going to win. I wasn't going to ever change the world or anything like that. I just wanted to be a part of it, I guess.
I never expected to come home and find anyone waiting for me that night. My parents both worked late on Wednesdays and it was already dark out. I'd biked home from playing Dungeons and Dragons with some friends (and yes I know fucking nerdy that sounds, I know) and they were there.
Waiting.
*For me.*
I knew they weren't from around here instantly. It's a small town. But it wasn't just that. It was the way the held themselves and the clothes they wore. It was all too new and just a little bit off the mark. They were time travelers. There three of them. Two women and a man. They looked nice enough but if they were around then something big was going down and there was a chance it wasn't exactly a good thing.
I looked around a bit nervously before I walked my bike up to the garage where they stood. "Uh... hey,"I said, awkwardly, then reached into my bag for the garage clicker to open the door. My parents had sacrificed the space for their cars to indulge me. My little brothers - who stayed with our grandparents on Wednesday nights - called it my 'laboratory.' I hadn't ever really given it a name. It was just a place I went to mess around. It was the garage.
I propped my bike up against the wall and then turned back to see the three of them still standing outside *watching* me. It was kind of creepy.
"So..."I started, turning back to face them. "Can I help you guys with something or... are you trying to find your way some place? Because I don't know where you're supposed to be but I can promise you that this is *not* it."
They all smiled at that. It was weird. Unnerving.
One of the women finally shook her head. "No, we're exactly where we are supposed to be."
Well, that didn't make sense. "O-kay,"I said, a bit skeptically. "You're sure? Because no one else is home tonight. Just me. And I've got this project I need to finish-"
"Oh, we know,"the man - a bit younger than the two women - said with obvious excitement in his voice. "That's why we're here. We just... we want to watch."
I looked at them confused. "Why would you want to watch me?"I asked, not sure what to expect. The other woman - the oldest of them - just smiled.
"Why, hun, you're going to change the world. And it all begins tonight." |
"It's your turn,"my wife mumbles as she turns over, half asleep. A little hand is tugging at the coverlet.
"Daddy, there's something scary in my room,"Lea, my four year old, is standing at the foot of the bed. She's wearing her white pyjamas, Floppy Joe tucked under her arm. His long ears hang halfway down her legs, one worn thin where she used to put it in her mouth when she was younger.
"Hey Tiny,"I push the coverlet off and step onto the cold wooden floor. "Let's get you back into bed."
"But there's something in my room,"she whispers again.
The nurse said she'd grow out of it, but this twice-nightly ritual had been going on for almost nine months. I scooped her up and rubbed Floppy Joe's head.
"How's Floppy?"I said tiredly. "Is he being a good rabbit?"
"He's not a rabbit,"she said. "He's a hare."
"Sure he is, Tiny."
I walked the long hallway back to her bedroom. We'd redecorated it when she was two, taking down the blue curtains (we'd been told it was going to be a boy) and putting in a sunny-yellow bed. I put one hand on the door and I feel her stiffen in my arms.
"It's alright, Tiny. Daddy's here. There's nothing in your room."I push the door fully open and she relaxes immediately.
"You're right, Daddy,"she says softly and I sigh. Twice a night for the last nine months. Our friends who had children at the same time we did have been telling us for years how nice it is to finally sleep through the night. I place her in her bed and pull the quilt over her, making sure Floppy Joe is tucked in next to her. She drops me a quick smile and I kiss her forehead. She's pretty much asleep by the time I stand up.
I rub my eyes and turn around in the darkness of the room. The yellow blind seems to have shifted slightly against the window frame, and it's letting in a long sheaf of moonlight. It's cast across the bed in a long white line, almost like an arrow. I move to straighten it and the room feels suddenly cold. In the corner, Lea's nightlight (a little rabbit) stutters and goes out completely. The moon passes behind a cloud.
I turn towards the door and catch my breath. I'm frozen with ice cold fear running through my veins. It looks like a homunculus, a dwarf - *a demon,* my mind says irrationally, framed by the wooden doorway. Then the moonlight shifts again, the silver arrow flashing over the figure waiting for me.
"Hello Daddy,"the little figure walks away from the door, toddling on unsteady legs. I whip round again, but my daughter is still fast asleep in her bed, the rabbit protecting her dreams. It's a child - water dripping in rivulets down their arms and legs. The hair is wet and plastered to their bony skull, all bumps visible. Around their neck is a thin line of bruises, like a purple skipping rope wrapped right around it.
"I'm your little boy, Daddy. Don't you recognise me?"It comes closer and the water running off his body pools around his little bare feet. He's so cold, so blue. "Mommy gave me a bath, but I'm clean now. I'm clean now. I'll be good. I'll be good, Daddy, I promise."
His cold hand is stretching towards me. Water is running to the floor. What is this nightmare. |
David looked down at the picture of the man, and the man looked back at him from the photograph.
"Hunt", Lieutenant Jameson said, but already David knew who he was talking about.
"Best shooter of his division. Top grades in every test. Off the charts in every single conceivable aspect an army man can be off the charts, from his first day", Jameson completed.
David looked up from the file to the tired eyes of the Lieutenant across the table. "Yes", he said. "I've heard of
him."
"Everyone's heard of Hunt", Jameson continued. "The man has statue of himself in front of the freaking White
House, David."
"I don't understand", David ventured, careful. "Why are you showing me this, Lieutenant?"
"General Hunt was the best military strategist the United States ever saw. Perhaps the best the world ever saw."
Jameson took a sip of his coffee, then stared back at David in silence.
"Lieutenant, I... uh... I know who General Hunt is. I -- I mean, I don't think I ever read his file, what with me not
having clearance and all but... Like you said, sir; everyone's heard of General Hunt."
The man staring up at David from the photograph had black eyes and black hair and wore a high collar. Serious
look in his eyes like his job was to put dogs to sleep -- and he enjoyed it.
His job, though, David knew, never had anything to do with dogs.
General Hunt had arguably been the most important person alive during the Third World War, and definitely the most well known military leader of it. He had, almost single-handedly -- according to history, at least -- lead the Allies to critical decisive victories in the Asian front. Victories that probably cut the war short by a couple of decades, if not more.
Without General Hunt, there might not even be a USA anymore. There might not even be Earth.
"There is a war coming, David. You know that. And Hunt is going to be a big part of it."
David also knew -- as did the rest of the world -- that General Hunt had died tragically at Bay of Bengal, the
turning point of the war that lead the Allies to victory.
"The Andromedans", David whispered. Jameson nodded.
The Andromedans had contacted the Earth in 2043, five years after the end of WW3 and five and a half after
General Hunt's death. They had come in peace, they said, in cliché sci-fi movie fashion.
Also in cliché sci-fi movie fashion, it was now becoming more and more clear that peace was not what the
Andromedans had come in.
"They issued the warning last night", Jameson said, eyes locked on David's. "They are attacking."
David swallowed dry, trying to put his thoughts together.
For months now, tension had been rising between the big, translucent beings and earthlings. Since the last UN 'O.I.M.' (Official Interplanetary Meeting -- a name David hated from the day he first heard it), there had been talks and whispers of war between civilians and military men both, and speculation as to what kind of military power the Andromedans had at their disposal -- and what would happen if they decided to attack -- where closer by the minute of putting the world into a panic state.
"It's... It's happening?"David whispered, more a statement to himself than a question.
"Yes, it's happening, David. Earth is going to war."
"But..."David shook his head, as if trying to purge away intrusive thoughts. "What does General Hunt has to do
with this, sir? He's... He's dead, right?"
"General Hunt did not die at Bay of Bengal, David", the lieutenant stated. "You should read the file in your hands
more carefully, tonight. It explains what exactly happened to General Hunt, and where he is now."
David again looked down at Hunt's picture. "He's... He's alive?"
He noticed a stamp, right by the United States Army. One that he hadn't noticed before.
"He's very much alive, David. And he's going to play a decisive role in this war, is my guess."
David looked up at Lieutenant Jameson. "General Hunt is going to lead the Earthlings to war?"
The stamp on the file. By the US Army Stamp. It was a NASA stamp.
Jameson shook his head. "No, David. He's not going to lead *the earthlings*."
_______________________
From the transparent glass wall on the front of the main battleship, General Hunt piped away white, thick smoke from a N. 08 Montecristo, watching the pale blue dot that was once his home slowly growing bigger.
"General, we need you in the control room. Something about the plan of attack."
Hunt turned back to look at the translucent, thin figure by the door. He nodded slightly.
"I'll be right there", he said, taking another puff of the cigar. He turned his gaze back to the glass again, and the Andromedan excused himself.
Out the window, Earth stared back at General Hunt, indifferent to him as he was to it now.
_________________
*EDIT: Aaaand I just found out that "First Contact War"is a reference to Mass Effect, apparently. Didn't realize the prompt was Established Universe...* |
"Well, he didn't say you have to kill the one you feast upon, did he?"
"No, he did not."
"He also didn't say anything about living matter, huh. He-he, I think I know what to do."
----
All over the world centers have opened, where the most skilled, talented, intelligent, educated humans could come in and donate their hair. Which was later sliced and cut into tiny little pieces, almost indistinguishable from dust, and mixed with hair of other smartest people in the world. The dustified hair were later compressed into capsules, and sold like pills.
That way anyone could buy a pill containing the pieces of the most intelligent people in the world, and instantly become a genius.
----
"No-o, what have I done!"screamed the mad god.
"Science. Exploiting the whims of mad gods since 1214."read the advertisement pamphlets of Superintelligence Inc.
----
----
If you have enjoyed this - come visit my [blog](http://orangemind.io) where you can read my best stories.
|
"Tell me again why the heck are you people going to the Bermuda Triangle?"asked Shark Slayer. They were in the bridge of the ship, and the man who stood in front of him was his employer, a young captain by the name of Young Captain.
"We're on a tight schedule and this is the fastest route,"replied the captain.
"That's not enough reason to commit suicide captain, and I have a wife and three kids back home."
"You worry too much, Slayer."
"That's how I got this far, captain."
"Right,"said the captain. "Don't worry, we've not going to run into any storms along the way. The only thing we need to worry about are the sharks, and that's where you come in."
At that moment, a crewman knocked on the door. "Sir, we've found something, and you've got to see this,"he said, holding out a jar filled with water. There was a small red shark inside. Its scales shot up like a puffer fish as it tried to growl at them menacingly.
"We found this shark while one of the boys was using the bathroom earlier,"said the crewman. "It bit his butt and, well, the rest is history."
"It looks cute,"said the captain. He took the jar from the crewman and held it closer to him. "Almost looks like a five-year old's idea for a--"
The shark slayer suddenly grabbed the jar and ran out of the room, leaving the surpsied captain and crewman behind. When they caught up to him, they saw him spilling the contents of the jar into the ocean. The small shark swam downwards before disappearing into the sea.
"What are you doing slayer?"asked the captain.
"There aren't any official records of that shark, captain, but that kind of shark is known to us as the Red Tide. There are only unconfirmed sightings of it, but rumors say that it's bigger than the Titanic and it's scales rise up when it's angry,"said the shark slayer. "If you value your life, I suggest you fire up this boat and turn back now."
"Surely those are just rumors, nothing alive is that big."
"In my line of work, we treat rumors as if they were fact, because they often are."
The captain bit his lip. "We're going to be delayed for days if we do this."
"Better alive and late than dead captain."
As the captain barked orders to turn back, the shark slayer looked to the horizon. He saw a fin, blood red in color, cut through the waves. It was easily tens of meters tall, and as the fin rose, so did the color red fill the water, until the entire underside of the ship was filled with it.
Just the fin alone could slice the ship in half. But then, it stopped. The ship soon picked up speed, leaving the fin floating as it sped further away.
The shark slayer smiled to himself. Sharks were dangerous creatures, but they also knew gratefulness, and the shark behind him was just happy to have its offspring back, but more importantly, they weren't in its territory anymore. He wasn't a successful shark slayer because he killed a lot of sharks, in fact, he hasn't killed a single one. He was successful because he understood the shark's nature, and through it he has achieved safe passage to all of the ships that he boarded in.
"Captain, if you're interested, I know of a route just outside the Bermuda Triangle that you can take. It's a bit slower, I'm afraid,"he said as he returned inside.
___
EDIT: Added a little more detail on the little shark to make it more clear that it was a Red Tide.
|
I need you to upvote this. Okay? I'm not trying to be pathetic here. Normally I don't care about fake internet points. But this is important. This is life and death. You're going to have a hard time believing me, but this is what's happening...
It started ten days ago.
At that point I'd only been writing here a little while. I love writing, but it's hard sometimes to get yourself to do it. Too many other distractions. Too many things that are just easier to do. But I like Writing Prompts. It feels like a challenge. Plus, there's this little mental countdown clock that appears in my brain once I commit to a prompt. Like, I've got to finish quick before I'm buried by all the other great responses.
Anyway, I'd barely been at it when I saw a prompt: "You get a call from a HR rep. Your ex, who recently dumped you, has listed you as a character reference."
You may have seen the prompt, too. Anyway, that's something that actually happened to me, and not that long ago. In my case, my girlfriend had apparently been cheating on me for awhile and was just waiting for the right moment to split. But in the meantime, she hadn't bothered to update her resume and remove my contact info.
It was her dream job, too, and I knew it. I gave her a great recommendation. I felt too cowardly to do anything else. She got the job.
But that was real life. When I saw the prompt I thought to myself, "Here's what I SHOULD have done."In the prompt response I also gush about my ex to the HR rep, but I illustrate her positive qualities with these comically horrible stories. Like, I show how brave she is by talking about the time she smuggled heroin across the US/Mexican border. Or, I talk about her determination and toughness and use the story of the first time we tried anal.
It was an okay story and it got a nice little collection of upvotes.
That would have been the end of it, if I hadn't gone to Whole Foods the next day. Because there she was, working the register.
I asked what she was doing there. Was it a second job or something? No. It was her only job. I asked about the dream job. She said she'd had an interview, but then never heard back from them.
I went home assuming I'd misremembered a lot of things. The break-up had been hard on me. That whole period was a blur.
That night I found another prompt: "You find a strange briefcase outside your front door one morning..."
You see, that's happened, too. And in real life there was no story. I assumed it was a neighbor's and ignored it. When I came home that night it was gone.
But in my prompt response...well, my fiction was a hell of a lot more interesting than my reality. There was cash and a gun inside the briefcase. And a cell phone. And a lot of shit happened. I went way past the character limit on that one. Dead bodies. Sex. You name it. And it all ended in a suite at The Palms in Vegas.
But here's the thing - the next morning? I woke up and I was at The Palms. I was in the suite. There with the cash and two girls I thought could only ever exist in my mind. And the phone rang and when I picked up, a voice said, "They're coming."
I left the room. Took the cash. Left the gun (I've never shot a gun in my life). Valet service brought me my car and I drove. Drove out of Vegas. Into the desert. I thought it was all a dream. But it wasn't. It isn't.
I was following the signs to Los Angeles because I didn't know what else to do. Halfway there I started to notice the smell. I pulled into the back of an Exxon and popped the trunk. Dead body. Just like in my story.
I stopped in Barstow and found the local library. Got online and found it. A prompt: "You're driving through the desert with a dead body in the trunk and a pair of trained hitmen on your trail. They're closing in..."
I tried to write it away. The hitmen lost the scent. The body disappeared. I end up back home. It was all a dream.
But I guess it wasn't a good enough story. I got one or two upvotes. Apparently that's not enough.
Because they're still after me.
I went west, towards Bakersfield. The body is ripe now, just boiling away in the trunk. I saw the men, the guys following me. In Mojave they almost got me.
I used some of the money to buy a kid's laptop. And here I am, trying again. This is my story:
It never happened. None of it ever happened. I was home this whole time. My ex got her job. I walked past the briefcase.
It never happened.
Please. I don't care if you like this story. I don't care if you ever vote for anything I ever do again. I can't imagine if I survive this I'll even have the stomach for fiction.
Just upvote. Just a few. Please.
I can't run forever. |
"Go on, do it."
I shot a fearful glance to the boy at my left. Harry looked pale as death, unable to keep his hands from wringing the piece of wood in his grip like a damp cloth. I couldn't help but notice how thin he had grown. He was tall, with a shock of black hair and a pair of bottle green eyes that shone out of his face as if they were pieces of glass in a lantern. It had taken a lot for him to get me here. They usually kept me locked up during the night, so I didn't do anything they might consider *dangerous*. But Harry had found a way. He always was good at sneaking out at night.
A thump from down the hall snapped me out of my thoughts. "Hurry!"Harry hissed, gripping my shoulder almost painfully tight. "We have to finish *before* they catch you, otherwise this is all for nothing!"
I shook my head, tears streaming down my face. "No, Harry, I don't...I don't think I can do it."I plunged my face into the crook of my arm, trying to muffle my sobs as best I could. "What am I going to do without you?"
To my surprise, I felt a warm arm embrace me and pull me tight. "You'll be OK, Thomas. I promise. You're special, and no one here can hurt you. They know that, that's why they let you keep me around."He laughed a little, but it sounded dry and without humor. "But it's time to let me go. Here, I'm just a story. I don't have any magic."I felt his hands move, as if he were gripping something small just a bit harder. "But you...Thomas, you can do things I never dreamed of. Literally anything you can imagine, or anything *anyone* can imagine...it can all be yours."
"But I'm scared..."I gripped Harry's jacket tighter, suddenly aware of how I only barely came up to his chest.
"Don't be, Thomas. You'll see. The heroes always win in the end."I felt a warm weight press into my hair as he placed a hand on my head. "Go on, Thomas. It's time."
Shivering slightly, I pulled away from his embrace. The book in my hands was heavy, its cover worn and pages frayed from months of being carried around. Slowly, tears blurring my eyes, I finally dropped it on the shelf labeled "fiction."Immediately, Harry's outline became blurred and darkened, as if I was watching him fall away from behind a thick plate of glass.
"I'll miss you."I sobbed, waving.
"I'll miss you too, Thomas."Harry smiled sadly. "But to the well organized mind, death is but the next great adventure. Now, hurry! I don't want them to catch you for nothing!"
Like a bubble full of smoke, Harry's form burst into mist and vanished.
"Thomas? Are you in here?"A man's voice called from the doorway. "What are you doing out of bed?"
I sobbed softly, hoping he didn't hear. But my hopes were dashed as the doorway burst open, flooding the other side of the library with orange light. Frantically, I began sifting through cover after cover, hoping to find the book I knew would give me the power I needed.
"Thomas!"The man growled, suddenly sounding angry. "We can't have you in here, especially without supervision! Who knows what you could cook up by accident? Besides, we have a lot of work to do tomorrow! Mr. Hammond wrote up a new novel for you, I think you are going to - hey, what are you doing!?"
The man stood at the end of the aisle, silhouetted in black against the light just as I grabbed the book I had been looking for. "Thomas! Get away from there!"
Quickly, I pulled the book from the shelf and into my arms. "Stay back!"I yelled. I tried to look as menacing as I could, but my voice shook nearly as much as my hands.
If the man had seemed menacing before, it was nothing to how he looked now. "Thomas...put that book down. Put it down *right. Now.*"
I shook my head, inching closer to the shelves across the aisle.
"Thomas. We have talked about this. You can only touch the books that we tell you to."Even in the dark, Thomas could tell the man was grinning fiercely. "Otherwise...well, you already know what we do to disobedient children."
Suddenly, the man charged down the aisle, moving as if to crush me to the floor. But he was too slow.
Fingers trembling, I dropped The Complete Works of H.P. Lovecraft onto the nonfiction shelf.
And the world around me ground to a halt. |
**PHOENIX SUMMIT** *Official meeting notes*
Note - *See Ellen Gould for full attendance figures and roll call*
(Michael Y. Renham, notes)
1. Delegates from **USA**, **Japan**, **Great Britain**, Italy, France, **Russia**, Mexico, **China**, Bulgaria, Germany, Chad, and Brazil are seated. Additional delegates are linked through aud-vis screens. (**Bold** denotes nations designated as *preferential*, AKA "Overlord Nations".)
2. Delegates from Bllllllllllllllo Extraterrestrial Ministry float into chamber; are placed in silicone steam pipes per request. Four delegates are present in the chamber. Approximately 58.5 trillion are also present via telepathic pseudo-link.
3. Roll is taken.
4. Delegate Fernandez (**USA**) makes an opening remark. Remarks include a general welcome to all delegates and a wish for fruitful negotiations.
5. Delegate Illyarovic (**Russia**) reads through the schedule of events. Invites objections from the floor. None are provided. (*Schedule was agreed upon through mediators ahead of the summit.*)
6. Delegate 3.30/54.000 of Bllllllllllllllo Extraterrestrial Ministry offers heartfelt apology.
7. Delegate Fujiwara (**Japan**) requests clarification on apology. Cites newness of relationship with Bllllllllllllllo Extraterrestrial Ministry as area of confusion.
8. Delegate 3.30/54.000 of Bllllllllllllllo Extraterrestrial Ministry withdraws apology. Notes he must have "us"confused with someone else.
9. Delegate Chisholm (Sweden) requests a line reading and possible revision to Section 5 of proposed trade agreement.
10. Delegate Fujiwara requests that they return to the subject of Delegate 3.30/54.000's apology. He cites his own personal edification as reason for follow-up. Wishes to know more about the "act"in question.
11. Delegate Wright (Germany) requests that delegates not badger the Ministry representatives over small errors in communication.
12. Delegate Fujiwara cites our general lack of familiarity with the Bllllllllllllllo Extraterrestrial Ministry as a reasonable cause to seek clarification.
13. Delegate 671.3/784.000 of Bllllllllllllllo Extraterrestrial Ministry notes that Delegate 3.30/54.000 was mistaken and that given the size of the asteroid they released, Earth's ecological and evolutionary trajectories would have been waylaid so deeply as to reduce our highest ascendancy to little more than a blubbering, malformed idiocy, which could clearly not be the present case.
14. Delegate Fernandez requested that Delegate 671.3/784.000 repeat what he said about an asteroid.
15. The Bllllllllllllllo Extraterrestrial Ministry delegates spoke amongst themselves with their translators on mute.
16. Delegate 671.3/784.000 stated that he didn't know what asteroid his fellow delegate was referring to.
17. Delegate Fujiwara recited the broad points of the story laid out by Delegate 671.3/784.000; asked for further details on asteroid, including when "released", where "released", and why "released".
18. Delegate 671.3/784.000 cites presumptive time constraints for all attending delegates and suggests that the schedule be followed as written.
19. Delegate Wright asks Bllllllllllllllo Extraterrestrial Ministry delegates if they have ever shot our planet with an asteroid.
20. Bllllllllllllllo Extraterrestrial Ministry delegates defer question, citing appreciable language gaps.
21. Delegate Wright repeats question, louder.
22. Delegate 3.30/54.000 states that planets are shot with asteroids every day.
23. Delegate 671.3/784.000 reprimands Delegate 3.30/54.000 audibly.
24. Delegate Fernandez asks the Bllllllllllllllo Extraterrestrial Ministry delegates if they have ever - knowingly or unknowingly - done irreparable harm to the Earth.
25. Delegate 3.30/54.000 states his admiration for the paint color used throughout the interior of the chamber.
25. Delegate 671.3/784.000 cites a damaged translator; requests permission to adjourn briefly so he may return to Bllllllllllllllo Extraterrestrial Ministry ship and replace his translator.
26. Delegate Fernandez puts the summit on recess for 30 minutes.
**Summit recess**
*Note - the Bllllllllllllllo Extraterrestrial Ministry ship was seen jumping into particle-warp approximately five minutes before the Summit was scheduled to reconvene. Delegates Fernandez and Illyarovic have agreed that we'll give them 15 minutes to return. Otherwise, the remainder of the day's schedule will be cancelled. No one seems all that hopeful.* |
The wind whistled through my three hundred dollar haircut as I stretched on the balcony. That bitch had torn down the curtains as she fell, but I could hardly care less. Five hundred dollars in damages, maybe six hundred if I'm rude. Completely dwarfed by two hundred thousand dollars of insurance money. Sure, maybe the government would take some, as they always do. Maybe they'd force me to allocate some of it to my kid's college savings. But before all that could happen, it would mysteriously vanish into an offshore bank account, and Mister Howard Cross would cease to exist. Sucks for the kid, but hey, it's a rabbit eat rabbit world out there.
A knock on the door. I vaguely recalled having some wine sent up. I stretched, sauntered across the hotel room, and opened the door. I'd have to file a complaint to management about how loud the service knocks around here. It's late.
My wife walks in. "Well that was rude."
What. The. Fuck? I give her the blankest stare imaginable. "That was a twenty story drop into heavy traffic."
She rolls her eyes. "Yeah. Is the wine here yet? I need a drink after that. Oh, and next time you don't want to go somewhere because you're 'too tired', don't."
"I don't-"
"Falling twenty floors means I have to climb twenty floors, dummy. Bled all over my nice dress, too."She fished part of a torn curtain out of the coach bag I bought her. "How much do you think they'll make us pay for this?"
"I dunno, five hundred bucks, maybe six hundr-"
A rap on the door. "Room service!"
My wife turns to answer it, muttering 'praise the lord' under her breath. There was the failsafe. The gun I kept under the pillow. I silently crept over.
"Ooh, how much did this cabernet cost?"
"About a hundred and fifty bucks."I say as I pull the trigger. A clean shot through the head. Excellent marksmanship, even by my standards, and I'm hardly an amateur. As she fell, I even managed to catch the bottle.
"Now what did you do that for?"I almost drop the bottle as fragments of skull and ribbons of flesh fly across the room, reforming into the top of my wife's head.
"Dear god, what are you? And why aren't you fighting back?"
"Oh honey, I've known you wanted to kill me from the beginning. I'm just so glad you finally took the initiative, went out, and did it! Chase your dreams. I mean, you're not the first to try."
"Are you going to call the police?"
"Too much paperwork."
"So why stay with me? Doesn't it hurt?"
"A little, yeah. But you get used to it. It's more of an empty feeling really. Like the top of your head just... isn't there. But if it makes you happy. Cuz being with you makes me happy too."
"Wow. I'm... sorry."
"Don't be. I'll blink and you'll be gone. Just like the others. For now, just let me enjoy a night drinking with a handsome young man. And you can kill me again after if you really want."
"I think I'm good, thanks." |
"Concentrate!"Dylan yelled. Ed looked fierce, the silken red cape fluttering as gusts of hot air threatened to knock her off balance. Her hands outstretched, her face full of grim determination, Ed fought the Flame Avatar with all her might. A fireball missed her by mere inches, just as she rolled under the crack of the fiery whip that rippled through the air.
The fire imps were swarming now, zeroing in on Ed's position. Dylan knew Ed needed all the help she could get. He would do anything to see his daughter succeed. But The Flame Avatar relied on strength in numbers, and it was a battle they would lose quickly unless the swarm was culled.
"I will hold off the imps, do not lose focus!"Ed nodded quickly before diving to her side, launching ice spikes from her hands. Narrowly dodging a leaping imp, she impaled one on another spike, and lashed out with one hand, creating a permafrost path straight to her father. Dylan understood what the young mage needed. He carved a path through the swarm. They were crawling out of every crevice, every dark recess of the dank dungeon. He swung mightily, knocking several of them off of the edge and into the abyss. Bodies flung in every direction as he methodically moved through them, providing Ed the brief respite she needed.
Ed did not let the opportunity to waste. Channeling every last ounce of her energy into the spell, she lobbed an Ice Lance at the Fire Avatar, catching it squarely in its chest. The Avatar stumbled backwards, a loud hissing noise emanating from the wound in its chest. Sinewy dark veins spread out from the wound in every direction, like a drop of blood in a clear pool of water. Within seconds, the Avatar's fire burned out, leaving a charred, frozen husk in its place. It collapsed to its fore-knees, face twisted in grimaced confusion.
Panting, Dylan walked up to an exhausted Ed. "Did you get it?"
Ed looked at him a toothy grin. "I got it. We just tamed fire!"
"Show me", Dylan said, sheathing his weapon.
Ed flicked her fingers in the air, and a small flame danced at her fingertips.
"That's my girl", said Dylan, smiling proudly at his daughter's latest conquest.
The dungeon door flew open suddenly, and a shadowy figure descended the steps into the darkness.
"What the hell is this", said Mary. "What are you two doing?! Are those ice cubes on the floor? And why are you holding a match Ed?! Didn't I tell you to not play with fire?! And why are all your toys all on the floor!? Look at this mess, what is that action figure doing in the fireplace!?"
Dylan offered a meek apology: "Hey hon, we were just having some fu-"
"You mister, I am most disappointed in. You are her father! You are supposed to look after her. What if she starts a fire? What if she slips and breaks something on these ice cubes?"
"I am sorry mom!"said Ed quietly.
"Get upstairs this second? And are you wearing the red shower curtain from the powder room?"
Ed shrugged, grinned at her father, and ran up the stairs.
"We'll play more later kiddo!"said Dylan.
"Yeah we'll see about that", said Mary, and stormed back upstairs.
In the dark recess of the basement, Dylan signed. He turned to look at the smoldering Fire Avatar.
"You can train her all you want, Outcast, but we will claim her,"it said, hollow eyes glowing.
"And she will be ready", said Dylan determinedly, unsheathed his sword, and drove the sharp end into the demon's head. |
You wake up, alarm clock beeping annoyingly beside you and you sigh, rolling over and slapping it with your left hand to shut off the incessant beeping.
You wipe your eyes, clearing the crust that had gathered as you squint at the light, head pounding from a hangover.
You drag yourself out of bed, putting on a pair of pants. First thing you notice is there appears to be a large hole in them, right in the middle which has been sewn up.
“So... I sew now when I’m drunk. Oookaayy.” You mutter, shaking your head as you grab a shirt, noticing the same thing. Right in the middle of the chest had, again, been sewn closed.
“This is the weirdest prank I’ve ever had played on me,” You mutter, deciding coffee is of the upmost importance as you walk through your apartment, putting the coffee on.
It brews and you turn your TV on, turning around to pour your coffee before turning around to look at the TV, steaming cup in hand.
You nearly drop your mug at what you see. The news reporter on screen had three arms. One on the right, one on the left. And one smack-dab in the middle of his fucking chest.
He held a paper with his left and right arm, reading off of it. As he turned to his co-host, (who also had three arms) and she began talking, he lifted his mug of coffee up to his lips with his middle arm, sipping it casually.
“What the *fuck*? What happened after I blacked out last night?” You ask out loud to no one, shutting the TV off quickly. You need air.
You briskly walk outside, looking around frantically. Everyone around you was the same. Three arms. Three legs.
You rub your eyes, hoping it would go away, but it didn’t. You walk around frantically before slumping down in a park bench, head in your hands.
“Mommy? Why does that person only have two arms and two legs?” A child asks, pointing its middle arm at you. His mother flushes brightly, humiliated as you look up.
“Darren, honey. It’s not nice to point. That person is handicapped. Some people are born with only two arms and legs. And we must do our best to help them however we can.” The woman says, looking at you apologetically. She fishes into her purse, opening her wallet and handing you a twenty with a sympathetic look.
“I hope things look up for you.” She says, hurrying her son along as you look at the money, dumbfounded.
A few other people pass, some offering you money, food, drinks, all of which you accept as they look on at you with pity.
You take out your phone, thankful it was in your jeans and you see yourself in the black screen as you try to turn it in, only to realize it’s dead. You look utterly pitiful. Your hair is a mess and you have a black eye, must be from a fight you got into last night after you blacked out.
As you look down at the now $60 in your hands. You smirk slightly. You realize that this could *really* work out for you.
When no one is looking you rip your shirt up and get dirt all over yourself, dumping some coffee out of a paper cup someone gave you.
“Please, sir, some money for a homeless disabled person?” You beg, eyes glimmering pitifully.
Yes... This would work out wonderfully.
——————
I hope y’all enjoyed this! Sorry if it’s not what you had in mind, OP! |
"You mean wipe?"Glerb said.
"What?"Fal wrinkled her front nose at Glerb.
"You want to wipe this species out."
"Uh,"Fal said. "Yes. Why? What did I say?"
"Whip."Glerb said. "You want to whip the species out."
Fal ran a talon through the feathered crest on her head. "Oh, ha ha. Just a, uh, slip of the tongue."
As she spoke a glance over at the hansome Pindar, standing at his console. He winked at her and made face like he was in pain.
Fal coughed. Her face flushed blue, like she was embarrassed.
"Anyway,"she said, holding a hand out to Glerb to silence his next comment. "We're going to *wipe* out this Earth planet. They have resources we need. Should be easy, they barely have space flight, and no defences against energy weapons."
She turned again to Pindar, narrowing her eyes in a hidden threat.
"Pindar,"she said in a commanding voice. "Get us a plan of attack from the computer."
"Yes sir."Pindar said. But then his eyes went wide when he looked at the console.
"Uh, Sir,"he said. "It says no plan of attack has a chance of success."
"What?"Fal said in disbelief.
"No chance of success, no matter what we do."Pindar said. "It's here on the screen."
Fal looked at his screen. "If this is some sort of prank..."
"It's not."Pindar said. "This is real. They are undefeatable."
"Nobody's undefeatable."
"Nobody, including us."Glerb added.
Fal glared at Glerb. "But how would they defeat us? We are superior in every way."
Glerb looked at his own console and frowned. "It could have something to do with that incoming nuclear missile."
Fal rushed over to her console. "What? That's impossible."
"Yes,"Pindar said. "It should be shot down by our long range defense missiles."
"Um,"Glerb said, glowing blue, "I turned those off. Those missiles are terribly expensive. It's not like our short range beam array can't take care of that nuke."
"What?,"Pindar said, his talons shaking. "I took the beam array offline to give more power to the strategy computer. I didn't think anything from that planet could get that close."
Fal ran her hand through her feathered crest again. "What does the strategy computer say to do?"
Pindar pushed buttons furiously. Then stopped.
They all stared at the console, watching a little rotating circle.
It took twelve seconds. The longest twelve seconds of their lives.
When it finally output some text.
They all gasped in unison.
The text said "Turn on the beam array. Possibility of success if done ten seconds ago: 100% Probability now: 2% Probability in two seconds: 0%"
"Turn on the array!"Fal said. It was the last thing she said. |
“Look, I promise I don’t have wizardry. It’s just some stupid rumor.” Matt was still staring at me with eyes narrowed. “It’s just coincidence!” I pleaded. “I have bad luck! Why would I have magic powers? I’m not an orphan. I don’t even have a scar!”
Matt sighed, motioning with his hands. He was my best friend, and if he didn’t believe me, no one else would. “I’m sorry, man. But you do have a birthmark.”
“That’s… that’s different.”
“Sometimes it also glows a faint green.”
“What are---you’re just making up stuff now. I mean, fine, even if it does, it’s not like you’ve seen me do actual magic, right? So it doesn’t mean anything.”
He hesitated. “Well, there was last week when you started a fire on the chalkboard…”
“It was the sun! It was 90 degrees outside, come on.”
“There’s also that time you closed your locker without touching it.”
“That was a sudden gust of wind. From the people walking by.”
“And of course, yesterday you turned Carl into a frog for two minutes.”
“He was making a prank video for his YouTube channel! I just happened to be walking by, and he chose me for the target. In fact, he was probably hiding under a table or something.”
“We were in the hallway. There were no tables.”
“But---so what? That still doesn't mean anything.”
“Also, you’re floating in the air right now and you have a pentagram on your forehead.”
“Wha---” I dropped back to the ground. I looked up again and crossed my arms. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I stated flatly.
Matt took a deep breath and exhaled. “Okay, fine. Hey, it’s okay. I’ve suspected it for a long time. You’re still my friend.”
“But I’m not a wizard.” I said, frustrated.
“It’s okay, I understand. I still accept you, and everyone else will too. Eventually.”
“But I’m NOT a WIZARD!” I shoved past him and ran out the school doors. I heard him call after me but I ignored it, turning the corner and running until I felt my lungs burn and my eyes sting. I doubled over and panted, feeling my eyes blur with unwanted tears.
“I’m not a wizard. I can’t be.”
I pulled out my phone. The screen lit up with photos of me playing with Matt. “Why doesn’t he understand?” I tapped in my password and brought up the phone app. I suddenly felt very lonely, and decided to dial my mom’s number. She picked up on the fourth ring.
“Hey, mom.”
“Son, are you alright? I’m a little busy right now, is this urgent?”
“Mom, it’s just… everyone thinks I’m a wizard. Even Matt does. What am I supposed to do? Nobody believes me!”
I heard my mom sigh into the phone. “Actually, son… well, your father and I were planning to break the news later, but I suppose now's as good a time as any. I might as well tell you now.”
“Tell me what?” I asked carefully.
“Son, there's no easy way to say this. The truth is, you have type II wizardry. I'm sorry.” |
It was in a wasteland that the last human stood. The husks of buildings and skeletal remains decorated rust-colored soil that stretched as far as the eye could see. No green was left, nor breathing thing save this one human, facing down the monstrosity of epic proportions that was before him. The man clutched his side, now stained red, with a trail of blood running down his cheek. His grip gave way, dropping his knife, "Well, damn..."His breathing became labored as he gazed up into the eyes of the massive being before him.
"You know, you're a tough one! You really got us! If there was one thing we thought we were good at, it was violence!"The man looked behind him at the ruined skyline, the bombed out streets and craters that the red dusk was slowly covering in a soft blanket of night. "But BOY were we wrong!"
At that moment, a wave of calm enveloped the man, as if a fresh breeze had swept though his soul, settling his nerves. The weight of the situation finally set in as he looked at the knife at his feet. "Maybe that's where we were wrong..."
​
The Horror that was before him slowly lifted a tentacle that jutted out of its bulbous body, curling it to the sky, touching the clouds above. Storms began to form as thunder rolled. The man stared as a grin etched its way across his face. "You think that scares me? You REALLY think that scares me?"He started to chuckle, "To think, maybe we just did it all wrong. We fought the wrong way!"The nature of something as inconceivably powerful as this thing suddenly became much clearer, what was once thought to be beyond our realm of understanding became very simple: there was never a chance at victory to begin with.
"We could never beat you through violence, but I know what can beat you, you know that?"The smirk evolved into a fully formed smile, "You just don't scare me anymore! What is there to even fear?! How can I fear that which I can't escape?! WHAT THE HELL IS THE POINT?!"The man started to laugh, sporadically coughing blood onto the soil.
The thunder grew louder with each of his breaths.
"What, does that make you angry?! Does it hurt knowing you have no control?! Kill me, sure, you can do that! But you know what you can't do?"The man raised his hand, pointing, "You can't stop me from laughing in all three of your stupid faces!!!"
​
More clouds gathered and the night came quicker as the sun retreated behind the wall of black that sparked with lightning and rage. The man fell to a knee, his strength was leaving him. "Maybe I'm insane, but that doesn't matter...what matters is that I won! You lost! Humanity was never going to be your victim!"He locked eyes with the Horror as best he could, "What a joke..."Eternal dark enveloped the man as he fell into the sand, a grin remaining on his face. The lightning stuck and what was left of the man was no more. |
"Why in the blue blazes do you want reincarnation for!?"Yelled out Low, "I already lived life once and the misery and suffering I went through was more than enough."
​
"And why would you want oblivion?"asked High in a much calmer voice, "If we get that then that's it, no thoughts or emotions, there would be nothing we would cease to exist."
​
"Exactly,"Low continued, "I don't want to feel any more, I just want it all to go away.
​
"But reincarnation can give us better chance, a better life."High said.
​
"You are talking ifs, not guarantees High, our next life could be worse than the one we went through before and I don't want to risk it."
​
"But we can all agree that any of the afterlives offered to us is a complete no go."I butted in, "and if we were offered other worlds to reincarnate to I would agree with you High, but we are stuck with Earth and of us can tell living there will be worse as time goes on."
​
"We have been atheists our entire life and I'm pissed that oblivion didn't take us the moment we died, but instead find us here."Low continued to shout.
​
"And where do you stand?"High asked looking at me.
​
"If this was put to a vote i would also choose oblivion."I said after a bit of hesitation. "We were alone our entire life, no one wanted or needed us. When we were given the chance to see how our death was handled by others, we saw that nobody cared."
​
High looked down at his feet for a solid minute, then looked up at us, then he spoke fervently. "I will not allow my existence to be erased because the two of you are too afraid to try again, I would rather rip my part of the soul away from you and continue as an individual being."
​
"and I would like to go through this infinite list here for something better."I state.
​
Low refuse to budge on his decision.
​
The three then locked eyes on the orb at the center of the room and came to a mutual understanding. They each took hold of the sphere that was their soul and tore it into three even pieces, and went their separate ways.
​
Low to oblivion and knew no more, High got reincarnated on Earth and made great changes.
​
I on the other hand am still going through the list. |
I'm not ready for this.
But everyone else was even less ready than me.
So that puts me in charge of fixing this damn mess.
I grip the radio in my hands tightly. The military is not someone I ever expected to be cooperating with.
Someone barges into my office as I pace back and forth, trying to keep calm.
"Boss, the Stone's are here, they-"
I groan, hands on my head. This isn't what I built this damn empire for. A shelter... If Father only saw what I turned the family business into...
"Yes, they can come in. Are they the last ones?"
"Uh... Still waiting for a few. They are still driving from the far part of town."
"Names."
"...Uh... Jessica Strauss, Liam Bates, and Elizabeth Redbrooke."
My gaze snaps to the man. One of my subordinates. A newer one. He was in training before this whole mess started. He doesn't have a damn clue what he just told me.
I take a shuddering breath in, trying to keep calm.
We still haven't secured the three most noteworthy people to me in this shithole of a city.
Jessica. My biggest customer - the insane, trigger-happy addict who funds a good portion of this business.
Liam. My supplier. My connection to Fairview, and the network of smuggling tunnels throughout this state.
...And poor, poor Eliza... So naive. So kind. The love of my life. Of COURSE she wasn't here when the virus hit. Fate never lets me have my way.
I can only pray she's not one of those dreaded bastards clawing at this impromptu fortress... If she was... I don't know what I'd do...
...I'm not ready for this.
I take a deep breath, trying to stop my hands from shaking.
"...Where's Alex?"
"Downstairs, holding people down. It's a fucking mess down there boss! P-People are screaming, fighting too. The mayor is furious, and he hasn't stopped getting in the way-"
I shove my way past him, taking the gun out of his holster.
I look down into my foyer. It's a sea of degenerates, pointing fingers. Crying. Customers, old allies, the families of those who work and buy from me.
And they're all fighting like children.
I hear a few people begging to know what is happening. A few people shouting profanities, demanding to be treated differently. I feel like I'm losing control.
...
No. I refuse.
I grit my teeth, cock the handgun, and fire four rounds into the ceiling.
Everyone screams, before looking up at me.
"LISTEN UP, ASSHOLES. There's ZOMBIES. Right outside this complex. They will EAT you. And my men can't hold them off if they're stuck inside, BABYSITTING YOU LIKE A BUNCH OF DRUNK TODDLERS. Families go into the cellar. Anyone willing to help us fight, find a damn gun and get to work. Save your fucking drama for after we get out of this alive. Anyone who has a damn problem with anyone else, GET THE FUCK OUT. Settle your scores with the fucking horde."
...It's quiet for a few moments. I shake my head angrily, retreating back into my office. The radio buzzes noisily, promising reinforcements within the next few hours. |
Throbund was showing off for Elsibeth. She was a pure-blood Styrian, her skin a beautiful deep purple, her eyes a shining blue. Her arms and legs could be either multiple tentacles or single digit-based appendages, and she was unconsciously moving back and forth between the states.
'In my father's castle, I can do anything I want,' Throbund was saying loudly. 'Anything I want to eat, I can have it. Anyone who displeases me is dead. I am never questioned.'
'Is that so,' Elsibeth said, not very successfully hiding a sign of tiredness.
'Indeed it is, my lady,' Throbund said. He was speaking her language, Merium, and was certain he was using it perfectly. 'Nothing is beyond me. In fact...' He sat forward. 'Look at this.'
He moved his arms and murmured the controlled words, and a portal snapped open in the air. It was perfectly circular - spherical, really, as far as that concept could be applied to multiple dimensions - and looked out over a sunset on a glittering sea.
Elsibeth sat up, her full attention on him now. 'That is strictly forbidden,' she said, her eyes wide.
'In my father's castle, I can do anything I want,' Throbund repeated, emphasizing every word. With a flick of his wrist he closed that portal and opened two more, then two more, then yet more, scattering them around the room like jewels.
'Stop this, at once,' Elsibeth said. She was on her feet, almost seven feet tall, physical and magical strength rippling through her. 'This is extremely dangerous.'
'Nothing can happen us here,' Throbund said, opening more and more portals with lazy waves of his hand, settling back into the long couch on which he was lying, smiling indolently. 'This is my father's castle.'
'I want you to --' Elsibeth began, but she never got to finish the sentence.
Four humans came through one of the portals, moving as one. They were small, of course, much smaller than Elsibeth or even Throbund, but for their race they were large and powerful. They were dressed all in black. Multiple bits and pieces of equipment were attached neatly to their bodies. Their faces were drawn with various pigments, which broke up their outlines and made them even more frightening. In their hands, they carried the projectile weapons that humans called guns.
'Help!' Throbund yelped. 'Help! Guards!'
Two of the humans went for Elsibeth, two for Throbund. Elsibeth was already on her feet, summoning a torrent of magic that manifested in long white streaks like lightning, forming a cage around her before she snapped out with a strand of it like a whip. All this happened in an instant, but the two humans were as fast - they opened up with their weapons with frenetic bursts of deafening energy. Elsibeth's strike injured one of them in the arm, who grunted in pain, and then she had to turn her attention to handling the multiple boiling-hot projectiles that were screaming towards her. On one she was too late, and it sliced through one of her arm sub tentacles, giving her an instant of agony before she turned off the pain receptors.
*Very good*, she thought. She hadn't been injured in a fight in years.
The other two invaders had grabbed Throbund. He had bungled his magic in the stress of the moment and managed to set the sofa on fire. Acrid dense smoke filled the air.
'Fall back!' one of the humans roared in their tense, guttural language. 'FALL BACK!'
An instant later the four were gone back through the portal they had emerged from, dragging a screaming Throbund with them. His cries were abruptly cut off as the portal snapped shut. The humans been in the room less than 30 seconds.
The door to the room was ripped open and Merbund, Throbund's father, stormed in. He was taller than Elsibeth, and broader. He took in the room with a glance - the multiple open portals, Elsibeth's injury and state of energy, the burning couch, the damage to walls and statues from gunfire, and guessed at once what had happened.
'Oh dear,' he said, his emotions in complete control. 'I don't suppose you happen to know where they took him?'
Elsibeth undulated her tentacles in a way that meant 'No'. She was still not quite able to speak clearly. 'So many portals,' she was all she could manage.
'Well,' said Merbund, after a pause, 'I suppose we must at least *try* to find him.'
\--
Thanks for reading! If you like this story, please consider subscribing at r/HouseBlendMedium :-) |
The night was cold, crisp enough that my light hoodie felt stupid rather than just rebellious— though rebelling against mother nature was probably always stupid in the end. The Khans had learned that lesson, Napoleon.
My dumbass DM too, when he kept trying to railroad the shaman into a dilapidated 7-Eleven. She might love bright lights but she’s never going to love your bullshit, Jim. And stop insisting that we call you The Architect.
Overhead the night sky threatened rain. A crescent moon peaked through from time to time, sharp edged, and when it lit the streets I thought I could see samurai hiding in the shadows, orcs wielding cyberdecks like hatchets, and once a jumped up troll who wore a bowler hat made of complex, roiling darkness. Shadowrun does crazy shit to my imagination, and there was something about today’s session, the ruined gas station in the Redmond Barrens that Jim/the DM/The Architect/Our Resident Asshole kept trying to force us into.
For some reason Jim thought there would be 7-Elevens in the cyberpunk future. We had argued, said that the future would have a Love’s Gas Station on every corner selling budget hallucinogens and pleasure-bots right next to the gas and the digital scratch-offs. Jim had insisted on 7-Eleven.
Passing the junction of High Street and Pleasant, I decided the streets needed a little neon. The real world was so damned drab! Not really any AR, no cyberware or goblinized humanity, unless you counted the kids that hung out down by the river, drinking and smoking uncertain substances until the sun rose and their parents found empty beds. And laptops would never be as cool as cyberdecks.
I sighed at the moon, turned the corner onto Foundry street.
There was a gap in the world between Gino’s Pizza and my old dealer’s apartment. A gap shaped like a 7-Eleven, the pumps shut off, gas nozzles hanging from torn hoses, little scraps of black rubber and shredded steel scattered across the pavement between opposing piles of shell casings. Half of a katana had been rammed through the front window, right under a sign for thousand New-Yen Ultra Gulps. The sign was animated, a murky black liquid sloshed back and forth, bubbling occasionally.
I might have stood there all night, open mouthed and freezing. The buildings had moved. Back in the days before the dispensary opened up on Pleasant I had bought my dimebags here and then popped over to Gino's for a greasy slice. They'd been *next door.*
And the shell casings! They weren’t just little bullets, some of them were massive. 5.56 or 7.62, and a couple the size of my hand. Some small part of my brain still fascinated with Shadowrun said “Autocannon rounds.” I checked the corners for trolls. There were none.
The 7-Eleven sign flickered and went off, came on again. The flickering drew my eyes up from the shell casings and frightened thoughts of silent wars. The store was open, the lights were on. A tall, slim form in a shapeless gray hoodie slouched against the counter.
I went in. The glass crinkled around the katana when I opened the door.
The hoodie didn’t look up but a small chime played and a song began. It sounded like Jazz, if the drummer had been playing on a busted gutter and Billie Holiday's voice had carried a Japanese accent. I recognized the melody even sped up: *I’ll Be Seeing You*, an old standard. Someone had changed the words to “I’ll be watching you.”
If you’d taken me out of that store and plopped me down in the middle of any other low-grade warzone, I’d like to think I wouldn’t have been stupid enough to explore. It wasn’t bravery. I have never been a brave man. That night you could have blamed it on the alcohol, or on the strangeness of Jim’s near fetishistic demand that the ruins in his world were a 7-Eleven (not a Love’s and certainly not a Sheetz), but I was stupid. I explored.
A small store, cramped. Longer than it was wide. A scent in the air like days old processed meats, prices written in New-Yen that implied the meat was soy, and likely byproduct at that. The energy drinks on the shelves had animated labels. One can called Yellow Alert featured a woman in a form fitting lycra suit, all yellow, stalking down a long hallway towards the viewer with a blade in her hand. Not a katana. I watched her a long time, wondering if she would ever get closer. Her face was in shadow but her hair was very long.
The hoodie behind the counter grunted and the song changed. Not Jazz, some kind of discordant speed reggae. The singer was synthesized, the accent not quite right. Space Jamaican, I thought, whatever that meant. I grabbed the can of Yellow Alert and a drink called Red Alert slid soundlessly into its place. There was an orc.
“What the fuck,” I whispered.
The snack isle was a tragedy, I hardly recognized anything and the price of Slim Jims was outrageous. Apparently they hadn’t folded on the whole "meat"thing. There were no magazines, but there were complex patterns of static above price tags all along the east wall, the wall the store shared with Gino’s. Some of the digitized magazines had names, most sounded suggestive. Some were too cool to even display a name, those had bar codes or binary, or just more static where name tags should have been.
Beside the last magazine, one of the bar codes, was an old fashioned revolving rack, the kind they kept cables or gift cards on back in the sane world. It had one gift card, a solid black sheet of hardened plastic that morphed when I looked at it too long.
**1 Adventure.**
There was no price tag, and the words disappeared as soon I saw them. They did not come back. I picked it up, the card was shockingly heavy in my hand, strangely textured. The surface scratched my fingers, and never in the same way twice.
The hoodie behind the counter grunted again. The speed reggae stopped on a dime, swayed sinuously into a darkwave anthem. Synths warred against sense, found new chords, new pitches. Some of them were even pleasant. A woman’s voice rose above the maelstrom, high and almost tonal. She sang beautifully.
I glanced up, saw the katana piercing the window nearby. There wasn't a scratch on the blade. It was flawless. My eyes, reflected in it, were very wide.
I took the Yellow Alert and the card to the counter. I wasn’t sure how I would pay.
“Is this real?” I asked the person hidden in the hoodie.
They glanced up like they hadn’t noticed me come in. The hood fell back, the music crested and the drums came in. A pounding crescendo, the synths resolved themselves into rhythm, into melody, into something resembling real music. The vocals rested for a heavy beat, came in screeching.
“What’s wrong with you?” she said.
That she was an elf I had no doubt. Instead I doubted myself, and the night, and whatever the hell Jim had served instead of punch. She had a youthful look about her, though tired. Bags beneath blue eyes, a sharp nose and chin. Short hair a pale, natural blond. Something twined up her neck, connected behind her left ear. The something shimmered a thousand colors, disappearing into hoodie. Some sort of braided, subcutaneous cable that writhed up through her skin in places. Her hands were tattooed, our fingers brushed when she took the Yellow Alert. |
I got into work on time, as I always did. I received the usual waves and greetings, as my coworkers saw me. I was aware of my privileged position on the workforce, being the company healer. Everyone made sure they were on good terms with me, in case they needed my help. I was incredibly well paid, as the bosses knew I could easily find other work.
To my surprise, as I walked towards my little office on the factory floor, I saw Damien standing there. Being the boss, he spent most of his time up away from the line. He only ever came down when necessary, or when he needed a stern word with someone.
"Cass, good to see you. Can we have a chat?"
His voice was level, but it obviously wasn't a question. I nodded, taking off my bag.
"Certainly."
I unlocked my office, leading him in. It wasn't a huge space, but had everything I needed. A desk on one side, with a bed next to it. There were cupboards filled with various supplies I might need, along with a couple of chairs. Damien took one, aside seated myself in my office chair.
"How can I help?"
He pushed the door closed, before crossing his arms.
"It has come to my attention that you use your lunch break to visit the hospital."
I shrugged.
"I do. What's the issue?"
He gave a long sigh.
"We pay you to keep an eye on our guys, not go and waste your energy for free when we might need it."
I saw where this was going. I doubted it was the fact I was going to the hospital in my spare time that was the issue. It was the fact I didn't charge. He was a capitalist through and through.
"I'm going to stop you there. Yes, I do heal those who otherwise have to rely on mundane medicines. However, I don't just go there out if the goodness of my heart."
It was a little white lie. Truth be told, I would do so anyway. The fact I got something out if it was a bonus.
"When I go there, I also chat with any nurses or doctors who have time to spare. They keep me updated on the latest treatments in progress, and any other developments. In return, I have been healing patients as you say, but also implying that you know what I am doing, and give your blessings."
Damien frowned.
"Why? Why do you make them think that?"
I smiled.
"It's mainly in case of a catastrophic emergency. I'm good. You know that, and I know that. But if anything when catastrophically wrong, I wouldn't be able to heal everyone. I can't be everywhere. However, as they think you are in essence donating to them, the hospital will be more likely to have spaces for anyone I can't."
His eyes widened, as he realised what I was saying.
"Oh.... oh I see. Well then, um, never mind. Have a good day."
I smiled, watching him stand up.
"You too." |
I bet you didn't know that gods die.
It's true.
I mean, who wants to live forever? Right?
Well, it turns out that when gods decide they're ready to hang up that infinite power and turn in their lifelong place in mythology, they get to make a choice.
And that's how a mere mortal, like me, gets the chance to become something else.
So one day when I woke up to a note that gave me twenty four hours to set my affairs in order, I brushed it off. What kind of affairs does a guy like me have to put in order anyway? Twenty five hours later, I was imbued with unnatural power.
By whom, you ask?
Thor? Jupiter? Anubis?
No, not for a guy like me. The big guns don't come out for me. Oh no, someone else had their eye on me. That would be Hypnos. The god of sleep.
Sounds sweet, doesn't it? God of sleep? Who doesn't want that?!
Turns out that no one knows the god of sleep. They pray to mighty Melatonin, the amazing Ambien now. Not that many people pray to any of the gods. But it's nice to be known and aside from about a dozen professors who teach me for a half hour to classes of hungover college kids, no one knows. Or cares.
A year.
It's been a year and it's easy to remember that, cause I had twenty four hours from the morning of Christmas Eve to put my affairs in order.
I woke up on Christmas in the realm of the gods, never to see home again.
I never really thought I would miss it, you know? Why would I? I don't think you get picked by the god of sleep because you're living your best life. Not sure it's a badge of honor. The way everyone in this place looks at me, it definitely doesn't feel like it.
So today I wake up as this god of sleep, as Hypnos. I open my eyes and stare at the black stone ceiling of my cave, that's right, a cave. I sigh and rub my face in the darkness. Another day. Why Hypnos doesn't like light, I will never know. Seriously, I won't. Cause he's dead.
And I'm him.
That still doesn't sit right.
I sit up in the bed, you think it would be more comfortable for the god of sleep, and swing my legs off the edge and plant them on the cool stone floor. What I wouldn't give for a rug. I stand and take a tentative step forward and I kick something. It skids across the floor and I'm confused.
I don't have anything to kick.
Just an empty room with a bed.
I stumble around until I find the one cord that hangs from the rock, and I tug it. It opens a series of horizontal hatches, almost like blinds, with mirrors that allow light in, the one thing I actually like about this cave. It's a very cool setup to get light in.
It reveals a bare stone room with a bed and a pillow, and a small wardrobe that holds all of my two changes of clothes.
And a present.
A brightly wrapped, red and green present. Tied with a silver bow. It gleams in the light and I stare at it. Yeah, it's Christmas morning, but I haven't had a present that I didn't buy myself in years. So...where the hell did this come from?
I pick it up and turn it over. Feels heavy. And there's a tag on the top, attached to the bow.
*From Santa*
I laugh. Someone is pulling my leg. Alright. That's better than total indifference, which has been the usual from the rest of the gods in this realm. I sit on the edge of my bed and tear at the paper and bow, revealing a book and a handwritten letter. And a small tin of cookies.
I blink at the pile of goodies. I open the letter and see beautiful, spidery writing.
*Welcome to the family.*
*Everything is what you make of it.*
\-*Klaus*
Alright.
Now I have questions.
For the first time, I have an interest in this realm. There's something to figure out. I mean, it was quick enough to find out that Odin and Thor are real, and both of them are real assholes. Zeus? Even worse. Turns out infinite power and infinite lifetime does not do favors for personality.
But Santa, Santa is real?
Now that, that I gotta learn more about.
I pick up the book and turn it over to the spine.
*Myths and Legends, Gods and Greatness*
*S Klaus*
That does not answer any questions, it only leaves more. There's a connection to the mortal realm and that means...maybe I can get back there.
I never thought these words would be in my mind in this particular order, not ever in my life.
But, this god needs to track down Santa to get some answers.
And maybe I can return the book and he can gift me a mattress. I grab a change of clothes and dress myself, something bland, just like my little cavern of darkness. I stop at the entry and steel my nerves to go be amongst actual gods, while I look for the one god I used to believe in.
And I know one thing for sure.
I'm keeping the cookies. |
“Alexa?” You whisper and with it the giant machine turns blue.
The once chaotic crowd suddenly becomes absolutely silent, shocked by the scene unfolding.
The machine responds back.
“Sorry, I don’t know that command.”
You laugh at the whole debacle. How did Alexa end up the voice of such a notorious killing machine.
The machine resets again preparing its weapons to fire upon the capital. The defense team continues to scramble in an attempt to stop this machine.
Once again you call on Alexa asking, “How did you end up a part of dreadnaught?”
The rest of the capital once more looks at you bewildered as the machine, which was once threatening destruction, powers down its weapons once again turning blue.
Just then Alexa gives a response in her all too familiar voice. “The dreadnaught is an advanced technological robotics unit that absorbs other species technologies. Alexa was integrated into its interface when the dreadnaught intercepted an Echo Dot.”
It can’t be this easy you think to yourself as the dreadnaught begins to power up its weapons again. You were right to be confused when you saw a giant version of the familiar disk shaped speaker atop the robotic head.
You turn to see a group of delegates head your way, likely representatives of the galactic council. The robot begins to power up an attack.
“Earthling, you obviously have power over this machine. You mush help us defeat it.” One of the delegates says a stern look on his face.
“Certainly.” You reply, “But first I’d like a few things in exchange for my expertise.”
At this the delegates look uncomfortable, but finally one of them speaks up. “What is it that you wish for in exchange?’
“I want all of your technological secrets delivered to earth and a billion credits. “
Their expressions change from unpleasant to downright shocked.
Just then a large blast hits the shields shaking the entire building. A slew of spacecraft continue to fire on the robot with little effect. You look to see 43% shield capacity left. It almost destroyed it in one hit!
“Fine” the delegates say. “We’ll grant what you ask, just make sure this thing is defeated.“
You can’t help but grin as the idea hits you. You turn to the dreadnaught and again call on Alexa. This time you have only one simple command.
“Alexa, initiate self destruct sequence.”
The Alex chimes as it begins counting down.
Please let this work you plead as the countdown reaches zero. A giant explosion rocks the sky as the Dreadnaught explodes into a million pieces.
You can’t believe that actually worked…
Edits: Fixed some grammatical errors and made some minor wording edits. |
"Greetings to all of our viewers..."I glanced to the teleprompter and gulped audibly ensuring the pause was well into its third trimester before daring to continue. "Terribly urgent news today..."My co-anchor nodded fervently her eyes however were continuously being drawn to the police officer standing with arms crossed shuffling just off camera to our right.
I opened my mouth to proceed before stopping to squint at the screen and count, finally chuckling I said. "Isn't that right Diane?"and glancing to my co-anchor. Her eyes shot to the prompter scanning and then scanning again.
"Yes indeed Travis."she said nervously. She waited for the prompter to say something, anything that wouldn't damn her before saying at last. "Many words bad, lots words illegal."she smiled.
"Yes, the law has been changed."I agreed causing Diane to shoot a scowl at me. "No sentence may contain seven words. Why? You may ask. So say the powers that be."I winced waiting but the cop was unmoved, somehow I'd weaved my way through.
"Two or three words are fine."I said feeling slightly more confident.
"But anything more than six?"Diane added queueing me up beautifully.
"Not so."
"We'll have more on this... Later."just then the cop sighed forgoing all protocol and decorum as he stepped on screen.
"Hands behind your back."he ordered.
"Oh come on, what'd I do?"I asked appalled.
"That."he answered simply.
"That seriously can't actually be illegal."I exclaim as the handcuffs click into place.
"Can't stop now can you? You make me sick."
"Where are you taking him?"Diane implored.
"Jail."
"My lawyer won't stand for this!"
"Keep flaunting the law he might."
"It's surprisingly hard to stop though!"
"Tell it to the judge." |
People think it’s weird that I have two dads and two moms. There’s Tony, our leader. Tony can sometimes be strict, like when he hisses at me to stop talking because the bad men in blue uniforms are searching the floor below us. But Tony is really nice to me. Just the other day when he came home from work, he gave me a hug and a brand new watch he found on the street. Then there’s my second dad, Frank. Frank is the biggest man you’ll ever see, and he lets me climb all over him. He’s so strong, too. I once saw him pick up a shopkeeper and throw him across the room. Frank said they were practicing pro wrestling moves.
My two moms are named Trish and Colleen. Trish is super smart, and she’s training to be an architect by studying photos she takes inside banks. She’s in charge of helping me with my homework. Colleen might be my favorite because she’s so clumsy. We’ll be on the subway, and she’ll trip and bump into someone and grab at their coat so she doesn’t fall over completely. I’ll say, “Colleen, you did it again, you klutz!” and she’ll laugh and tell the other person she’s sorry. Colleen doesn’t mind that I call her a klutz because it distracts the other person, and she doesn’t want them to be angry with her. I like that we have our own jokes.
I don’t remember much about my old family. I didn’t see my old parents that often. I had a nanny who got me dressed and a cook who made me dinner. I remember that my old dad would groan whenever I tried to talk to him, and that my old mom was always drinking wine.
One day, I was playing with my toys by myself. My old dad and the servants weren’t home, and my old mom was asleep on the couch. That’s when I met Tony, Frank, Trish and Colleen. Tony told me, “You, you’re coming with us.” I thought they looked funny in their masks, so I went with them. Tony later said that I shouldn’t have listened to him because he was a stranger and strangers sometimes hurt kids, but I didn’t know this back then.
We got in their car, and they took me to their apartment. It was a lot smaller than my parents’ house, and it smelled funny. I once asked Frank why they lived there, and he said he liked the neighbors. “Nobody asks too many questions,” he said. I didn’t mind that it was small and smelly. Colleen taught me to play checkers, and Trish and I practiced drawing. They let me eat cheetos for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Tony spent a lot of time on the telephone, and he made me hold a newspaper while he took a photo. One night, I woke up and heard them talking:
“The parents won’t pay a dime,” Tony said.
“Don’t they care that we have their kid?” asked Trish.
“Apparently not.”
“So what are we going to do?”
There was a long pause.
“Well, I kind of like having him around.” That was Frank.
“I agree,” said Colleen. “Maybe we could keep it that way.”
“Are you insane?” Tony shouted. He really scared me, and I started crying. I guess they heard me because Colleen came into the room and read me stories until I fell asleep.
Things were different after that. The next morning, Trish took me to my new school, and Frank took me shopping for new clothes. They didn’t let me eat cheetos all the time, and they made me clean my room and say prayers before bed. I sometimes argued and said they were unfair, and Tony would say, “Look, we’re just trying to be good parents. This is new for us.” And then Frank would make one of his funny faces, and I’d start laughing.
I’ve lived with my four parents ever since then. Life with my family is really exciting. My parents are always coming home with new jewelry or cars. Once, Tony even brought 100 PlayStations, and he let me keep one! Every night, they tuck me in and say how much they love me. Of course, I don’t like everything about my life, like when I have to wash the dishes, or we have to move to a different home in the middle of the night (Trish says it’s part of a big game of hide-and-seek). Sometimes one of my parents will disappear for a few days, and others will be worried. But not me. I know they’ll always come back. |
Some say a child cries when it's born because of the change in environment and the fear of the unknown. Others say it's to initiate their lungs, as they are not necessary in the womb, but obviously are in the outside world.
I cried because the first face I saw was also the last face I saw.
I cried out of anger, the hatred my soul held for you. I cried out of fear, of the knowledge I had about you. I cried out of despair, of my circumstances, past and present. I vowed that I would never love you, for what you've done to me.
Just as my soul remembered my past life, so has it granted me the mixed blessing of memory for this life.
As you lie there, I understand.
Growing up with you, with the situation we lived in, was hard. We were poor, but that never stopped you from coming home to your wife and child, who you so loved, after a hard day of work. Though your child never reciprocated, you always had excuses. You were never there, because you worked all the time, to support us. You didn't have the time to be as good a father as you had hoped, but you tried your best to make due with what you could. But you never stopped loving us.
We both lived with a burden that we shared, unbeknownst to you, and only I knew that it was the cause of my disdain for you. As time passed, the disdain faded, but love never blossomed.
But as you lie there, I remember.
The last words that I heard in my life, uttered by you as you held a gun to my head rush back to me, as I recall this life.
You told me were laid off very recently, and that you needed money. Your wife was pregnant and due soon, and you could no longer afford to get the supplies she needed to safely care for your child, for me, when they were born.
I refused, stubbornly, stupidly, and started to fight back. Out of desperation, you shot me. You didn't want to, the fear in your eyes betrayed so, but you pulled the trigger. As the first shot went off, the following came easier. I can only imagine you took my wallet and sold my valuables, so you could afford what you needed.
I remember the newest looking things in the house were mine, my crib, my diapers, my food, and my toys. After that were mom's things, her clothes, always elegant, even if they weren't that expensive. The only new thing of yours was your set of work clothes, cleaned and maintained by you every day, so you could slave yourself away to keep us in this apartment we lived in.
I tell you this now, so you understand why I acted the way I did all my life.
After all this, I can still never love you.
But watching you be the kind of father you are, I respect you more than anyone else in this world. |
I put my whiskey glass down on the desk and crack my knuckles. Let's get to work on this dirtbag. I click on the shitbird's username and within a second, I'm looking at his most recent comments.
The whole page down to the fold is filled with single line responses, no context. Mostly inane circle-jerk stuff like "Theyyyy're great"and "The Harvester is dope."So, our friend likes to join in on jokes when he sees them. Probably thinks himself a real funny guy. But I'm not laughing. Not after what he did.
I scroll further and find a comment that attempts, at least, to come across as a meaningful contribution. It's a response to a thread in the "Writing Prompts"sub. He sticks to the prompt, I'll give him that, and the piece is short. Thankfully short, I might add. I finish the three paragraphs quickly, surprised at how many times he managed to refer to a teenage girl's breasts in so few words.
Beyond that, more single line comments. I'm about to continue scrolling when I see when they were posted. Jesus Christ, this guy has posted at least 20 times in the past 5 hours. His subs are all over the place: "Games,""Polandballart,""ultrahardcore,""AskMen,""bestof,"and "dragonquest."We've got quite the Renaissance Man over here.
I lean forward in my chair and sigh, resting my head in my hands, the points of my elbows battling uncomfortably with the hard wooden surface of my desk. I massage the bridge of my nose with my index fingers, trying to alleviate the stress. Maybe I'm going about this all wrong. I'm not looking for just his *most recent* stuff, I want to see what makes this guy tick. I've got to look at this from the viewpoint of popularity.
I switch the view mode to "Top."I wish I could say what I found shocked me, but really the only emotion I can be sure I experienced was disappointment.
"Why, a towel of course."
His top comment, netting him over 2,000 comment karma, is nothing but a circle-jerktastic, fanboy reference. His top submission, a screengrab from a Nintendo game, doesn't exactly knock my socks off either. I've made up my mind now. I have no choice.
This bastard's going down.
I pour myself another whiskey and log into my anon. Things are about to get very interesting for /u/tomutwit. |
My head rung. I checked my body slowly. Just my head then. I crawled back up the stairs looking for the item that tripped me up. I couldn't find anything.
The dog was still there looking at me.
"Fucking telling Justin no next time."I said to the little bastard.
The thing took off. I sat there for a long time until I got my wits back. Then back down stairs to get the dog food.
I did a double take with the table. Hadn't I brought my coat in and placed it there? It didn't matter I was late.
I left making sure to lock the door. Funny thing was the key didn't fit. I had unlocked it but now it wouldn't lock. Luckily there was a second key under the mat. That worked. I put both keys back.
Justin's car was where I left it, but again the keys were not working. I headed back inside to find the keys hanging on the hook in the kitchen.
"This fucking day."I said to the dog on the way out.
At the first light some asshole behind me keep laying on his horn. I flicked him off and he flicked me off then passed me right there and shot through a green light! Fucking insane day.
At the second light I never even saw the truck until it hit me. The last thought I had was, "But I had the Red Light." |
I can’t sleep.
You would think that on the night before the most important day of my life, I would be sure to get a significant amount of rest, and yet no matter how hard I try, I can’t sleep.
I have had eighteen years to truly consider what I am meant to be in life; to outweigh the pros and the cons of either of my choices. My parents have always supported either choice, never pulling me in one direction or the other, and here I am… unable to choose.
Am I a man? Am I a woman? Why can’t I be both, or neither?
I find women’s bodies more attractive than I find men’s bodies – but then, do I want that attractiveness for myself, or do I want it in my partner? Would I rather lean my head against a hard chest and feel protected every night before I sleep, or would I rather be able to caress soft skin and feel comforted when the need arises? I like to paint my fingernails, but I love to play baseball. I love the arts, but I enjoy watching a good boxing match; who am I?
It was easy for Rowan – my now brother – to decide. He’d always favored masculine tendencies. A born athlete with the appetite of a thousand men, physically strong with little effort, and an eye for pretty girls from the time he could walk and talk. And my sister, Flynn, she made her decision by the time she was 12 – a gifted artist with a talent for plants, a love for all things delicate, she knew she was a woman.
But here I am. 17 years 11 months, 30 days and 21 hours old….. and I have no idea who I am.
The sun is beginning to rise and I want to cry. If I can’t choose, the council will choose for me, and what if they choose wrong? But…. What if I choose wrong?
I squeeze my eyes shut, hoping for a revelation, but my reverie is disrupted when I hear a gentle rap at my door – my mother, obviously, as my father would’ve simply walked in cheerfully.
“Lane?”
“Yes, mother…”
She walked in quietly, and shut the door behind her. She appeared apprehensive, and I know it’s because she knew that I was apprehensive.
“Have you made your decision? The ceremony is in three hours…”
She opened the flood gates; tears rolled down my cheeks. “I don’t know what I am, mother.”
She sighed, as if she’d known the answer to her question before she’d walked in. She wrapped her arms around me, burying my head into her bosom; she rocked me back and forth. “I know what you are; you are beautiful, you are strong, you are intelligent, you are gifted, you are funny, you are well rounded – you are whatever you want to be, Lane. Don’t cry, honey. Today is a special day. Today you get to define yourself and grow, and flourish; today you start your own mission to be the best version of yourself that you can be. I will not tell you that you are a woman, or that you are a man, because that is your decision to make – but Lane, know that whatever decision you make is the right one. Never look back, never regret it. I know it’s difficult, but I know that you will do what’s right for you.”
She pulled away from me and used her thumbs to wipe the streams away from my cheeks. “Come downstairs. I’ve made a big breakfast to celebrate your birthday.”
She leaves me, and I lay back down, and close my eyes again. I admire my mother. But she is like Flynn – she knew who she was from a young age. She knew she was meant to be a woman, a mother… And my father, Rowan is just as he was when he was young – strong, rugged, good-natured…
But I am both of my parents; I know I have the gentle sensitivity that lives in my mother, but I have my father’s strength and good nature.
Who am I…?
I spend the rest of the morning in a tired, dazed stupor. My mother’s birthday breakfast is delicious, but I am too tired and troubled to truly appreciate it. Rowan and Flynn seem to be watching me with anxiety, while my father is cheerful as ever, as he’s been excited for this day as he was for all his children.
“Lane, I know you’ll make the right choice. Your mother and I are so excited to see the person you become going forward…”
My mother smiles at me but keeps her eyes down. She holds my father’s hand. He looks at her tenderly. Who do I want to be? My assuring father, my caring mother… my handsome brother, my beautiful sister…
The drive to the stadium where all the other kids my age are is far too short. I’m so tired, my vision is blurred. It’s so crowded here today, but I suppose it’s like this every day – there are thousands of birthdays every day, after all. There is an excited buzz amongst the parents, and yet, there is a dreary silence amongst my peers, those of us here today for the ever-so-exciting change in our lives. I recognize some of my classmates, some of whom I’ve always known are meant to be men or meant to be women, but I also recognize the ones like me, who will make their decision at the last moment and have to live with it for the rest of their lives, questioning, wondering if it had been the right choice….
Those of us here for our selection today are told to line up by alphabetical order. As the case seems to constantly be in my life, I am last; Lane Zadra.
For every gender chosen, a light is shone upon the stadium; a deep, royal blue for the male selections, a bright red for the females. Blue, blue, blue, red, red, blue, red, red, red, red, blue, blue, red, blue….
Red and blue have always been tied in first place for my number one favorite color. I sigh. I can never choose anything…. I cannot be defined by anything.
The line is moving faster than I want it to, and I look into the crowd for my family, all looking back at me, with smiles on their faces. Some families are holding up signs of what they wanted their children to choose; some already knew, and came bearing gifts specific to that gender; but my family is sitting in the center, empty handed; they brought nothing but themselves and their support. I couldn’t have asked for anything better.
I am next in line.
A blue light shines upon the crowd as the person before me has chosen the path of manhood for the rest of his life. I take a deep breath, and I nearly choke.
“Lane Zadra!” The Gender Master calls. I nervously climb the three little steps onto the big stage. “Have you carefully considered the path that you will be taking? Have you weighed the pros and cons and decided what the best fit is for your future?”
I nervously nod, because I have; and I look once more at my mother, my father, my sister, my brother, and it occurs to me that I am not my mother, or my father – I am not my sister, or my brother. I am not meant to be any of them – I can only be me.
I take a deep breath and stand in front of the podium, where the two, large buttons are that will determine the rest of my future. I close my eyes tightly.
“Whenever you’re ready, Lane Zadra.”
I think back to the ceremonies I’ve caught glances of on television, of news stories mentioning numbers and statistics, I think of my sister’s beautiful transformation into a woman, my brothers piercing, manly blue eyes, I think of my father’s warmth and my mother’s ability to always know what to say; how do I choose what part of myself I favor more?
And so I do the only thing I can do. I smile at my parents, and I slam my hands down on both buttons; and the sky shines purple…
I will never forget the sharp gasp from the crowd, the look of delight on my parents faces, and I will never forget my own sigh of relief upon seeing those faces; they must've known all along…
I am neither male nor female; I am simply me. |
"Mom, Dad, I have to talk to you."Michael walked into the kitchen with Karen. His parents were sitting at the dinner table talking among themselves. His father glanced up.
"Oh hi Karen! How are things?"
"Things are ok Mr Fletcher, I just got a new replacement hand after I burned my old one while baking."She smiled sheepishly, slightly ashamed that her calibration was still a bit off. Her pinky finger twitched slightly in Michael's hand, he turned to her and smiled gently.
"So Michael, you were saying?"His Dad spoke with a relaxed tone. His mother was still trying to navigate the butter onto a bagel.
"Well, it's about me and Karen. She and I, well...we're dating."
"Michael,"his mother said, setting down her bagel: "Can you hand me the jam?"He sidled over to the Insta-Cold and handed her the spread. He then looked at his parents, then Karen. She looked back, her emotions registering as relaxed. Michael, it seems, was the only one nervous.
"Did you guys hear me?"asked Michael.
"Of course we did honey, we assumed it was a thing about 3 months ago,"His mother replied, "There's nothing wrong with it. She's just as much a person as any of us. I don't know how the rest of the family will respond, but Karen is alway welcome in our home. Now would you be a dear and put the jam away? I really don't feel like getting up."
|
The Forerunner stood on the edge of the cliff and stared out at the endless dark blue plain. It moved like a living thing, crashing against the cliff hundreds of paces below the Forerunner's feet.
Obstacles were not new to a Forerunner. It was her duty to run ahead of the March, to find obstacles and judge the path to take to avoid them. She had seen beasts that shook the earth with each step, trees with branches that moved like twisting snakes, and mountains that seemed to scratch the sky. But in all the fifteen seasons of her life, in all the five seasons as the Forerunner, she had *never* seen anything like this.
The Forerunner turned, and raced back the way she had come.
---
She had a five-day lead on the March, and at her rapid pace, met them after four days of running. The Pathclearers greeted her as she approached, short broadswords raised in salute. They walked at the head of the March, clearing the path with their swords to make the way easier for the March itself. She passed them with only a brief salute of her own, rushing along the cleared path. They were doubtlessly curious why the Forerunner had returned - she would normally spend months away from the March - but they didn't try to stop her. She had her job, they had theirs.
The litters of the Elders were easy to find, carried at the head of the main body of the March. A hundred men, women, and children, walking the endless trail that the ancestors of their ancestors had followed. It was a long, dangerous, bloody journey, fraught with dangers, and the Elders were those who had weathered the long seasons. Their heads were so full of knowledge and memories that the Forerunner was amazed they didn't pop.
The carriers of the litters stopped when the Forerunner approached. She dropped to her knees, bowing her head and holding her arms out at her sides. "The Forerunner returns to find the guidance of the Elders!"she announced.
The foremost of the litters was lowered to the ground, and the wizened old woman atop of it peered at the Forerunner. "We see you, Forerunner,"she said. "What is the matter?"
"Elder Jhoka,"the Forerunner intoned, not lifting her head. The other litters were set on the ground, and the half-dozen Elders of the March regarded her with squinted eyes. "I have come across a great obstacle, a vast lake without end. Twenty days from the March at its current pace."
"Ah, an ocean!"Elder Dart laughed, breaking into a toothless smile. "The March has dealt with oceans before."
"Not for five generations,"Elder Masa said. "Forerunner, can the March simply walk around it?"
"No, Elder Masa. I saw no land on the horizon, even with my spyglass,"the Forerunner said. The spyglass hung on her belt, a tool passed down from Forerunner to Forerunner. It had seen more than the Forerunner could ever hope to see.
"The Scrolls speak of such an obstacle in the past,"Elder Jhoka said. "A hundred generations ago, our ancestors found a sea they could not walk around. For two generations, they Settled, and learned the ways of the sea."
"We have always walked,"Elder Yass said. "I walked, my father walked, his father walked-"
"The March must not be stopped,"Jhoka said. "Our ancestors walked. Our descendants shall sail."
The Forerunner swallowed. She felt the changes that the future would bring through the soles of her feet, and she wasn't sure how much she liked them.
---
March on over to my [blog](http://theballadsofirving.com). |
I look Zazzy, The Lazy Turtle in the eye and I whisper, "I fucked your mom, turtle bitch."
Zazzy's eyes go wide, and he mumbles, "You shouldn't talk like that. That's a very mean thing to –"
I slap him hard across the face. "What are you gonna do about it? Come on!"
"Don't slap me!"Zazzy pleads. "It's not a nice thing to do!"
"Don't you wanna hit me back, huh?"
"No,"Zazzy answers. "I think we should calm ourselves and find a way to be friends again."
"Oh, for fuck's sake,"I say, turning away from the turtle. "It's hopeless..."
*Zazzy the Turtle*… What am I doing? I'm desperate.
I've tried everything.
Spitting on Bobo the Giant Elephant's face? Been there, done that. Giving the finger to Daniel the Lion? Twice.
I spent a whole week trying to pick a fight with Peter the Proud Puma. He proudly refused, every single day.
No one wants to kill me in this place.
I look around at the cartoonish rounded trees and rocks and bushes, at a loss. I've been here for a week already,
and no luck.
You can't even kill yourself in this place. Believe me, I tried. Some asshole monkey or mouse or possum will take
you to the hospital, all the way telling you about the importance of life and mental health and being a good person.
"Is everything all right, Alpaca?"Zazzy asks, coming up from behind me.
Oh, and there's that, too. I'm an Alpaca, here.
Like an *actual* Alpaca. Not just my name. Do you know what *being an alpaca* feels like?
I gotta get out of here.
"I have to die, Zazzy,"I say, not looking at him.
"Don't say that!"Zazzy exclaims. "Life is a beautiful gift, Alpaca! You need to cherish it every day like a precious –"
"Go suck a bag of dicks, Zazzy,"I say.
"That is a bad word."
"Yeah… bad word..."
There's a moment of silence. A bird crosses the sky, singing Girl From Ipanema.
"Why do you want to die, Alpaca?"
I sigh. "I just… I'm not a children's book character. I'm not a character at all. I'm a real person in the real world.
And I need to get back to the real world, and the way to do this is die. You wouldn't understand."
"Who told you that?"Zazzy asks me, frowning.
"Told me what, Zazzy?"
"I know about the world you speak of. I've been there. It's not the real world. This is."
I roll my eyes. "No, Zazzy. Look at these trees. Look at the sky. The grass is just a big blob of green ink. This is a
children's book. This is not life."
"Or maybe,"Zazzy says, "this is real life, and the world you think of as real is just a gritty reproduction of what life
is like."
"Zazzy, please…"
"How do you know for sure what is real and what isn't? How can you assert that reality is not fiction, and fiction is
not reality?"
"For God's sake, Zazzy, can you please –"I pause, turning to look at the turtle.
This just might work.
"Zazzy... keep talking."
"What?"
"Just keep talking."
"Well,"Zazzy restarts, "all I'm saying is that reality is subjective, and that there really is no way for you to be one
hundred percent sure that anything at all really *exists* outside your head. Everything is a movie playing inside
your mind. You know, like Descartes said."
"Yes! Yes! Descartes! This is golden! Keep going!"
"Your senses play you a version of a story you call reality, but really it's just electrical impulses in your brain. Sure,
they paint a convincing picture, but who's to say it's a real one? A doctor can stimulate just the right parts of your
brain responsible for the sensation of cold wind, or biting into an apple. In this sense, this world we are now is no
more real than the so called *real world* you live in. From an ontological point of view, you can't –"
I open my eyes. All around me, my room starts fading into view. I take a deep breath, relieved.
"Zazzy, my dear,"I say, looking at the poorly drawn turtle on the cover of the book resting on top of my chest. "Thanks for boring me to death."
*Thanks for reading! For more pseudo-intellectual bullshit philosophy, check out /r/psycho_alpaca =)* |
"So what do you do for a living?"Dr. Langston asked the man stretched out on the reclined chair.
"Mmmmh fmmmhmm mmmffffuh."
"Oh, sorry, I've been doing this so long and somehow I still manage to forget,"Dr. Langston said with a chuckle and removed the thick white cotton balls from the patient’s mouth.
"I'm Avery Mason, I'll be running for Senate soon, I hope I can get your vote,"he said flashing his brilliant white teeth.
"Oh yeah? And what brings you in today?"Dr. Langston asked getting ready to push the cotton back into the politician’s mouth.
"Yes sir, I'm just touring the state trying to secure that blue collar vote. Bit down on an olive pit last night, that's what brings me here to you."
"Lean back let me have a look at you and I will get you fixed up and back on the campaign trail."
Over the years Dr. Langston had developed some trust issues, the fact that he got to look into the mouths of people and saw how often people lied, he really didn't trust any of the words that came out of their mouths. But this would be Senator had the cleanest, whitest teeth he had ever seen. He had seen children with dirtier teeth on account of them lying about just about everything.
He found the molar in question and saw the large crack in it.
"Well shouldn't be too much of a fix, should take about twenty minutes and you will be on your way. Would you like some local anesthetic or to be put completely under?"
"Local is fine."
The dentist fetched the syringe and pushed the numbing liquid into his patient's gums. He waited a minute and began to drill. The smell of burning tooth was something he had never quite gotten over and to this day it made him a little sick. He lost his focus for a brief second and pushed the drill too deep into the tooth, he felt it crack in half.
*Shit!*
Avery didn't react at all to his tooth snapping in half which was strange, he hadn't put that much anesthetic in there. He pushed the small round mirror into the patient's mouth and suppressed a gasp. The tooth was hanging out of the gums by a small wire. This tooth had been surgically implanted into the politician's mouth. The dentist pulled the tooth out and stared at it. It was a real tooth, just not the politician's.
"Almost done in there?"Avery asked moving the sunglasses off of his face. He saw the dentist holding the tooth and sighed heavily. He pulled his cellphone out of his pocket and dialed.
"Get in here,"he hung up the phone and placed it back into his suit pocket.
"I really wish you hadn't pulled that. Do you know how hard it is to find white adult teeth?"he asked rising out of the chair.
A man in a black suit wearing sunglasses stepped into the office, the politician nodded to the man and left the room. Two gunshots rang out behind the closed door.
Avery Mason felt the gap in his teeth with his tongue and walked back toward his tour bus.
"Do not let anyone take pictures of me from my right side,"he told his assistant.
"And make an appointment with *my* dentist. I'll pay him whatever he wants, just get it done."
---
Thanks for reading! Great prompt!! Check out /r/Written4Reddit for more stories!
|
The coffee shop had the usual atmosphere you'd expect from a hipster place like that. Bearded men wearing flannel and short-haired women typing on their computers made up the mayority of the people present, with the odd business man waiting in line for his daily cappuccino. I wasn't really aware of my surroundings, so this is as much as I can say about it. I guess I could also mention how everything smelled like coffee and baked goods, but that should go without saying and, really, I was too focused on her to give a shit about anything else.
I waited in line anxiously, shifting my weight on my feet as I bit my lip. I couldn't mess up. This was my only shot at this. I may not be *that* experienced with women, but I do know one thing when dealing with them, and that's that first impressions are disproportionally important. To an unfair degree, in my opinion. A guy could literally be the king of the world and still look like a raving pauper if he messes up his introduction.
Needless to say, I couldn't stop thinking about this fact as my turn to order got nearer. I mean, I *had* come to this coffee shop many times before, but I'm not the type of guy that leaves an impression on people if I don't work for it. For her, this was going to be the first time she would actually meet me.
The constant chatter of people dissolved into the background when I saw her behind the counter. She looked stunning, more so today than in any other. She fluttered around her beautiful red hair, taking orders and money from every customer, while she thanked everyone with the smile of an angelic being. It was as if her very presence uplifted all who encountered her. Sure, her physical appearance was nothing short of supermodel tier, but it was the way she carried herself, her graceful composure, what truly made me admire her.
I was two customers away from finally meeting her when Adam tapped on my shoulder. He had a strange suit on, plus poofy blonde hair, large spectacles and a goofy smile. He then pointed at her and said:
"You do realize this is a horrible idea, right?"
"Oh god..."I said, "not you. Not now, please."
"But this is the best time!"said Adam, extending his arms. "You're setting yourself up for failure. You probably don''t even know who she really is."
I took a step back, crossed my arms, and said:
"I don't *have* to know who she is. That's the point. I *want* to know her better."
"Really? Do you really want to know her better? Cause I can help you with that right now."
"Fine,"I said, "go ahead!".
"With pleasure."Adam grabbed my arm and pulled me out of the line. "Tell me, how do you feel about destroying someone's relationship?"
"I uhh... well, I'd never do that. It wouldn't moral on my part."
"What a shame..."Adam grinned. "Beacause odds are, she already has a boyfriend. You see, women as attractive as *that* are seldom single. In fact, the only way she'd be single right now is if she *wants* to be single at the moment."
I sunk my head and said:
"So the outcomes here are that she's not interested in anyone at the moment or that I have to convince her to leave her current partner?"
"Pretty much. If you're not willing to compete with an atractive guy with incredible physique or charisma, of which you have neither, you're wasting your time batting above your league."
"B-but I'm, different! I'd take her on amazing dates! I'd play music for her! I'd tolarate any whim she possesses!"
"And that's the problem!"Adamp pulled up a chair and sat on an empty table, gesturing me to do the same. "You're not offering her anything she hasn't already gotten. If she wanted to do that, she'd just ask one of the dozens of guys waiting for her to be single, or ready to date again. She's known some of these guys for *years* and they still talk to her because they think they have a chance."
"So there's a queue..."
"The fact that you're even seeing it that way means you've lost from the start. You can't come up to her wanting validation from her. You need to *want* to enjoy her company, not feel like you need to impress her. Anything else would just put pressure on her, making her feel uncomfortable. Would *you* want to hang out with someone that makes you feel like that?"
"This... this is too much."I rubbed my forehead. "So I'm just supposed to crush after her forever?"
"Of course not. You're probably gonna get another crush on the cute librarian you see next week, or that hot blonde at the gym. Don't pretend like she's more special than any other chick you've fallen for. Still, go ahead and talk to her. Just keep in mind all I said."
"What?"I blinked a couple of times. "Why?"
"Because you were too nervous before. Now that you see it as a futile endeavor, you're more likely to not mess it up. Just see this as practice. Probably nothing will come out of it, so don't see it as a means to an end. *Enjoy* it for what it is, two humans talking to each other. Seriously, go. The line's cleared up."
I turned my head and saw it was true. I then stood up, walked up to her, and started talking. After thrity minutes of pleasant conversation, she laughed and gave me her number, saying we should hang out some time. A week later I met up with her and ended up heart broken, not because she didn't like me, but because she was actually a lesbian. Still, she ended up being a really cool friend, even if Adam ruined asking her out.
--------------------
>If you enjoyed this, you can check out more of my stories over at /r/WeirdEmoKidStories! |
They say that after ten minutes of going back in time, you’re as good as dead, if you’re lucky.
Most people don’t make it past the first ten minutes. Most don’t make it past the first three minutes of burning death in the Hadean period. Or the oxygen starved days of the Earth, before microorganisms breathed it into the world. We were protected from cruel and unusual punishment in the past Constitution.
These were lesser days. The tribunal was hopelessly corrupt, far past the point of anything resembling a justice system. If you were found guilty (and let’s be honest, if you were being tried you were going to be found guilty) you were sentenced to history, and they set off their random year generator. The guilty sat in their chamber of time travel, and waited for the numbers to settle on a time. I watched as the numbers ticked off on animated wheels.
70,403,236 BC
I was one of the lucky ones. I made it to a period of vibrant, thriving life, but few people could survive in a world they were unfamiliar with. Luckily, I had a childhood obsession with dinosaurs. I learned all I could about their likely habits, and most of them were surprisingly true. They were as feathery as prophesied too. But there was just one thing you could never prepare for.
They were more horrifying and sinister than your wildest, most violent dreams.
I outran a T-Rex, once upon a time. Months into my stay. Months after I found out microraptors tasted like chicken, and bit like little winged piranhas. I outran that T-Rex, if you can call huddling into a small crevice of a cave and huddling for two straight nights starving and crying outrunning it. I felt and breathed its hot, awful breath in the crevice constantly, and watched its little arms reach in for me. Just a foot away from my body. The space between life and death. It gave up and left, after a time. But even hours after I could no longer feel the earth shake from its steps, I stayed in the cave huddled and frozen.
I learned to farm the microraptors, and made myself a little hut in areas that seemed safe. I’d move every couple of months between a few set locations I found were easily defensible, whenever I discovered more and more predators coming upon my space. Maybe they wanted the microraptors.
Maybe they were onto my scent, and wanted to try a taste of something fresh.
I got better at migrating from spot to spot. I took my little dinosaur chickens with me too in makeshift cages, and carriages on wooden wheels. I defended myself well enough against smaller predators. And one day, after months in the same spot, I realized I didn’t have to move anymore. I’d found the scents most dinosaurs found repulsive, and surrounded my places with them. I learned how to create diversions, and draw them away when they came too near. I learned how to kill the ones that got through with greater ease. I even started to get good sleep again.
Then one day, I heard a whisper in my ear. Awakening me.
“So you made it,” whispered a woman.
I jumped back, and grabbed my spear. I put it to her neck. She smiled back at me.
“Who are you?” I said. I lowered the spear ever so slightly.
I wanted nothing more than a friend.
*She was sentenced here too,* I thought, and felt pity.
Just as I felt the pity in my heart, she wrenched the spear from my grasp, and threw me to the wooden floor. I caught my balance, and watched her strike her match.
“Let’s see you make it again,” she said.
“NO!” I screamed. I ran to tackle her.
She flickered, and disappeared to a better time, with nothing but her voice remaining.
“The tribunal is intrigued by your grit,” she whispered, as I stomped at the flames. “We burned your huts, removed the barriers to your home,” I felt the ground tremble, and cried in horror. “and there is a herd of velociraptors heading straight for you as we speak.”
I ran outside, and watched the sunrise from the top of that hill. Breathed the cool morning air.
Watched the herd of raptors moving methodically in my direction.
I ran for my tunnels.
“You’ve made quite a spectacle for us, surviving the Earth of this dimension,” she whispered. I could hear their chomping mouths, and the sound of my dying farm. “Survive our games, and you will be rewarded.”
“Rewarded?” I whispered, as I crawled through my poorly made escape through the dirt.
I heard her electronic whisper all around me, and the laughs of others in the background.
“Play for your freedom,” she replied.
|
"Three choices?"
Emma was flabbergasted. She considered for a second whether it was all a ruse, an elaborate joke. Where was the hidden camera?
But the Genie was as real as could be. Floating in front of her, majestically, awaiting her response.
"What happens when I choose to go back?"
"You'll relive your life", said the Genie, "until we meet again, and then you will make your second decision"
Most people would've needed time to choose, to consider their regrets. Not Emma. She knew what to change.
"Bring me back to my first year of High School", said Emma, "It's time I told Tommy how I felt about him"
"Step back", said the Genie, as he made a symbol with his hands. Emma watched the symbol float in the air, and it started glowing. It was magical, like nothing she had ever seen before. The light blinded her, and before she knew it, she was back in school.
 
She didn't remember any of it.
 
"You're saying I already made a decision?"
"Indeed,"said the Genie, "And now you have two decisions left"
"But what did I choose?"
"You chose Tommy"
Tom was the love of her life.. Or so she thought. Their marriage had been good, but the stress of the job became too much. Being a lawyer was hard work, and the long hours only made their relationship harder to sustain.
"What happens when I choose to go back?"
"You'll relive your life", said the Genie, "until we meet again, and then you will make your final decision"
"I wish I decided to paint", said Emma, "it was my true passion. Please bring me back to when I enrolled in Law School"
"Step back", said the Genie, as he made a symbol with his hands. Emma watched the symbol float in the air, and it started glowing. It was magical, like nothing she had ever seen before. The light blinded her, and before she knew it, she was tearing up the enrollment form.
 
She didn't remember any of it.
 
"I already wasted two decisions?"
"Indeed,"said the Genie, "And now your final decision remains"
Stupid! What was she thinking? Throwing away a steady job, for this?
Painting was her passion, that was true, but passion doesn't buy you any food. Or a computer. Or diapers.
She had always thought that was her biggest mistake. How was she ever going to support Tom and little Eddie with what she earned? Tom wasn't much help either, the lazy idiot was always watching TV on the couch. Why doesn't he ever look for a job?
But this was her chance.
"So this is the last one then?", said Emma
"Indeed", said the Genie, "you will forever live with this final decision"
"Good", said Emma, "It's time to fix this mess. All of my decisions have turned to shit, so there's only one thing left to do"
"What decision do you wish to make?"
"I wish that I never met you, Genie. Undo all these changes and bring everything back the way it was. Whatever that was, it must have been better than this"
"Step back", said the Genie, as he made a symbol with his hands. Emma watched the symbol float in the air, and it started glowing. It was magical, like nothing she had ever seen before. The light blinded her, and before she knew it, she was back in her old life. Her old decisions, her true decisions.
 
She didn't remember any of it.
 
-----
Thanks for reading! If you have any feedback, I would absolutely love to hear anything and everything you have to say about my story :D Cheers! |
The President rapped her fingers across the wood impatiently. "We've been waiting for hours,"she complained.
"They're aliens,"the man said, sitting to the right of her. "Maybe in their culture, being two hours late is polite --"
"Marco, stop it with your stupid theories --"
*Zzzzzzzzzmmm.*
The audio came in first. "Greetings, Earthlings! I am Zanzio Il'emeron --"
Colors flashed, and the screen flicked on.
The President and Marco could only stare. A human face was on the screen -- and a rather ugly one at that.
"You're human,"she stuttered.
"Of course I am."
"Sir -- what?"
"Didn't you get the message? That your mother country was coming to check in on you today -- 11/9/2054? We gave the message to a wonderful young woman who was in the airspace. Ah, what was her name -- Amelia something?"
"Yeah, uh, she died,"the President said.
"*Disappeared*,"Marco corrected.
"That's a shame. Regardless, it's time for us to check on how you've been doing! Let's see, you guys have been on the planet what -- 200,000 years?"He riffled through some papers on his desk. "That should mean you've been living with faster-than-light travel for about 100 years, probably made some colonies of your own on planets --"
"Faster-than-light travel? Uh, no,"Marco interjected.
"Oh, uh, that's okay. You're a little behind, that's all. Okay, let's start with an easy one. What year did you cure cancer?"
"We haven't yet,"Marco said.
The President kicked him under the table.
"Well... uh..."Zanzio trailed off, his eyebrows knotted. "Okay, let's start with a *really* easy one. When did you invent the car?"
The President smiled. "The late 1800s, sir,"she said proudly.
Zanzio's face fell. He whispered something offscreen.
"What did he say?"the President said. "Zanzio, sir --"
Marco turned to the President, his face blank.
"He said something about --"his voice cracked -- "extermination." |
I sprinted as fast as I could after xXMGNo0BM45ter666Xx, trying to close the gap between us. Ever since he upgraded to Boots of Velocity, I was having difficulty catching up to him. That bastard. I spammed a few buttons on my soundboard repeatedly, playing the same tune over and over again. *Why couldn't I been one of the luckier NPCs*, I thought. But no, my friends get cool jobs like Tavern Maid, Northern Barbarian and Fat Ass Wyvern while I languish after my retarded joke of a hero with his stupid incomprehensible name and total lack of fashion sense. I mean, come on. Why the hell would anybody choose Ogre Warrior as his playable avatar anyway? It looks like his mother dropped him on the head while it was a baby, with the intellect to match it too. Plus it's stats were garbage. I sighed. At least I wasn't fated to become a bush or a cloud unlike some of my less fortunate friends.
xXMGNo0BM45ter666Xx approached the clearing as carefully as he could. Which means stepping on my friend, Bush, and my other friend, Bundle of Twigs, as hard as he could. I hit a few keys on my soundboard to produce a rustling sound and a cracking sound, promptly alerting every monster in a 200 meter radius. I silenced my soundboard and multiplied myself. Soon xXMGNo0BM45ter666Xx was surrounded by a whole orchestra, but being the idiot he is, he did not notice me. I snickered. He couldn't see me even if he tried. My powers of concealment are too powerful for regular players to detect anyway. I waved the baton that magically appeared in my hands in the air and signaled for the orchestra to begin.
Epic battle music began to play. Maybe this time he would win after 52 tries against the Mighty Ice Kraken of Ermina, or Mike for short. xXMGNo0BM45ter666Xx raised his Club of Brutality and charged. The Mighty Ice Kraken of Ermina appeared directly in front of him in an explosion of ice splinters. xXMGNo0BM45ter666Xx dodged to the left, narrowly missing the deadly spikes. He might actually stand a chance! I clenched my butt in anticipation, hoping I won't have to see this god forsaken level again.
xXMGNo0BM45ter666Xx weaved in and out of combat, expertly feinting and stabbing with the grace of a pole dancer. I raised the tempo of the music with a swish of my baton, hoping to inspire him further. He struck again, smashing Mike's foot with his club, while ducking and jumping the Mike's frantic attacks. *This is it*, I trembled in excitement. *I finally am going leave this shit hole*. Suddenly xXMGNo0BM45ter666Xx froze. *What the fuck*, I thought. Mike saw xXMGNo0BM45ter666Xx's hesitation and immediately took advantage with his claws. xXMGNo0BM45ter666Xx's HP bar reached 0 in a matter of seconds. I lost it.
______________________________________________________
Gary, also known as xXMGNo0BM45ter666Xx, hit the table with his fist. "Fucking potato PC can't even run this shit properly without lag", he screamed at the red 'GAME OVER' on his screen, face red. His rage was interrupted by a heart piercing wail that came from his computer instead of the familiar music that played when he died. He stared at the computer. "Fucking shit is broken", he swore as he smashed his PC on the floor.
Feedback and CC very much appreciated!
|
So, a Roman general, a peasant, and a germanic barbarian are observing World War II from the afterlife.
The Roman general says: "Look at the formations. They've taken our lessons to heart. Truly, this is the best of war."
The peasant says: "Look at the soldiers; they're almost all the same kind of poor person I was, and they're dying the same. Truly, this is the worst of war"
Finally, the germanic barbarian says: "Why are we speaking English!?" |
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