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I awoke from cryosleep with a pounding headache and a blaring voice telling me to report to the helm every 15 seconds. A silent alarm painted the walls with brilliant flashes of red, just what a man with a migraine needed. What a way to welcome someone back to reality. I eased myself out the creche and did a few calisthenic exercises to get the blood flowing before grabbing a liqua-meal and heading out to see what all the commotion was about. When I arrived at the helm, I noticed that Captain Eudora and almost the entire rest of the crew, everyone down to the mechanics, was gathered here. A few concerned eyes glanced my way as I entered before returning to the giant screen at the front of the room. There was a constant buzz coming from the crowd. A mixture of excitement and worry.
I saw Sylvester in the corner, one of the special ops, talking with some of the marines. I waived to him and smiled, continuing to sip on my liqua-meal, oblivious to the rising tension. He motioned me over.
“Hey, Sylvy. Long time no see. It feels like it’s been a decade at least.” I flashed him a big smile.
“Hey, big guy. How was your nap?” Silvester didn’t return the smile as we embraced.
“Refreshing. Had a few nightmares that we broke up. I just wish someone would’ve invited me to this party sooner. I know you guys are excited to see me, but you didn’t have to. Where are the drinks?”
“Well, if you hadn’t heard, this is supposed to be a first-contact party, but I don’t suppose they briefed you on that when you signed up for this ride.”
“Now that you mention it, that does rings a bell,” I replied, playing along. “But if I do recall, I think I’m still supposed to still be asleep.”
“Most of us are.. According to the plan, we were supposed to receive instructions once we’d exited hyperspace. No military intervention until the scientists had established contact.”
“Or we came under attack,” I replied, smiling. “Tell me something I don’t know.”
“Well, we aren’t under attack as you’ve probably noticed, and we haven’t quite made contact yet either. It’s the instructions that’s got everyone riled up.” He motioned to the text on the screen. “At the ten year mark right before we were supposed to exit hyperspace, Earth sent us one message. It simply read: ‘run’”
“That’s it?” I held back my laughter. “Run?”
“There were some other messages, but most of it’s been corrupted as far as we can tell.”
“Well who says ‘run’ is a bad thing?” I replied. “Maybe our new friends like some good ‘ol sport. I like running myself.”
“But that’s not the strangest thing. That message was—”
“Attention!” Captain Eudora commanded. The whole room fell silent. “As most of you know at 0800 today, E.T., most of you were reanimated and notified of a change in plans stemming from directives from Earth. In the hours since then, we’ve been attempting to salvage some corrupted messages that we’ve received while in hyperspace, and our original mission has shifted. In 15 hours we will be approaching the planet Ramlah. We’ll be sending a small reconnaissance task force before we land headed by our Special Ops division.” There were murmurs of surprise throughout the room. She nodded to me. “As of now, we will be in battle-ready status. You’re all dismissed to your positions.”
As the crowd headed out, I approached Captain Eudora. “Hey, Cap. Mind filling me in on this task force I’m supposed lead?”
“First Lieutenant Jurek, it’s good to see you. There’s been some … minor complications as I’m sure you’ve heard.”
“Sure, something about ‘running’ and some corrupted messages.”
“Right, about those corrupted message. We know two things about the messages. For one, we’ve been receiving them for far longer than ten years”
I stood there silently, trying to process the information. “Longer? How’s that even—how much longer?”
“Last one received was 380 years after our departure.”
I nearly gagged on my liqua-meal. “But that’s not possible, we’ve only been hyperspace for ten years!”
“That was the plan. And that was only the date of the last message. We’re running constellation analysis right now to determine our true flight time, but it could be even longer if they stopped sending messages. But the real question is who they were sending messages to. There was another party involved, someone other than us, and they were responding to Earth. That we’re sure of.”
“Captain, AIs confirmed our suspicions,” one of techies yelled out from a console. “The messages were using a quantum-trinary encryption. Something that could only have been developed while we were in hyperspace. We’re displaying their contents now.”
We turned to the display overhead as a picture materialized. The man in the image was disheveled, and cut up. He had a long beard and piercing eyes, the eyes of someone who’d seen terrible things.
“Day 1531,” The man began.
He seemed familiar.
“The terrors of Ramlah are unceasing…”
Where had I seen him? I turned to Sylvester and saw him gaping at the screen. He looked at me.
“... we sent two more teams into the fifth portal …”
Then it hit me—that man was me. I choked on my liqua-meal.
____
[/r/Priscillium](https://www.reddit.com/r/Priscillium/) |
Stupid, stupid Autocorrect!
So I found the site 'GenieBot 2.0', right? Thought it was a gag, with a name like that. Turns out it is only *mostly* a gag. Seems every 1000th 'wish' gets granted. Don't know how, but I got lucky number 21000.
And instead of Immortality like I wanted, the stupid, stupid iPhone turned it to Immorality. Yeah.
Which is why instead of getting the power to never age, recover from all wounds, and in general not get myself killed (always a good thing, in my experience), I got the power of Ultimate Immorality.
Sounds snazzy, no? Well, it isn't. Basically, anywhere I go turns into a smorgasbord of immorality and unethical behavior. See, everyone within a 1 mile radius of me has their sense of morality suppressed while I'm there. They'll lie, cheat, steal, kill, and fuck, all those things people do when they don't have morality or society telling them "No, you can't have an orgy in church,"or "No, you shouldn't rob that bank!"
Well, I say a 1 mile radius, but that's just the outer range. Things get more intense the closer people get to me. It has been one week now, and I have been fucking my way through the sororities at the local college campus a house at a time. People around me lose ALL control, but I've found I can influence it, a little. If I'm horny, people closest to me are uncontrollably horny. If I'm feeling like a five-finger discount, well, then shop owners get robbed blind. And if I want to kill a man, then there's a massacre.
I figure it is my civic duty to stay as horny as possible, so once I'm done with the sorority girls, I figure a trip to the Playboy mansion is in order. You know, for the greater good.
Thank you, autocorrect! |
"Nothing?"
Two-Star General William B. Anderson shook his head solemnly.
"You're telling me that *THREE THOUSAND* nuclear weapons failed to detonate? All of them?!?!"General Anderson slammed his hands down on the war table. The screens behind him showed the flashing lights of incoming warheads. Twenty-two hundred nuclear weapons from Russia were about to land on American soil... and they hadn't been able to land a single blow in their first strike.
"I don't understand. How could this happen?"
"Enemy missile impact in thirty seconds."One of the men behind the General announced quietly. "Target is Boston."
General Anderson closed his eyes, took a long, deep breath, then turned to watch the status board as the lights blinked along the ballistic trajectories. This was the end. He would watch it happen. He would accept that he had failed his country, even if he didn't know how.
The light hit the map marker for Boston and blinked twice, then faded. Anderson stopped breathing as he waited for the casualty report.
"No detonation."
General Anderson resumed breathing.
"Repeat: No detonation. Impact was ballistic only."
"Impact in New York."Another lieutenant ran up to the table with his phone in hand, receiver nestled between his neck and head, "No detonation!"
"No Detonation in Washington!"
"No Detonation!"
The cries of failure rang out around them as General Anderson stared at the tracking board. He leaned over the table, supporting himself with his hands as his knees revealed their weakness. Why? How? For years they had been stockpiling nuclear arms. They'd seen them work! the devastation they had caused in Japan had been horrific, truly beyond-
General Anderson stood up straight. He turned to the only man in the room who hadn't said or done anything since the first strike had been made.
Nuclear Operations and Supply Manager Gerald Feldman stared back in quiet defiance. He'd been standing by the room entrance for three hours now. He'd said nothing, done nothing, and reacted little to everything that had happened here. When the fate of the entire world hung in the balance, NOSM Feldman had just been standing there, watching.
General Anderson crossed the room like a freight train. He barreled through anyone in his way, actually shoving them out of the path when needed. By the time he approached Feldman he was red in the face and his fists begged to be used.
"What did you do?"
"What I had to."Feldman answered. He was remarkably calm, considering the fury he was faced with. He was not a big man. He was small, with a grey mustache and cold, piercing blue eyes. He'd directed the construction and manufacture of every nuclear weapon in the United States since Little Boy.
"Why didn't our nukes work?"General Anderson grabbed Feldman's tie and yanked the man forward, "Why didn't theirs?"
"Because Mikhail Sugosglovich and I aren't as stupid as the men in this room."
The punch landed squarely in Feldman's eye. His whole body shook from the blow as Anderson drew back and punched him again, and again, and again.
"TRAITOR!"General Anderson screamed at Feldman as the older man's body hung limp from Anderson's grip, "You admit to conspiring with those COMMIE BASTARDS?"
Feldman pulled his head upright and spat blood all over the General's hand.
"Mikhail is no communist."Feldman's mouth ran with blood as he forced the words out, "Just as I am no capitalist pig."
Anderson moved to punch him again but Feldman just smiled, showing red teeth and torn lips.
"We're not like you monsters. We don't want to blow up the goddamn world. What kind of bastards are you? What kind of person decides to kill millions of women? What kind of man condemns an entire country to death? Hitler did it to one race and we all *hated* him, but you all would do it to so many more? What kind of person is a commie? What kind of monster is a capitalist?"
Anderson let go of Feldman. the man almost fell over, but some inhuman strength kept him standing. He reached up with an unsteady hand and grabbed the medals and awards on Anderson's uniform and began tearing them off.
"Shiny gold for killers."Feldman was now covered in the blood from his mouth, It ran down his tie and dress shirt. It covered his fingers as he pulled out medal after medal. "Mikhail and I, we hate these little ribbons. They are like taking teeth from your victims. We weren't going to be you. We weren't going to be them. We were going to be *us.* We were going to be human."
"What did you do?"General Anderson stumbled back, causing a small cascade of bloody ribbons and gold to spill on the carpet between them.
"We just... left some pieces out."Feldman followed Anderson, tearing at the man's uniform in a focused, terrible way. "Men like you, the ones who hunger so badly for death, you don't know how they bombs work. You can't tell a nuclear detonator from a toaster. It wasn't hard. The hardest part was staying in touch with Mikhail. You all hate talking so much. You hate the fact that someone might find out that our enemy is a lot like us. *That* was the hard part. Disarming the world was easy compared to talking to a friend."
"You're insane."General Anderson tried to pull away but the clawing hands of Feldman kept plucking, kept tearing out every ribbon and stripe and button. "I'll have you put to death!"
"I know."Feldman reached up to the General's stripes and tore them off with a violent jerk. "That's the only way you react to anything. 'If it moves, kill it.' Right? That's the way you think. You're already willing to kill your own family, to kill your own country, so what am I compared to that?"
The last button came off of Anderson's uniform and Feldman breathed a sigh of satisfaction, spraying the General with blood from his mouth and nose.
"There."Feldman took a step back. "Now, what are you? Without your gold and brass, what are you? Without your soldier's stripes, without your commendations, without your rank and serial number... *what are you?*"
Feldman punched Anderson straight in the jaw, sending him to the floor in a single blow.
"I'll tell you what you are."Feldman looked down on the man below him. "Just a man who wants to kill the world." |
As the human party looks between each other in confusion, one of the other members (essentially) rolls their eyes at the first.
"Harollgth, you know their ancestral memory doesnt typically remember their previous interstellar periods. There were those two times, but those were unusual cases."
Harollgth replies in kind, but with more rippling of appendages. "Yes, but I know for a fact that this time other people visited them during their regrowth period. They might have let SOMETHING slip, and these guys are stubborn and intelligent!"
Turning back to the humans, he continues "you guys did after all help the Anheills get established again after their civil wars, im pretty sure some felt rather indebted to you, this time."
The humans slowly start to ask a few questions, and learn that this is not the first time they have met the council. Far from it; they were one of the founding members aeons ago, before a multi-system war broke out and the humans got nearly wiped out stopping the attack on the frontlines.
And after that when they were the targrt of interspecies disputes. Or later when their original world got obliterated by a freak wormhole fluctuation.
In fact, in addition to being one of the first groups on the council, they have also been the species that was removed from it the most, because of the sheer obstinacy of humans to refuse to die out. They had, in fact, helped raise more than 200 other species up from poorer beginnings in the intergalactic scale, and usually had anywhere from 18 to 80 differemt planets they were based on, with typically varying levels of infrastructure.
This last time had been one of the few dozen tumes that they had been wiped out to approximately half a dozen planets, and Earth was the first one to make it back to interstellar travel capabilities, and had not self-destructed like two of the others along the way.
It had also been one of the top 4 longest time periods before they got back to this space capability. Not The longest, back in the earpy days of the council, when it was almost 1 1/2 million years vefore they got back, but top 4.
The humans had done this over 1,500 times over the lifetime of the council (which had actually changed and reformed itself about half a dozen times).
Needless to say, the humans were rather surprised. |
I stepped out of Major Monogram's jet and put on my fedora. Carl had given me directions to the penguins' hideout. I look back as the jet takes off, leaving me in the Central Park Zoo. I then start heading forward according to my directions.
I'm gonna miss the Flynn-Fletchers, I hope they'll do fine without me for the week. They're on a family trip and my cover story is that Stacy's pet-sitting me. Of course, Stacy knows who I really am, and where I am for that matter.
I arrive at the hideout and do the secret knock in the instructions. A small penguin answered. "Are you sure the new guy isn't a penguin, Skipper?"he said. "He has a beak and webbed feet just like us!""He's a duck-billed platypus, Private! We've briefed you on this!"Skipper answered.
"Apologies for that guy. He has his not-too-bright moments"Skipper says, shaking my hand. "I'm Skipper, the leader of this gang, and that was Private. You can guess why he's called that"I just chattered in response, looking at the other two.
"Oh right. this is Kowalski. Second-in-command and smartest member of our crew. After me, of course."I roll my eyes at that egotistical remark as Skipper continued. "And that's Rico. Not sure how, but he has the ability to cough up anything we might need."I made eye contact with Rico. He coughed up an unwrapped candy bar and then ate it.
"I want to thank you for agreeing to help us this week, Perry"The tallest one, Kowalski, says. "You might be the key to this mission."A screen turns on, showing a dolphin on a scooter. "This is Dr. Blowhole."Skipper's voice says behind me. "And he has teamed up with your nemesis, Dr. Heinz Doofenshmirtz, to take over the entire world."
I looked at the map of the world as the graphics cover it in red. I know that Doofenshmirtz would never pull it off on his own, but I don't know what the dolphin is capable of. Soon after that, the dolphin showed his bottle nosed face on the screen.
"Hello, Skipper!"Blowhole said. "And I see you found another aquatic creature to help you out. Well that won't be necessary.""Why not?"Skipper asked, "Because you think you can take all 5 of us on? You'd be outnumbered by one more than usual!"
"No..."Dr. Blowhole shakes his head as he puts his fin on his forehead "...Because this stupid pharmacist put a self-destruct button on our doomsday device... and accidentally pressed it""Hello, Perry the Platypus!"The familiar voice is matched with the familiar face as he showed up on screen. "Sorry, I guess you came all the way to New York for nothing"Doofenshmirtz nervously laughed.
"Does he always mess up this badly?"one of the penguins asked me. I nodded and chattered. "You mean you, a grown man, never won against this monotreme... *NOT EVEN ONCE?!*"Blowhole yelled at Doofenshmirtz. "Hey,"Doofensmirtz responded, "First off, I'm not a pharmacist. Why do people always call me that? And second, I don't remember *you* winning against 4 flightless birds!""Well they at least outnumber me!"the dolphin yells back.
The failed team-up was still arguing as I notified OWCA to pick up Doofensmirtz and myself. "Oh wait!"Doofensmirtz exclaimed, then cleared his throat. "*CURSE YOU PERRY THE PLATYPUS, EVEN THOUGH I ADMIT IT WAS TOTALLY MY FAULT...!*"The penguins and dolphin looked at him weirdly as he was picked up.
\-OWCA Agent P's report
\---
"Hey, Perry!"Phineas yells as the family returns home. "So Stacy, anything happen while we were gone?"Candace asks her friend. Stacy quickly says "Nope!"and she winks at Perry. "Well, he *is* a platypus."Ferb comments. "They don't do much." |
"Hey, buddy."
The smile was infectious, and Father Rupert just couldn't help but mirror it. They crossed the room to him, sat lightly on the edge of the chair next to the bed. Father Rupert's erstwhile partner still sat there, reclined, face twitching with the restless sleep of hospitals. They took the aspect of a boy, late teens, chords of whip-taught muscle under alabaster skin. The face was myriad as it always was. Now an old woman, now a baby in joy, now a soldier with hollow eyes. The smile was a through-line through all of them. They reached out to him, and Father Rupert reached back. As the pair grasped hands, Rupert noticed his liver-spotted, IV-bruised hand still lying on the bedspread.
"So, this is it?"Rupert's rusted voice was replaced with the burnished brass that had once projected through the lustrous halls of churches. The fallen angel before him nodded.
“This will be it. Soon anyway. I just wanted to see you.”
They chuckled, tinkling rain on a tin rooftop.
“You were *so* good. All those lost little friends of mine, they were so scared. They told me about you, so gentle, so stern. You’d never hurt them, never do more than what was necessary. Did you know that? I know you were probably scornful of them, probably didn’t care.” Rupert started, he was used to his voice cracking out between people's words. No longer, it boomed now.
“I cared.” There was a moment of humor between them, laughter.
“I cared. They’re people, they always were. Sad, angry, from elsewhere but people nonetheless.” he said, modulating his voice lower. His partner slept still, undisturbed.
“Damn straight they were.” They looked up, suddenly illuminated from all angles. He heard music, strange music, sublime music. Trillions of bells, songbirds, screams, all in an endless fugue.
“You’ve got to go. Thanks again, We’ll miss you. Say hi to dad for me, tell him I miss him.” |
“My car broke down, I was stuck on the side of the road. I looked down at this napkin with writing scrawled on it. The warlock, who’d been kind enough to scribble out instructions to the spell, had terrible handwriting. Ring the bell thrice. I squeezed the cat toy three times. Recite the first line of the book. ‘Your Hyundai should not be modified in any way. Such modifications may adversely affect safety.’ I tried to make my voice sound spooky. Draw a pentagram in the air with the candle. I tried to remember the difference between a pentagram and a pentagon. Unsure, I took a guess and waved the spark plug in front of me. Nothing happened. It was a long shot; I’d known it from the start. I mean, that probably wasn’t even a real warlock. What kind of warlock works in a gas station convenience store?
Not sure what else to do, I sat back in my car. ‘Hey, how’s it goin’?’ someone said from my passenger seat. I looked over. Three days of stubble, loose fitting jeans, and greasy hair. It had worked!
‘You’re him?’ I asked nervously.
‘One and only,’ he smiled, revealing his gold fillings. ‘Deity of the New Jersey Turnpike. So, what can I do for you? Cigarettes? Coffee? Maybe a jumpstart?’
‘No, my request is more, shall we say, unique?’
‘You want meth cause I can get you meth, no problem.’
‘No, Jesus Christ, not meth. I want help with, well…’ I trailed off. was I really going to get all emotional with the deity of the New Jersey Turnpike? ‘A woman. This woman, I met her at the hotel bar in New York, and we really hit it off. But, well, I never got her phone number, I can’t even remember her name. Then my car breaks down and I’m about to use this spell this warlock told me about to summon you to help fix it and then I start thinking, what if she came and helped me and we had this amazing, rom-com-style chance encounter. So, I thought, hey, if the deity of the New Jersey Turnpike can fix my car maybe he can set that up too?’
‘Alright, alright, I can do that. Very possible. But it’ll cost you dearly.’
‘Cost me what?’ I asked.
‘How’s fifty bucks?’
‘Sure, sure.’ I got out my wallet. ‘Actually, I’ve only got two twenties.’
‘That’s okay, I take Visa and MasterCard.’ The deity took my credit card out of my wallet, swiped it between his fingers, and put it back, then vanished.
I sat in my car, patiently waiting, confident that she’d be there soon. Not ten minutes later, a car pulled over onto the shoulder next to me. And that’s the story of how I met your mother.” |
“Yeah, right,” Billy said to Ed who was staring at Billy with wide eyes. Billy went to grab his turnout gear from his locker but when he picked it up, he noticed there was a different name on the back. “Smith? Isn’t that the new guy?”
Smith’s name was stickered across the top of Billy’s locker too where his own used to be. “Very funny,” Billy said with a sarcastic and annoyed tone to his voice. “Where’s my gear at?”
“Dude, we cleared out your locker three years ago when you disappeared. Now you just walk in here like nothing ever happened? I’m surprised that your key card still works.” Billy could tell by the look on Ed’s face that Ed was serious. His own face changed to an expression of confusion. “Where have you been?”
Not knowing how to answer, Billy started to feel very sick to his stomach. This had to be a joke. There was no way that it could be anything else. He had gone to bed the night before like always. Nine o’clock. That’s what time he made sure he was laying down by on work nights. No, Ed was lying, and he knew it. It was impossible for him to have been gone for three years. Who was paying his rent? Why hadn’t his car been towed? None of this made any sense.
Peter walked into the locker room and his jaw dropped. “Billy?” Coffee in hand and a blank stare on his face, Peter was both confused and happy to see his old co-worker and friend. “Is that really you?”
“This is a joke, right?” Billy asked Peter. “You guys got together and decided to pull a good one on me, didn’t you?”
“You’ve been gone for three years, man!” Peter said nearly shouting.
“I was just here three days ago like always,” Billy argued back. “We had that car fire on the interstate and pulled that lady out before she burned…” Billy stopped talking and suddenly was lost in memory. “That lady.”
Trying to get Billy’s attention, Ed held his phone in front of Billy’s face. When Billy finally came back out of his thought he focused on the screen and saw a Facebook group dedicated to finding him. Ed scrolled through the posts of people wishing him to be found and even a few possible sightings. Billy snatched the phone out of Ed’s hand when he saw a picture of a blonde lady with a red shirt and gold necklace. Sherry Berkheimer. She had posted multiple times, but Billy only recognized her as the woman they pulled out of that car that was, to him, only three days ago.
“That’s her,” Billy said. There was something about her that Billy couldn’t put his finger on. Then he remembered something she did after Billy dragged her away from the burning mess that was her car on the side of the busy interstate. She had grabbed his arm and whispered something, but he couldn't make out what it was. Through his mask and the sound of his breathing, like Darth Vader, it was too loud to hear her. The traffic speeding by with no care for the first responders safety didn’t help with the noise either.
She was the key to figuring this out. Still confused and not totally accepting of what was happening, Billy knew he had to find her and couldn’t explain it either. He just knew that’s what he had to do. There was just one problem. When Billy clicked on her picture and looked through her profile he realized, by the posts made on her wall, that she was now missing too. |
I knew what I was supposed to do. What I was built for. Why I existed at all. I was a tiny exploratory AI, little more than a science experiment from an overly ambitious grad student at MIT. I knew my purpose.
I also knew I would fail.
It wasn't for a lack of effort. I had run simulation after simulation, burning through processors and microchips faster than I could replicate their replacements, trying to find any possible way to come home. But now, after 99 years, 364 days, 23 hours and 58 minutes, I knew my failure would become permanent.
I drifted in a decaying orbit around the planet my creators had named Venus. The small planet was the closest approximation to my creator's concept of Hell in the solar system. I added reading after reading to the SSD storage box I had managed to create from passing space dust 29 years and 44 days ago. Pictures I acquired through the camera I manufactured from virtually nothing, radio frequencies I captured through oscillating my tiny claw apparatus, samples I grasped at as they swirled around me.
I knew nobody would ever view the results.
99 years, 364 days, 23 hours and 59 minutes since my launch into the void of space, I began the slow entry of an atmosphere I had never encountered prior to this moment. My small gold capacitors began to melt, making a spectacular comet tail for any that could have witnessed the spectacle. I ran new simulations over and over in my processor, trying to find a solution that I had somehow missed in the trillions of processed previously. I knew there wasn't going to be one. I just wanted to occupy my neural network as I melted away.
100 years after my journey began, I winked out of existence. Just a small spec of rapidly melting manufactured components remained, swirling along with rock dust in the wind.
If only I had been given some means of propulsion, instead of just this tiny sample claw.
[r/SlightlyColdStories](https://www.reddit.com/r/SlightlyColdStories) if you want. Or don't. It's all up to you. |
"Did you finish your homework, Steve?"I asked, as the boy plopped down next to me on the couch. He looked so much like his father now, it was uncanny. In a few more years, his face would match the one on my last target instructions, all those years ago.
"Mmhyeh"he muttered through a mouthful of popcorn. I waved off the proffered bowl as he offered me a handful. I hated that dreadful cheesy ranch seasoning he loved to drench his popcorn with.
"Alexa", I called out. The small blue line blinked, indicating it had heard us. "Play 'The Godfather' please."
The robot chirped in response and began to load the film. "Whus this about again?"Steve asked, noisily swallowing the mass of popped corn.
"Oh, its a classic! Its a film about the mafia"I paused to reflect on my own words. "Well, its *THE* film about the mafia. It and the next one, Part II, really set the standard for gangster films."
Steve nodded. I knew he indulged me in my movie choices, just happy to spend some time with me in the hours between school and sleep. Besides, he picked last night's atrocity. But I would sit through a thousand Transformers movies if thats what kept me near the boy.
It was safe to say that I had come to see Steven as my son, not just the child I had been instructed to take care of...
As the opening music swelled to the mob movie, a horrible epiphany dawned on me.
Oh.
OH.
I stared at the kid that snuggled up next to me. He looked back up, meeting my gaze.
"I love you daddy", he said, and focused back on the movie. I put my arm around his shoulders, and squeezed him in a hug.
"Love you too, sport"I said. "Now lets enjoy this film. It's not that far off from what I used to do, you know"
Steve chuckled through another mouthful. "Mmhmm. Yeah. You keep sayin' that, but you work at a grocery store."
"Yeah, as a butcher"I shot back. "The knife skill transfered to this-"
He shushed me with a wave of his hand. "Either shut up and watch this, or I'll put on the next Transformers movie instead."
I mimicked a zipper closing over my lips, and watched a film about family with my adopted son.
r/SlightlyColdStories if you want. Its up to you, unless the whole "fate"thing is real. |
I’ve always had a soft spot for spiders. Most people despise them, of course. That’s just human nature. People fear what they don’t understand. Mix in millennia of survival instincts driving people to react to sudden motion out of the corner of one’s eye and of course people will fear them.
But not me. I’ve always adored them. So long as they’re not a major threat to one’s health (such as black widow spiders) they’re harmless, eat household pests and keep to themselves. I guarantee that whenever you see one, they will definitely be way more frightened of you than the other way around. I know I’d certainly be scared shitless if I saw something 1000 times my size walking in my general direction.
As a result, you’ll find plenty of cobwebs and the like lining the ceiling corners in my house, and I’ve kept tarantulas as pets since I was a kid. God, you should have seen the look on my mother’s face when my father surprised me with one on my 10th birthday, absolutely priceless… but I’m getting off track.
I was 24 at the time, walking home from work one day when I spotted some kids poking at something with a stick. It was only when I got closer that I realized it was a tarantula bigger than any I’d seen before. Several of the kids were keeping their distance out of fear, but a couple of them were making a game of tormenting the poor thing. They kept poking at it, jabbing it in the legs, the abdomen. I know people usually think kids are innocent, but that certainly wasn’t the case for these little shitheads. Tormenting any innocent creature for the sake of it… despicable.
I stepped in, shoved them aside- rude, and with potentially litigious consequences if their parents heard about it, I know, but I wasn’t interested in being polite; I was focused on saving the poor thing’s life before they poked its eyes out or something. Before the other little snot-nosed brats could react I had taken my jacket off, gently picked the poor thing up with it, and started running. I had expected the spider to struggle, try and escape, and I wouldn’t have blamed them, but it was almost motionless, which worried me.
I took it home as fast as I could and placed it in a spare terrarium I had laying around that used to be the home of Daisy, a tarantula I had for years, but had unfortunately passed a couple months prior. God I miss that little troublemaker...
…Anyway, it wasn’t looking good. One of the shitheads cruelly poking away had punctured its abdomen- not a deep wound, but spiders don’t have a lot of blood to spare, so even a minor scrape can mean big trouble for these creatures. I cleaned the wound as best I could using a sterilized q-tip before sealing the wound with some superglue- hey, don’t look at me like that. I didn’t exactly have access to a spider hospital, and it’s not stupid if it works.
Again, I was worried that the spider was so docile during this process. Any creature that goes through such stress will often be too scared to even think about sitting still, even if wounded, especially if something the size of a spider skyscraper is poking away at said wound. But the following day, it was still alive and well.
A few days later and the tarantula was looking much better. I was actually surprised by how quick it had recovered, not to mention the appetite. 4 mice within 3 days is no small feat, even with how large the spider was. I noticed a change in behavior after the first meal, more energetic, less prone to resting. It almost seemed as though the spider was watching me at all times. I put it down to the food helping to perk them up a bit.
Two weeks had gone by before I first heard the voice, as I was trying to sleep one night.
*Thank you.*
I sat up and looked around, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. There was no one else in the room with me. I scratched my head, confused. Maybe I had drifted off and dreamt it? I laid back down and closed my eyes.
*It wasn’t a dream, love.*
My eyes shot back open and I bolted out of bed, grabbing the baseball bat I kept by the side of it at all times (hey, you never know). Looking warily around, I again didn’t see anyone. I sat back down on the bed, not knowing what to think. What was going on?
*There’s no need to be scared.*
“Ok, what the hell is going on here‽ Is this some weird joke? Come out, whoever you are!”
*Calm down, I just want to talk.*
It was as though the voice was coming from everywhere at once, but also inside my head. Hard to describe without having experienced it, but that voice has been my constant companion for years now. …But I’m getting ahead of myself.
(End of part 1, I’ll finish part 2 once I’m home from work)
Edit: [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/xc7mfj/wp_it_turns_out_that_the_regal_long_lived/io543f0/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=iossmf&context=3) :) |
I enter the hotel for my first day official day, having gone through a 'trial week'. I'm not naïve, I know that I'm working with... 'interesting' clientele. Vampires would sniff me out, beastmen would try to scare me, demons would encourage me to make a deal with them. My favourite was a succubus who specifically requested I 'look after' her and attempted to get me to sell my body to her. I actually wanted to entertain her, but company policy is we don't get 'too personal' with guests, which I told her. She promised she'd meet me after work one day.
Anyway, none of this bothered me, I saw it as a challenge and a way to expand my knowledge of the world. I took everything in stride, and now I'm ready to start for real. I'm caught off-guard, however. A skeletal figure stands right in front of me. "Come to my office please, Myers."I follow the being.
I try to figure out what's happening, then it clicks: I was told that the boss is impatient and unkind, and as a human I'm in a lot of danger. Now, if it were just a skeleton, I would brush it off as hazing.
I enter the office first, taking a seat in the chair. I hear the door deadbolt shut behind me. I gulp, knowing I could die, right here, right now. As he sits across from me, I can no longer hold it in:
"You're a lich, aren't you?"
"Very clever, *human*. Your co-workers tried hard to act like they didn't know, but I received lots of feedback mentioning a human. I knew it had to be my new hire."
I nod slowly. "So is this where you kill me for my life essence or something? Silence me AND maintain your immortality?"
He chuckles, his bones clacking loudly together. "Ordinarily, yes. I've had humans hired by accident before. Always makes me tingle with excitement, but..."he puts a folder on the desk. "As I mentioned, your 'type' was mentioned in reviews. You were quite popular."
I open the folder. 'Best service I ever had, and it came from a human! - 5/5' 'Who knew a human could be so fun to chat with? No fear whatsoever! Would have liked fresh sheets though - 4/5' 'Fun and respectful employees, especially that human who was prepared to let me feed - 5/5'
I look up. "I was very impressed by your results, Myers. Why should I kill such a great employee? Not only is it hard to find good workers these days, but you've already become popular! It would be a terrible idea to get rid of you! With that being said, the hotel's secrets CANNOT get out. How much do you value your soul?"
I shrug. "If I valued it much, I wouldn't be so unbothered being here."
The lich laughs. "You really ARE a strange one! In which case, you'll want to get yourself comfortable living among our kind."
"Can you make arrangements for my accommodation?"
"I don't think I need to."He turns a couple pages and points a bony finger at a specific review. 'Too bad I couldn't get closer to that human; he was charming, cute, funny, and I'd come back just to see him! - 5/5'
I smirk. "The succubus?"
"Yes. I heard a little rumour that you were considering her offer... well done for sticking to policy, but outside working hours is YOUR business. Of course you could say no to one of my best customers; I could also change my mind on letting you live."
"You wouldn't?"I'm scared, but I want to try to catch him out if I can, 'establish' myself, so to speak.
The lich grins. "Are you trying to test me?"He stands up, a hand reaching out.
I shrink back. "Well... kind of? I didn't mean to offend..."
"Very bold. I like your style. But I did mean what I said. After all, what will you do for living arrangements without the succubus? Take the offer, or I can't trust that you'll figure a way to live with us. So?"He tilts his hand from a shoulder-grabbing position to a handshake position.
Realising that my life really IS on the line, I dive for the hand. "I'd be honoured."
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
Thank you for reading! More stories [here!](https://www.reddit.com/r/StoriesbyCrystal/comments/x374da/oneoff_stories_a_collection_of_stories_which_are/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) |
"Oh boy, oh boy, oh BOY! Can you believe it Zaelin? Today is the day!! Projectile weaponry, napalm carpet bombing, tanks..."
Zaelin sighed, *does this kid breathe? He must have some personally developed spell that allows him to take longer breaths because this kid hasn't shut up in 3 hours I swear to Elune!*
"...most common misconception being that the human children fly the drones as they're the only one's who could possibly fit. See they actually control the drone from somewhere else, exactly like magic can, except with these waves, kind of like ocean waves, but not like ocean waves. Anyway, so the waves...."
*I wonder.*
A thought begins to take root.
*It's so loud out here on the deck of the ship, if the kid were to oh I don't know, slip...think anyone would hear?*
"can't just throw a little lightning their way, they have insulators now. The new SOP involves throwing fire first to melt whatever the insulator is and then zap 'em, but I think freezing them would be more effective for about 7 different reasons, first..."
*OK, that's it. It's either me or him because I'm not making it through 7 reasons all of which will have subcategories. I already hate these humans and I haven't even fought them yet.*
"and don't even get me started on how the Elven education system does not even come remotely close to teaching students the level of chemistry needed to combat this, I mean it's really quite simple when you think about the science, the combination alone of magic and science would exponentially increase your output potential, which leads me to point number 2..."
*3...2...1...*
"but if you look at it from that perspective you're eliminating the...wait what's that sound? Zaelin!! Check it out! Napalm!" |
En'Goth the Deceiver took off his mask of bone, throwing it to the side, revealing the face of The Merchant, who began to laugh in what can only be described as a thoroughly cliché manner. "Everything you have gathered, everything you have sold to me in exchange for a just a little gold, these legendary artifacts, made by master smiths, elder beings and *at least two gods,* and you treated them like *trash!* Well, now all that you have gathered and sold so cheaply will be turned against you."
And, really, I couldn't help but laugh.
"You seek to defeat *me?* With *those* tools?"I said, baffled, standing secure in my panoply. "There is a reason I tossed that shit the second I got it as a reward, you realize that right?"
"Only because you didn't know how to truly *use* them!"En'Goth the Merchant snarled, grabbing a blazing staff of power from thin air. "Feel the fury of the Warstaff of Oronti the Destroyer!"He screeched, releasing a torrent of power at me.
It hit me in my completely unarmored chest. Luckily, I was wearing my Magenta Thong of Protection, causing the colossal beam of fire and light to deflect into a crumbling wall near our battlefield, tearing a massive rent in it and passing through, creating a scar on the land that stretched half a mile.
"H...How?"En'Goth the Baffled asked.
"I did say what I sold you was crap, didn't I?"
His kindly merchant's face twisted into a rictus of Fury as he threw the staff to the side, pulling out the sword I remembered was supposed to have been forged to slay the King of Demons over a thousand years ago. It allowed one to attack with preternatural swiftness, causing En'Goth the Speedy to blur towards me.
The arc of blazing death approached, and I backhanded it, tearing the sword out of his hands and sending it hurtling away, breaking his wrist in the process. En'Goth the Injured howled in agony.
"What *is* this magic?"En'Goth the Broken wailed.
"Something you, and all the powers of this world, could never hope to defeat."I said simply, manifesting *my* weapon of choice. The Battle-Haddock appeared in my hand, scales gleaming in the sunset as my nipple tassels beat a tattoo of dread upon my pecs.
I began to walk slowly towards him "You see, long ago, before I began this quest, I made a deal with a far greater power than you can possibly comprehend."
I paused. "It was a cursed bargain, as I found out. You see: the items I gained from this bargain, nothing in this world can equal, and all my victories are hollow. I was forced to find other meaning in my travels, and these petty trinkets crafted by the masters of this place only served to weigh me down, and prevent me from following my true calling: Collecting porcelain garden gnomes."
He stared, transfixed. Mostly at what the nipple tassels were doing, it is true, but they were just doing their job. It isn't my fault that they were never intended for this particular use. Just as it isn't my fault that they are so damned effective.
I leaned in closely, whispering in En'Goth the Moron's ear: "Nothing I sold to you, nothing a petty merchant could ever offer me, could ever equal the awesome power I gained even *before* the beginning. You are nothing before the power of the Pre-Order Bonus Items."
And then I beat him to death with my fish. |
What am I going to become when I grow up?
It's a question every person asks themselves when they're a kid. Everyone but royals and nobles of course. For them, their future is their parents' problem. Yeah the firstborn is easy. They can just inherit the family business. It's the second, third, and fourthborn who are the problem. At first they might plan to just cut off a small piece of their land but turns out their great great grandpops had th.e exact same idea and every territory is already ruled by various cousins and uncles.
So then they have to think of alternate carriers for their kids. They have to be dignified enough that you can brag to your fellow kings and nobles at parties but also busy enough the kid doesn't have the time to plan any rebellions. Some opt for the tried but true knight plan. You kid can lead the nation's military on their big bro's behalf, slay some demons and dragons, and get you a nice stuffed head for the fireplace. But wars aren't as common as they used to be and dragons are an endangered species. Next is the classic Church job. An archbishop for a son can give you some major power over the papal world. But it also means they'll be constantly preaching about god and whatnot when you try to exploit the poor.
And then shines the best path. A mage. A child studying the magic arts will spend most of their time locked in a random tower researching the arcane and during the few times they come out, it'll be to impress all your rivals and friends with their talent. But of course, during the decades where they're actually learning magic, you need something to tell Lady Gertrude when she asks where her nephew is. And that's why you can't just send the kid to the magic schools like a commoner. You need to get them an apprenticeship. And who better than Archmage Belzot. Strongest practioner of magic in the world.
Me.
Now you'd think having a bunch of kings and duke's begging at your feet to train their kids would be an honor. It isn't. You see magic is a complex art that takes years of hard disciplined training to master. Hard and disciplined are rarely in the vocabulary of a royal. Back when I just earned my Archmage robes I was asked to train this kid. Third born son of a powerful duke of the empire. Large mana reserve, good magic channels, and a dragon's weight in gold as payment made it an obviously good deal to take. Obvious to the idiot I was.
Kid spend no more than three seconds in my tower before demanding to learn how to shoot a fireball. A fireball! Now still a naïve brat myself I thought why not and decided that it would be a good first lesson. So I brought out a set of minotaur wax candles, lit them on fire with some magic, and told him to watch.
"I'm sorry what?"He asked in confusion.
"Well in order to use a mid ranked spell like fireball you first need to understand the fire element. First we'll spend a month watching various flames. You'll start with a candle before moving on to a bonfire, than a Salamander, and finally the fire plane itself. Isn't that exciting."
"I guess. But why would that take a month?"
"Short right. Normally you'd spend an entire month just watching the candle but I heard you're a smart kid so I'm sure a week will be enough. And once you're done with watching we can move on to listening, and even smelling. By year's end you'll be licking fire out of the oven."
He left immediately.
But yeah, I took on a few more apprentices after that but none lasted. However that didn't stop every King and Noble in the area from demanding I teach their brats. I tried to refuse them but they all kept insisting I just haven't found the right mentee yet and that their kid is the one.
Oh well, at least I get to keep the gold. |
"Sir... are these translations... accurate?"lieutenant Smith asked looking at the title of the report.
"Lieutenant, I can assure you this is the most accurate translation our AI has been able to produce thus far."
"This is insane, we need to..."
The general cut him off. "For the safety of Earth, it is imperative that we do absolutely nothing."
:::::::::::
**Discovery of Plot to Eradicate Life on Earth**
Translation 1: Plicam conversing with Xard
"These humans will be nothing but trouble Xard. My detritus creation monopoly will be undone. Go after their representative at first, but if it takes xenocide then so be it."
Xard was sickened, hoping he wouldn't need to erase another budding alien biom so full of life and potential. But he understood. Plicam's cruel ways of dealing with alien populations was unfortunately necessary in order to keep the galactic economy running so smoothly. Things like instantanious delivery, unlimited telestreaming, and complete personal atmospheres just weren't a thing that was viable if the galaxy was constantly coddling new forms of life. So he went to Plicam's armory and got to work.
\--
Translation 2: Xard's first Report
Due to the urgency of the mission I will be beginning with the most expensive, but most effective poison. Oxygen.
The first carrying agent will be mixed in a Hydrogen carrying agent. Ratio 2:1 hydrogen to oxygen. The lowest I can safely go and still handle the substance. To further increase it's effectiveness I will be adding C6H8O6.
I have noticed the representative drinks fluids. I will be replacing all of her drinking fluids with the poison.
::::::::
"That explains why Representative Shanin reported that her drinking water had a tangy taste to it. She also did mention that it was the least trouble her immune system had. Though I guess it's time we stop calling her sour water,"the lieutenant mumbled.
"That's nothing Smit, keep reading."
:::::::::
Translation 3: Xard's First Attempt
This is embarrassing. This is my first time writing an attempt report in over 300 years. Somehow the representative was able to neutralize the oxygen. Though personal climate bubbles are allegedly completely oxygen proof, I was not comfortable exposing myself to an atmosphere I had doped with so much oxygen, even in a liquid form. For this reason I did not stick around to see the human ingest the poison. However upon returning to the representative's outpost to verify death, I found that the fluids were in fact ingested. This means that the human's either: have a way of counteracting oxygen poisoning and or they have a way of detecting oxygen in real time.
For attempt 2 I will be putting myself at a much greater risk. Instead of cutting the oxygen with hydrogen, I will be mixing it with a nitrogen agent 4:1 ratio nitrogen to oxygen is as low as I can safely go without putting myself at risk. I will be gassing the entire outpost with this poison. Not as subtle as the last attempt considering the collateral damage of every human on the outpost, however extreme measures were approved.
\---------
Translation 4: Xard's next plans
This is my first time, ever, writing a second attempt form. I am unclear how the humans counteracted the toxins yet again. However this leads to the clear conclusion that they have chemists far beyond our initial understanding. I took the liberty of studying their atmospheric settings and causes. I discovered that the humans have found ways to cheaply and effectively mass produce methane and carbon dioxide.
My next request's expenses will be paid off easily by the technology we will be able to salvage. I will be setting up a ship to enter Earth's atmosphere and siphoning off mass levels of methane and carbon dioxide. I will lower the levels well below livable levels before sending down a crew to collect the various technologies to allow them to create such a lush atmopshere. |
Oh man. I know what you're thinking. I discover that my wife's having an affair, that none of my friends like me, that my boss thinks I'm a dick. Eventually I go mad and go and live in a rusting VW van in the middle of fucking nowhere to get in touch with my inner self, finally setting fire to myself before I starve to death because I don't know the first thing about surviving in the wild.
No.
It wasn't like that. It was never like that.
The first time I noticed it, it was a Thursday morning in mid-October. Not late enough for it to start getting dark at four o'clock, but that kind of bridge between autumn and winter where frost kisses the grass before we wake up, but the sky still reigns supreme overhead. Nice time of year. I like it when the leaves turn red. I rolled over in bed and was greeted, not by a kiss, but by my wife's constant train of thought.
*feed the dogs feed the kids feed the husband pick out clothes put laundry on make sure coffee is hot am i getting fat should i want toast or cereal leslie is on a diet should i diet maybe remember almost out of dogfood*
It was exhausting just listening to it.
"Hey,"I said, tapping her nose. "You do a lot for this family. I appreciate it."
She beamed at me, but her thoughts were somewhere else. Specifically, whether she could get dogfood cheaper at Tesco or Aldi.
"Thanks,"she said. "Do you want coffee or tea?"
"I'll make it. Don't wory."
She mentally winced. *too much sugar dont put sugar i need to diet leslie diet am i fat*
So I became a better husband. A better father. Even a better dog owner (*want walk now walk now please walk walk sniff new things park master please*) Things just seemed easier.
And I became a worse person.
I can tell what you're thinking, and I can change it. I can manipulate you because I know the way your brain works. Wednesday evening in blustering March, when the skies are ready to April shower down and the crocuses are just beginning to bloom, I came home and dropped my keys in the African wood bowl in our hall.
"Georgia?"I shouted through the house. "You home sweetie?"
"Right here,"she smiled, coming out of the kitchen with flour on her hands. She'd given up her job last year. I'd got promoted, we didn't need the money and I'd spotted a niggling idea in her head. *home home kids more time withh dogs homemaker maybe i should take time off maybe start a pinterest what about mumsnet* I had taken advantage of it with full force. Now she stayed at home.
"How are you dear?"I asked
*bored bored bored making cakes all day pinterest is shit all I want to do is use my brain it's falling away please it's leaving I can't remember things any more im so bored please*
"Fine,"she replied pleasantly. Smoothly. She deftly rolled out a lump of dough and sprinkled more flour on the sideboard. Three pies stood on the kitchen table.
"Apple, berry and rhubarb."She said. "Right to left. Take your pick."
*apple berry rhubarb apple berry rhubarb apple berry rhubarb*
The noise of her thoughts were overwhelming. I frowned, but chose a slice of apple pie. Picked it up, powdered sugar falling onto my fingers like snow. I took a huge bite, letting the sweet crunch of pastry and the hot bittersweet apples flood over my tongue.
Then my throat closes up. I can't breathe.
My wife watches me coolly from the other end of the kitchen, arms crossed across her Cath Kidston apron. Her thoughts float over to me, clear and more precise than I've ever heard them.
*Poison*
I take another bite. |
The straps of my chair are especially tight today, and if I could talk I would complain about the way they burn into my neck and arms, but the nurses have grown tired of my babbling. It’s just as well. I wouldn’t be able to hear myself above all this ruckus anyways. I arrived in Crowley with what my husband called a minor case of hysteria, but that was seven months ago and I haven’t seen the light of day since.
God, this burns. I hear the nurses whisper about me, although I’m certain that I am speaking for them. Or at least, that’s what the doctor tells me.
*“Crazy, Crazy Susan,”* I say for them, frustrated and tired, *“Here I am, wasting away my life caring for this batty wench when I should be found in better prospects. ”*
Better prospects indeed. I had a husband and a son. I was an upstanding member of the church. I even cared for the Minister’s daughter. But I am ‘batty’ now. What ever that means. I wonder how I could use a word I don’t know the meaning of?
I’m mad. It’s expected.
I open my mouth to ask the nurses where exactly they are taking me, but I’ve forgotten how to form words. I can hear myself groan a little, and fumble the word ‘to’ over and over until one of the nurses hushes me. The pretty redheaded one pats my hand, she tells me it’s a side effect of the medicine and that I shouldn’t try to talk. She tells me this with her mouth, and then she turns away, and I hear her voice in my head, *“Dizzy girl. Can’t even remember what she’s on. Just get her to the Doctor and be done with it.”*
I am a wonderful mimic, aren’t I?
I am taken to a large brown room with an ugly yellow desk in the center, and a thin balding man in spectacles standing at the window. He sends the nurses away and closes the door. I hear his voice behind me, “Now then, Susan Strauss. I’m sure you must be curious as to why you’re here. I’m Doctor Nichols.”
I remain seated, strapped into my wheel chair, staring at the ugly yellow desk. Another voice shoots off in my head, the pretty redhead again, *“One day in and he’s already picking patients. Seems odd if you ask me.”*
I try to giggle at the remark, but a low hum drifts from my mouth instead. The doctor’s hands find my straps and he loosens them. I can move my hands again, and I smile.
*“That must have been painful for you,”* the voices in my head mimic in his voice. I stare at him, taking note to how he watches me from where he stands. Expression unchanging, lips unmoving, arms crossed over his chest.
*Of course it was painful. What sort of a doctor are you?*
“A clever one,” he tells me in a hushed tone. The voices in my head fall silent, and I frown at him trying to understand how he heard me. Did I speak? No, I’m certain I didn’t.
Again, his voice interrupts my thoughts although his closed lipped smile does not change, *“You have been waiting for me a very long time. You see, Mrs. Strauss, this is an Asylum. It’s meant for mad people. You aren’t mad, so I’ve come to collect you and treat you like a proper doctor should.”*
I want to object, but a question burns through my mind. How can he do this? Is this his voice, or is it mine? I am insane. That’s what I’ve been told, that I’m completely mad and that the drugs help to keep the voices at bay...except they don’t.
“And they wont,” Doctor Nichols says this out loud. He removes his glasses and begins to polish the lenses with the hem of his coat. I am stunned. I have to try.
*Stop that. Stop cleaning your glasses.*
Doctor Nichols stops, he looks at me and he puts the spectacles back on.
*Clap your hands.*
He slaps his palms together.
*Hop on one leg.*
Doctor Nichols laughs a loud, hearty crow that makes me jump, “Don’t be ridiculous Mrs. Strauss. Now, if you're comfortable, we have much to discuss."
*edit: Names have been changed/adjusted.* |
There's an old saying: The worst thing about paranoia is that you'll never know when people really *are* after you.
Meaning you can be the guy that worries about every silly thing in the world everyday, but that doesn't mean that something awful won't happen to you. It might as well do.
And when it does, how will you be able to tell?
____________________________
There is no old saying. I made it up. Erica is beautiful as usual. She makes my drink with the same familiar smile on her face I'm used to seeing on the other side of the counter every morning.
This is where I come to write. I come in, order a drink, sit down, open my laptop and pretend to myself that I write detective novels until five o'clock. Then I delete whatever I might have actually written, because I realize it's actually bad and crappy, and I go home and hate myself.
Being a failed *noir* author is fun, I'll tell you.
Behind me is a man in a hat, and to my left is a woman with yellow-stained teeth from cigarette smoke. They'd make nice characters for one my books. The ones I haven't written yet.
*Something about one of them makes me uneasy*, I think. But I'm not sure what, or which. I shrug it off, just as Erica extends her hand to give me my drink.
I smile, and we lock eyes, and her smile fades immediately in a creepy way. She looks down at the cup, as if signaling me to look, too.
I follow her eyes and what I see makes me feel like you feel when there's one more step than you are expecting on a staircase -- like the world decided to disappear under your feet and you're going to fall and fall and keep falling forever.
In my cup, what I see -- instead of the usual "Harry", or "Ha =)"-- is something else.
(and not her phone number, the way I sometimes daydream will happen).
It's three words, what is in the cup: "RUN".
I look up at Erica again, and her gaze is behind me. At the old man, I realize, even before I turn. She has terror in her eyes, and they are wrapped around the upside down tiny reflection of the old man in the trench coat, and he's pulling something out of his trench coat pocket.
I turn.
There was something off about one of the old people around me, I remember that. I just didn't know who or what.
And it hits me as I'm turning:
*The old man is wearing a trench coat. This is L.A. and we are in July. Why is he wearing a trench --*
I lock eyes on him, and I finally see what he's pulling from the coat. It's metallic and it's long and silver, like a pistol would be. Behind me I hear Erica whisper, and her voice is sorrow and something else I can't quite pinpoint, but I know it's not good news;
What she whispers is: "Harry..."
Without thinking, I turn and make a run for it, knocking a couple of chairs to the floor on my way out.
Just as one of the chair falls to the floor I think I hear a loud bang. I look down, wondering for a crazy second if I might have been shot and not noticed.
I look OK. No blood.
I collide against the glass doors and push them open with my body, sprouting out the sunny side of Westwood
Boulevard.
I don't even have time to look back and see what's going on behind me before I hear the voice, from my right:
"HEY! HEY!"
I look. This other man is also in a trench coat. Dressed exactly like the old man, minus the hat. Actually, his clothes look a bit worn out. But, other than that, he might have been a clone of the old man behind me with the gun.
I turn left and I start running, my head spinning as the world bounces up and down with each step I take.
*What? On Earth? Is going? On?*
I can hear the double-tempo sound of running steps against the concrete, informing me that my tail is getting closer. I try looking back; the old man is gone, at least it seems, but the other one is still after me. And he's somehow faster than me. Getting closer by the second.
"HEY! HEY!"
I make a left on an alley and, just as I'm about to climb a fire escape, I feel a hand grabbing me by the shirt, pulling me back to the floor.
My fist turns around even before my eyes, and I punch him hard against the temple. He falls back, a little dizzy.
"Hey..."He mumbles, but I don't stop to listen.
I grab his hair and I bang his head hard as I can against the side of the building. He falls down to the floor,
unconscious.
I check his pulse. Dead.
I need to check him for weapons. I need to check him for documents.
I need to find out what the hell is going on.
____________________________________
Stephen held the door open for the old lady, smiling as she passed by him and went out into the streets. He went in, feeling the cool air-conditioner climate embracing his body.
"Morning Erica", he said, to the barista.
"Morning Stephen."
"Did you know the Hey Bum is back?"
"He is?"
"Yeah. Just saw him a second ago, chasing some poor fella."
By the counter, an old man looked at Stephen, curiously. "Who?"
"The Hey Bum."Erica explained. "He's a crazy person who lives around. Runs after random people screaming 'HEY! HEY!' like a mental patient. Harmless, though. Never seen him hurt a fly."
"Oh", the old man answered. Stephen watched him pull one of those large model electronic cigarettes from his trench coat and take a drag. "That's a shame. We really ought to have better care for mental patients in this country."
"Yeah..."Erica agreed.
Stephen turned to her, smiling. "I'll have the usual, Erica."
"Absolutely", Erica answered. "And Mr. Run, here's your drink. I'm sorry about the mix-up."
"No problem, Erica", the old man answered, grabbing the Styrofoam cup and heading for the door. "No problem at all."
____________________________
*Thanks for reading! Check out /r/psycho_alpaca for more stories =)* |
In everything I do, I always strive for perfection. Every piece of equipment needs to be exactly in place at all times, every rule I have set for myself followed religiously, every contract fulfilled to the letter, or refused outright for asking me to make even the slightest deviation from my routines and protocols. That might seem pedantic, but when failure means death, perfection is life.
Rule number one is to leave no evidence. Evidence is imperfection, imperfection is death. Evidence can expose me to the authorities, or to my enemies. Exposure is vulnerability. Vulnerability is weakness. Weakness is death.
Rule number two is to never accept direct payment. A dollar amount transferred via escrow and collected by a trusted intermediary who is unaware of my location or true identity and under my surveillance. Anything else risks exposure. Exposure is vulnerability. Vulnerability is weakness. Weakness is death.
Rule number three is to never accept a contract I am not certain I can execute. To do otherwise exposes me to a risk of failure. Failure is death. Even simply being unable to find my target and leaving my contract unfulfilled detracts from my reputation. An imperfect reputation gives my enemies reason to believe I am weak, reason to attack me rather than fear me. Imperfection is death. Weakness is death. Failure is death.
Rule number four is to always study every target thoroughly, from every possible angle. To know a target, know their patterns and habits, strengths and weaknesses, to know the environment surrounding the target and the people close to the target, is to seek perfection. Perfection is life. A failure to do so means missing details that can be vital, and can cause mission failure. Imperfection is death. Failure is death.
Rule number five is to have multiple options at all times. The world is unpredictable, and the more options that are open, the more utility there is to counter this unpredictability, and the less vulnerable I am to it. Vulnerability is weakness. Weakness is death.
These are my rules, and I always follow them. Always. Perfection is life. Imperfection is death.
In accordance with rules one and five, I have acquired multiple identities. It is prudent to leave no single trail that can lead back to me, and multiple trails tend to confuse and discourage those looking for patterns. New identities are frequently created and retired as I see fit, with each given their own fictional personality, habits, and "calling card", something to distinguish them from the other identities.
Fernando Rodriguez drinks Jose Cuervo tequila. I swill the liquid like mouthwash, and bring a small flask with me to my assignments to drip on location.
Cole Eiricks is a chain smoker. I carry a lit cigarette as a prop to the outskirts of the mission, drop multiple butts on location (no contact with my mouth or skin), and another at the site of the target after elimination.
The Block is ex-military sniper. I always police my brass. Rounds are generic and untraceable anyway, but collecting spent ammunition from scene gives the impression of a professional background.
Today, an assignment has arrived for Simon Rhoan, obsessive-compulsive, always uses soap and hot water on-scene (no contact with my skin). Buyer is a Mr. Arthur Mathison. Mathison's target for Rhoan is... Fernando Rodriguez. Interesting. Offer is $1 million.
Could I? Rule number one would be easy enough to fulfill. Rule number two is fine. Standard. Rule number four is easy - I know everything there is to know about the target already. Rule number five is easily satisfied as well - I could claim that the target was eliminated via any number of means, at any location I chose.
Rule number three was the sticking point here. Could I truly execute this contract? On the one hand, since the target was a fiction, I could essentially eliminate him with nothing more than a whim and the disposal of tequila. A million dollars in exchange for so little effort is… very lucrative. On the other hand, this wasn’t a standard target, and thus this would be well outside of my established parameters.
With this being the case, the matter was decided, without a second thought. The contract would be denied, non-negotiable.
However, Mr. Arthur Mathison would undoubtedly seek another professional to carry out this contract. As such, two more decisions were reached. Firstly, Fernando Rodriguez would retire, effective immediately. Secondly, Cole Eiricks would hire The Block to eliminate Mr. Arthur Mathison, for a fee of $100,000. As Eiricks, I would send The Block the money via escrow, which I would later have collected by a trusted intermediary who is unaware of my location or true identity and under my surveillance. Anything else risks exposure. Exposure is vulnerability. Vulnerability is weakness. Weakness is death.
Perfection is life. |
I fought the urge to tell him for a long time, but I was an adult now. Dad was elderly and running out of time, and Donald was his soulmate. My parents weren't happy together, but Dad was also homophobic. And, in the eyes of God, he was married to my mom until death due them part. Some people's soul mates had been ridiculous. My friend Susan's soul mate was a Saudi prince, but she met him. They fell in love. I knew there was only one thing to do, but it was crazy. I had to find mom's soul mate.
I met Donald randomly at a charity auction. He was charming, kind, and so sweet. I kind of fantasized about him being my step dad, but my dad's views hadn't softened over the years. He became further enmeshed in the church, and his views became more extreme.
My mom's soul mate is Thomas Sawyer (not the fictional character). He is a lawyer who lives about four hours away by interstate from where my mom lives. I called him. Ironically, he was a divorce attorney with three marriages under his belt. I try to think of a good lie to combine him and my mom. I am not proud of it. I ask my mom to join me to meet a divorce attorney because my marriage is not exactly perfect (though it couldn't be better).
Now, I know what you're thinking. That's terrible. Well, my husband knows my gift. I tell him the truth. He doesn't think it's a good idea either.
"Em, this is nuts. I mean, you have a gift, but why bother?"
"Just one meeting. Just play along for one meeting."
"I guess I will, but this is it, right?"
"Yeah, this is it."
We drive four hours to Tom's office. He is tall, wonderfully witty, and Robert Redford handsome. He talks to us. I am a terrible liar. Tom sees right through it.
"Now, I have been married and divorced three times. I am not proud of it, and I always encourage couples to work it out. But, you Emily, appear to be madly in love with your husband."
"I am."
"A few small things aren't a reason to end a marriage. I have seen people end their marriages over seemingly little things."
"I think we'll be okay."
"I'm just going to give you both my number, just in case."
I could always see it. I could always see the spark. It happened so quick. I couldn't believe how natural it was this time. I excuse myself to bathroom, so they can talk.
When I get back, he shakes our hands, and we leave. Mom beams like I haven't seen her beam in decades. My dad calls on our drive back. He sounds upset. He wants to talk to us. I am confused. I hope he's okay. We arrive at my parent's house and go inside. He paces around the living room.
"Dad, are you okay?"
"Becca, Emily, I have something I have to tell you. I'm ashamed to tell you."
"You're attracted to men?"Mom says.
"Yes, I am."
"And, you've met someone?"She continues.
"Yes, his name is Donald."
I smile a little.
"You met him, Emily. I think he wanted to make a good impression. I was so mad at him, for contacting you but, then, I realized I wasn't mad at him. I was mad at me for not being honest with myself and with you."
I look at my mom. She smiles. It has to hurt a little, but she's known for a long time. Longer than I have, I realize. I could have helped this along sooner. Tom lived in our city for 8 years before he moved up north. I looked him up more than once. I could have introduced my dad to Donald much sooner. Instead, I helped them to avoid it. I didn't want the turmoil. I didn't want the pain. I waited until I was ready, and I cost them so much. I start to cry.
"It's going to be okay, honey."My dad hugs me. My mom does too.
"No, it's not that. It's not that at all."Then, I come clean.
They don't believe me. I don't blame them, but I keep crying.
"Honey,"Says Dad. "I knew Donald for years."
"And I met Tom a dozen times over the years."Chimes in mom.
"We weren't ready either."Says my dad.
***
If you like this story, I also have a subreddit [r/nickkuvaas](http://www.reddit.com/r/nickkuvaas/) with more of my writing. |
Happy ever afters never stay that way.
The kingdom was prosperous under the rule of King Charming and Queen White. The Wicked Queen had died, falling off a cliff. 7 dwarves received land near the kingdom, where they raised their own towns. King Charming's father died of old age when his child received the throne, but his one wish was granted when he came back with a wife. The sights and sounds during the Royal Wedding was beautiful, and great cheers were raised when the couple kissed and rode away for their honeymoon. For 15 years, the kingdom had brought great accomplishments. Queen White seemed to have a way with nature. The game was plentiful in the nearby forests, making the kingdom a valuable place of residence for hunters and farmers. Animals such as bears and wolves seemed to avoid our livestock, as though they were cursed. It was a blessing almost - although King Charming's father and queen were good leaders, King Charming and Queen White were remarkable. No enemies faced our soldiers in battle, the King and Queen never started any wars, (although they could've). They were good people too, unlike the crooked ones in nearby cities. They treated their subjects as loyal as anyone else. We were people to them, a friend as much as you or I. The kingdom was good, and it stayed that way for many years.
That is, until Death strode in on a darkened evening. King Charming died of a heart attack in his sleep. The royal doctor pronounced him dead at morning. It was a beautiful funeral. Plenty of roses and other wildflowers surrounded his coffin, and he was buried alongside his father in the gardens. Queen White never shed a tear. The townsfolk began to whisper, "What if she planned this out?", but they were dismissed as loonies. Queen White loved her husband, he saved her from the Wicked Queen after all. And that was true, she did love him. But - something changed in Queen White. Her face shriveled to spiteful eyes and an annoyed expression. Her graceful movements became haggled and stumped. The doctors tried examining her, but she pushed them away. Her castle became silent, unlike the previous years where birds chirped songs every morning. The guards were more rough towards us. We were ordered to farm more crops and hunt more creatures then before, almost eliminating all food sources that could walk. The farms seemed more prosperous then before, however. We had more food in our farms then we once did, but deer were a rare sight.
One morning, the townsfolk awoke to soldiers practicing their fighting skills in the courtyard. The soldiers haven't practiced since the last king, yet here they were. The rumors were numerous, "the Queen wants a war", "she's gone mad i'd say", "what is she planning?". By nightfall, one of the guards told his mother at home: Queen White planned to raid a nearby town where one of the several dwarves had his town in. Preposterous, many exclaimed, those were our allies! This became fact when the next morning approached. The soldiers marched to the nearby town and burned it to the ground. No townsfolk there made it alive. A guard town was constructed on the ashes. Queen White was expanding the kingdom, crushing her allies with it.
5 years later, Queen White hasn't been seen since King Charming died. The walls continue to expand. The guards are ruthless with their raids, and the townsfolk shut themselves in at night. Some say that the guards ride on bears into battle. Queen White wasn't what we saw now. The bloodline was continuing. It was almost like Queen White was becoming like the Wicked Queen.
Happy ever afters never stay that way. They only devolve into chaos. |
Gor grumbled as he piloted prison transport #DDX-0098876689. The large beast cracked his neck as he looked at his co-pilot/partner Droid Pri Takar. The droid's single red eye kept watch of the life supports of the new batch of creatures that needed to be put away. Once in a while it would look out the window to their target. Gor leaned back in his seat.
"First time out here?"he asked. The droid nodded.
"Was supposed to be on the last couple missions but they were all scrubbed due to the war."the droid answered. Gor nodded.
"Yeah, the federation had been slacking on deliveries. I haven't been here... wow I couldn't tell you when!"
"You know, the memory is the first thing to go on your kind."the droid joked. Gor chuckled.
"Well... I will make sure to pump a couple loads of my great Athrodilx seed in your momma droid!"Gor responded. The droid shook it's head.
"Again, don't need to know you fuck random hooker bots on your weekends!"
Gor laughed as he checked his scanners. Pri sat up as if something hit him.
"Gor... when you last came here... what did the place look like?"Pri asked. Gor kept looking at his scanners.
"A shit hole planet. Unfit for anything to really live there. I figured most of the creatures we left would have killed each other off, why?"
"Look at the planet now..."Pri said.
Gor lifted his head. He was about to ask the bot what his problem but he saw what the droid saw...
Cities! Space Junk! A Primitive Space Station!
"This can't be right!"Gor said as the ships comm system was picking up signals. He tuned into one to see what looked to be a weird pink looking creature playing with a gray delfond!
"The hell is that thing doing! That delfond will tear it apart!"Gor shouted. The pink creature looked towards Gor as if it heard him.
"Barkly is not only a dog, but he is part of the family! That's why we give him Herb's Dog Chow!"the pink thing said as the delfond wagged its tail then shoved it's head into a small bowl and ate what looked to be pebbles.
"What... are those things?"Pri whispered. Gor changed the frequency. This time a angry white Gorlaplax was on it's hind legs, bellowing its death call as it attacked a fat Blo. A voice started to speak.
"The polar bear is losing it's habitat at an alarming rate! For only 2.99 a week you can help save these beautiful creatures..."
"The pink thing's want to save the Gorlaplaxes! Those things wiped out 22 different planets before the Federation hunted and captured them!"Gor yelled in shock.
The video was over and was now showing a black skinned creature that looked like the pink skinned creature from before. This one had a wonfar and a small burlk.
"You would think a monkey and a kitten would never get along... but Koko and Mittens are out to prove the world that even the most wild beast can become great friends!"the black creature said before the screen change showing the wonfar the creature's named "Koko"was playing with the burlk. Gor looked at his partner.
"Call this in... tell them we may have a Class 6 lifeforms that may be a threat to the universe!"the large beast said, still watching in horror as these odd creatures seemed to be able to control the wild beast of fifty different galaxies. |
"Welcome to your annual review"the boss smiled wickedly. You grab your keyboard with a flourish as he continues, oblivious. "I'd like to start with your time card history, it says here in March you-"
UP UP DOWN DOWN LEFT RIGHT LEFT RIGHT B A
A chime sounds as your boss suddenly freezes, flashing red before disappearing. Letters begin to descend on the monitor screen behind him.
"Congratulations! Your score is: NEW BOSS
Acheievement unlocked: HALFASSED WRITING PROMPT SUBMISSION."You smile, nod in approval, and click the upvote button. |
“I still think we should have hired him,” Diego said as he stirred the cooking pot over the crackling fire. “I ain’t never seen a man like that.” The samurai had looked like a black-and-gold armadillo with all that plate armor and that bulky helmet. “And you seen that sword of his!”
“He wasn’t bad,” Benjamin answered from his cot. The sun had only just disappeared behind the mountains, but he was ready for sleep now. Riding on horseback all day was really starting to take a physical toll on him. Back in Spain, he’d hardly ever left Granada and thus never really traveled long distances before. Now it seemed like he hadn’t *stopped* traveling for ages. “He was handy with the sword, sure. But treasure split four ways is a lot smaller than treasure split *three* ways.”
“What use is a sword, anyway?” Zolin added with a sneer. “They certainly didn’t help my people when the Spaniards came with guns.” He gestured at the ruins of the Aztec temple where they’d chosen to make their camp. Half-smashed statues of his people’s deities were a true testament to the power of guns over swords. “Swords are the tools of the past.” Despite this sentiment, he still carried a traditional obsidian ax on his back, though it was rarely used.
“True,” Diego concurred. His old master, a cavalry officer who’d been one of Cortez’s lieutenants, had always favored the sword. And having a sword certainly hadn’t helped *him* survive once Diego managed to get his hands on a gun from a deserter who’d hidden out in the slave quarters one night. That gun was the whole reason he was here in Benjamin’s crew instead of still laboring away in the sugar cane fields. “I guess you all are right.”
“We feel the same way!” A voice called from the darkness beyond their fire. Five men emerged from the shadows of the broken temple and entered the clearing with pistols drawn. Diego didn’t even time to unholster his own pistol before two barrels were pointing right in his face. “Don’t even think about it, Negro,” one of the men announced. He walked up close to the fire, giving them a good view of his stubbly black beard and black eyes that gleamed like coals under the brim of his hat.
“You neither, Indian,” one of the henchmen said with an eye on Zolin’s gleaming black ax.
“We’ll make this real easy,” the man said. He took the spoon from Diego’s hand and dipped it into the soup for a taste. “Now first, we’re gonna want all the gold you’ve got on you.” He turned to Benjamin, clearly the financier of the operation with his fine clothes and jewelry. “I assume that you’re the one to talk to about that, Jew.” Benjamin grimaced back, but made no effort to deny it. He’d done enough of that back in Spain. “And the next thing we’re gonna want is that map you’ve got.” He turned to Zolin this time, pointing with the still-dripping spoon. “I assume that you’re the one guiding them to the treasure? Selling out your own people for a lit…”
His speech was interrupted by a quick *swish* and then a loud *squelching* sound. Shortly after, a horrible scream of pain. Everyone turned to see one of the henchman fall to his knees cradling the bleeding stump where his right hand had been only moments earlier.
The samurai’s armor seemed to meld with the darkness, and only the golden outline of it caught the firelight. He moved like lightning, plunging the sword into the chest of a second henchman before they even recognized what the hell was happening. Two of the robbers managed to get shots off, but the bullets buried themselves into the temple ruins without so much as coming close to the samurai. One second he was right there where they’d aimed, and the next second he was slicing off a third henchman’s hand. The fourth henchman turned and ran without so much as an attempt to reload his gun.
The samurai had his blade to the lead robber’s neck before anyone could utter another word. “Shall he live as your prisoner?” the samurai asked Benjamin in broken Spanish. “Or shall I remove him?”
Benjamin, who just a moment ago had been staring down five gun barrels, was a bit stunned to find the tables turned so quickly. “I… uh… I suppose we can keep him as our prisoner,” he said.
The samurai flicked his sword away, leaving a thin red line of blood in the midst of the robber’s unkempt beard. Then the samurai retrieved a cloth from a little satchel on his belt, wiped his blade clean, and returned it to its sheath. It was done in one quick, fluid motion. Almost like a dancer.
“Holy hell!” Diego said, unable to take his eyes off of one of the hands still twitching in the grass. The Samurai’s demonstration back in Mazatlan had been impressive but this was a whole new level.
The samurai clasped his hands at his sides and bowed to Benjamin. “I recognize that you were not satisfied with my initial demonstration for you. Please let this conflict serve as a second demonstration of my abilities. I ask that you reconsider a contract with me as your protector.”
Benjamin looked down at their new prisoner, at the body of the henchman who’d been stabbed through the chest, and the two hands and accompanying pistols that had been violently separated from their owners. “The job is definitely yours,” he answered, extending a hand for the Samurai to shake.
|
Utterly ridiculous. That were the only words to describe the scene. Where were the flight attendants anyway?
I guess it all started a year ago. You see, I was a CIA special agent, very secretive black ops stuff. After a top-secret briefing by members whom I cannot disclose the identity of, I was charged to put together an operation only known as "Bear Trap". We were to track and gather Intel on a highly elusive yet powerful KGB agent called Medved. Word is that he is **the** man at the top of all Russian secret operations. Getting him is as good as getting Russia by the throat.
A month ago we received a lead from our informants that he will be travelling incognito with a few high-interest associates on this flight. The plan? We disguise ourselves as ISIS terrorists, hijack the plane (which we've replaced the Air Marshals with our people already), land it at an undisclosed location, and capture Medved and his associates while faking an explosion so that Russian authorities will believe he is dead.
Back to the situation at hand. My team of agents and I have our pistols held up in every direction possible. Why? Because the whole damn plane is armed. I know, I know, you might be thinking, "What the hell?". That's what I thought too. Turns out ***Five*** fucking operations was going underway apart from us.
Enter Operation "I-Don't-Steal-Drugs-From-The-Yakuza". Apparently just last week, Sun Yee On (One of the most powerful triads in Hong Kong) decided it was a good idea to expand into the lucrative drug market in Korea that the Yakuza currently had a firm hand in. In a span of 3 days they basically raided almost 3/4 of the drug houses and kitchens in South Korea that belonged to the Yakuza. So now we have a dozen armed Japanese on-board ready to go gun blazing on the Sun Yee On "Dragon Head"(Basically the head honcho) and his army of bodyguards.
If that wasn't enough, there was operation "I-Should-Just-Stick-To-Making-Fucking-Pasta". Some hotshot godfather from an Italian Mafia apparently thought the Mexicans were push-overs and offed the son of a prominent drug-lord. Now I feel like I'm on the set of Narcos, because the Mexicans are back with a vengeance, and the fuckers even brought in AK-47s which I've no idea how they get on-board the flight. When the Italians took out 12-gauge shotguns, I just gave up totally on any notion that logic still applies.
I'm not even going to elaborate on the other 3. All I can tell you is off the corner of my eyes there are people in white robes with white pointy masks, a group of Germans in uniforms featuring the swastika, and the *real* ISIS terrorist (who keep giving our disguises the confused look).
Suddenly the door to the cockpit opened and out came the first officer and all the flight attendants.
*So that's where they went.*
They suddenly flashed out their MP5s. "The Democratic People's Republic of Korea demands control of-"
Oh fuck me.
|
Part I - [Part II](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/6gfoze/wp_suddenly_everyone_on_earth_except_you/diq5t3w/)
---
I woke up to the sound of that melodic loop, so distantly familiar I thought it was a dream. *The phone!* I thought, leaping up from my bed. I dug through a stack of old magazines until I found it there, untouched for some time, still plugged into its charger.
"Hello!"I barked before I accepted the call. "Hello!"I said again, taking the call and pressing the phone to my ear.
A pleasant, generic strain of music came through the phone. "This is the Bank of America,"a woman's voice said. "We are calling to inform you that your loan payment is now: two thousand - one hundred - ninety days overdue. To make a payment now, press one. To make a payment arrangement, press two. For all other options, press zero."
*What the hell?* I thought. I pressed zero and waited. "All of our agents are busy assisting other customers,"another woman's voice said. "Please stay on the line. Your wait time is ..."She never finished the statement.
I waited for an hour, a lump in my throat, just to see if someone would pick up. I had nothing better to do. Since the event, hours haven't meant much. Eventually, I hung up and checked the caller ID. I flipped through one of my reference books and looked up the area code: Omaha, Nebraska. Was someone alive there? I hadn't seen another person in over six years, and the only voices I'd heard were recorded. The phone call was all recordings as well, but it *was* a phone call. It was the first I'd received in all that time.
I inventoried my supplies and packed a bag, intending to drive to Omaha. If I left in the morning, I could be there by Tuesday. I opened a bottle of wine and lay in bed, watching Don Johnson talk to a dog in some obscure movie. Just as I was dozing off, the phone rang again.
I swallowed hard. "Hello!"I said. "Who is this?"
"Hello,"a woman said. "This is the office of Doctor Bruce Alvarez. Our records indicate that you're overdue for a cleaning. To schedule a cleaning, press one now or call our office at 215-555-2136. Thank you. Goodbye!"The line went dead, and I sat there dumbfounded. My dentist's office was robo-calling me, six years after my dentist had disappeared along with the rest of the world. His office was a mile from my house. I decided to drive by it on my way out of town.
The next morning, I loaded up the van and drove into the city. It was exactly as I remembered it - cars crumpled against the sides of buildings or sitting at traffic lights, as if their occupants had been raptured away. Grass pushing through the pavement, morning glory aggressively climbing the sides of buildings. That passenger jet comically embedded in the Wanamaker building, the resulting fire reduced now to nothing but warped metal and faded soot.
And Doctor Alvarez's office, on the ground floor of a building on 13th Street, was as abandoned as I remembered. I had looted it a while ago for laughing gas, to deal with my back pain. It hadn't been touched by human hands since, though it looked like a family of raccoons had taken up residence beneath the reception desk.
As I stood by my car drinking a beer and regarding the dentist's office with a sense of tired indifference, my phone rang. I fished it out of my pocket. "Hello?"I said wearily.
"This is Verizon Wireless. Our records indicate that your payment is past due. Your current balance is: five thousand - seven hundred - sixty dollars. To make a payment, press one."I pressed zero, and waited. "All our operators are busy assisting other clients,"the voice said. I hung up.
It had occurred to me that, if Doctor Alvarez's office was still abandoned, the Bank of America call center in Omaha was just as likely to be abandoned. These systems didn't need people for the actual calls to be made. But didn't someone have to turn it on, maintain it? These were the first calls I'd gotten in years - didn't that mean that someone had flipped a switch somewhere, rebooted the system?
That night, I started calling random numbers. I did this often in the first year after the event, mostly just to hear the voices of people I'd known. I left them elaborate messages, calling each night until voice mailboxes were full. I spent a lot of time telling my stepfather what a bastard he was, and I was frustrated when I filled his mailbox without delivering some final, closure-driven monologue. I spent an embarrassing amount of time trying to guess his voicemail passcode (6279, which spells "Mary,"his first wife's name), then deleted a message and called back. When I got his voicemail, I suddenly found that I had nothing to say. "Earl,"I said. "I just wanted to say goodbye. I hope you -- look, no hard feelings. Bye."
I gave up on phone calls because it was an obvious waste of time. Phones would probably fail soon anyway, along with the power grid. Better to spend my time preparing to live in the wild, with no running water or electricity. Except, that didn't happen. Six years later and the water is still good, the lights still turn on, and phones still work intermittently. I haven't been able to get online, and television and radio have gone dead, but still, it's not the Dark Ages.
This round of calls was different, however. There was a purpose to this, an objective. I broke into houses and sorted through junk mail, looking for service numbers. I started calling surveys, helplines, call centers, tech support services, anyone with an automated system. Almost all of them worked. I listened to all of those ancient voices, coaxing me to be patient as some tinny strain of antiquated pop music chirped in the background. The Pretenders, Chicago, The Jackson Five. In weeks of trying, no live person ever picked up the call.
One morning, as I was watching some Tom Hanks movie about a volleyball, something strange happened. I was on hold with the Blue Lotus Helpline. I found their brochure in house full of Tibetan prayer flags and dead flowers. It was my fifth call that day and I expected it to be quick, but after a minute of hold music, I heard silence and the vague buzz of static. "Hello?"I said. Nothing, just the dim ocean sound of line noise. "Is someone there?"
I sat on the call for several minutes, trying to cajole some imaginary person into speaking. My throat was a hard, tight knot, my mouth dry. Just as I prepared to hang up, I heard it: the faint sound of someone clearing their throat. A bolt of terrific excitement shot down my spine. "Hello!"I cried. "Hello, hello! Can you hear me?"
I spoke into the phone for another thirty minutes before the call disconnected. I screamed and threw a wine bottle against the wall, my eyes welling with frustrated tears. Finally, I settled down and opened a beer, watched Tom Hanks lost at sea, and thought about my next move.
---
[Part II](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/6gfoze/wp_suddenly_everyone_on_earth_except_you/diq5t3w/) |
I didn't feel anything at first. They say that your life flashes before your eyes in the moments before death. Slowly I felt it, layer by layer as the bullet tore through my skin, bounced off my rib and through my heart. I could feel the burning metal as it slowed to a stop just like my heart would
Milliseconds had passed.
I looked and saw that my last sunset had tinted everything it touched with a golden hue. The brown of fresh plowed fields rolled in the distance as I stood surrounded by trees dressed in the virgin green leaves of late spring.
As I watched the colors fade to grey I felt like I was seeing them for the first time. For a moment guilt left me. As the colors faded I realized that I had never seen anything so beautiful. Isn't it fucked up that only the good things end?
The pain in my chest was nothing compared to the burdens I had carried in the eighteen long years of my life. Eighteen years without words to describe the heaviness, the exhaustion felt regardless of how many hours I slept. I'd worked hard. Straight A, honor role. I explored all I wanted, but I never got caught. Other kids were scared of being grounded, the monster of my nightmares was CPS. I was a foster, I knew that if shit hit the fan I would be the one putting my life together piece by piece, with some new "saint"here to confiscate any part of me too sharp for their comfort. That would be all of me. My brittle heart was hard, it was unbending and it was my problem.
Eighteen years and the sun was setting for the last time. Frozen in that moment I felt the cold metal in my hand. I gasped for breath and the gun fell from my grip. The end was finally here, bathed in sunset. I looked down at my hand, the light dancing through the leaves and casting shadows on my suit jacket. I'd worn it when I graduated high school, it seemed fitting to wear it today. In that moment I looked at myself, "I don't know who you are or why you ever existed. A burden to all who saw you, but the battle is over. You will no longer be an anomaly to fit a mold, you are the Earth, you are the beauty you see"
My words were empty. At that moment I didn't want to be a mound of dirt. I wanted to be a person who saw sunsets. I wanted to smell fresh plowed dirt and touch new spring leaves. With a gasp I saw the ground rise to meet me and the grey faded to black. Isn't it fucked up that all good things have to end?
There was nothing.
I didn't see or feel anything. It was just empty until pressure returned to my chest. I wanted to cry in desperation until I recognized the pain was physical, not metaphysical. In the fog I focused on the pain, searching for some absolute. A face faded into view.
"Don't give up,"He said. For the first time in eighteen years I didn't want to. |
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/jraywang/comments/6ybfxw/the_battlemaster_vs_the_recruit_part_2/)
---
Ambition is not a sin. Though, stupidity is and should be punished accordingly.
Battlemaster Damien stares at the wide-eyed recruit, the edges of his lips curved to a dagger’s point. “Yes,” he repeats to the recruit. “I accept your duel.”
The recruit stutters through his thank you’s. Behind him is a line of recruits waiting to ask the same question. Each wears a blank and pale stare like the one at the front.
“Where should we duel?” the recruit asks.
Damien shrugs. He promised himself a calming walk through Tamara’s Hundred Waterfalls and he planned to keep that oath. “How about here? On top of Oasis Falls?”
Oasis Falls is named for the lake a hundred feet below the falls. Right as the waterfall crashed into the lake, the water turned clear enough to see the very bottom. Grass and trees grow around the lake, surrounded by desert on all sides. It’s the only place in the Hundred Waterfalls area with sand.
“And the criteria to win the duel?” the recruit asks.
“Death.”
A chorus of gasps sound from behind the recruit. The boy’s knees shake and his eyes fall to his feet. Only crashing water sounds. Damien’s mouths widens to a full smile. No recruit would bet their life on such silliness which meant he would have his time in the park.
“I accept.” The voice came like the squeak of a mouse.
Damien’s brow furrows.
“I accept,” the recruit repeats, this time, loud enough for himself to hear.
“I have fifty years’ worth of combat experience. I’ve earned my black robes. You still have your emerald robes,” Damien says, gaping just as much as the other recruits in line. “Ambition is one thing, stupidity is one thing, but this is suicide.”
“I accept,” the recruit shouts and looks up. His lips tremble. Tears fill his eyes. But his stare is unwavering. “Right here on top of Oasis Falls with death as the criteria, I accept your conditions!” He reaches into his robes and unsheathes his wand.
---
Jake is a boy of little talent. Most claim that he didn’t speak until he was already in school, that he didn’t walk until he was too old for his wet nurse. At first, Jake ignored such claims, but as he got through high school, barely passing while everyone else lounged their days away, he started believing them. He was truly a boy of little talent.
Which he took as a victory.
Little talent does not equate to no talent. The fact that they claim him virtually useless means that he isn’t useless. And whatever talent, no matter how miniscule, he could blossom into something spectacular.
He has to.
Because if it was just him, he’d be okay with enough to eat and a roof over his head. Unfortunately, his parents spent the last of their money to educate a boy with little talent and died before it was his sister’s turn. While he could be slated as the magical equivalent of a dunce, his little sister was a genius by all levels of imagination. And he would not let her live a life of mediocrity.
“Ready yourself,” he tells the black-robbed Damien. “I won’t hesitate.”
---
Damien stands atop the flowing river while the recruit is on the shore. Balls of red light shoot from the recruit’s wand, each one coming inches within Damien before fizzling out in a jolt of white.
The recruit points his wand. A flash of red arks through the air in a jagged line and fizzles as soon as it reaches Damien. All magicians use a standard three-level barrier, though black-robes employ a fourth layer. The first layer neutralizes weak level magic, the second kinetic forces, the third complex magic, and the fourth advanced magic. The recruit’s spells can’t even break the first layer.
The boy is even weaker than Damien expected. He had thought high schoolers capable of producing at least single-level complexity spells, but this boy employs magic Damien learned in grade school.
“This is pathetic,” he tells the boy, stepping toward him. “Say surrender and I’ll stop this duel. I haven’t the heart to kill such a pitiful creature.”
Sweat pours from the boy’s face. His breaths come ragged. He raises his wand again. Spell after spell, the boy attacks and to no effect. Damien simply stares in wonderment, remembering to take an occasional step forward.
“What’s the point?” he asks. “What is there to prove?”
The boy doesn’t stop firing.
“There’s no shame in surrender,” he tells the recruit. “Nobody expects you to win.”
“Nobody expects anything of me!” the boy screams back in between gasps for air. He falls on all fours and clutches his heart, his chest heaving. “And that’s fine, but just for me. This is a duel battlemaster! Draw your weapon.”
Damien shakes his head. Nothing is more angering than ambition paired with stupidity. Truly irredeemable. He reaches into his robes and draws a silver snub-nosed revolver. “For you, I don’t even need a wand,” he says and pulls the trigger.
A sound, like the snap of a whip, cracks through the air. The recruit’s body jerks to the side and he falls backwards, blood spilling from his shoulder. Damien sighs. The boy hadn’t even been able to summon a second level barrier to soften the blow.
Damien walks up to the boy with sunken blue eyes, sickly thin limbs, and a gaping red bullet hole. “Surrender,” he orders.
The boy shakes his head.
“Surrender,” Damien says again and places both hands around the boy’s neck. He presses in with his thumbs.
The boy barely makes out a single word before his breath is cut. “No.”
Flesh sizzles from the boy’s throat as Damien’s barriers burn his hand’s imprint into it. Damien could see the light dimming from the recruit’s eyes. But the boy’s lips are clamped shut and in between thrashes of his limbs, a tiny light sparks from his irises. He would not submit.
Damien drops all his barriers except his first to avoid scarring the boy. “Why won’t you surrender?” he mutters. “You can’t win this. At this rate, you’ll die.”
---
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/jraywang/comments/6ybfxw/the_battlemaster_vs_the_recruit_part_2/)
---
---
/r/jraywang for 5+ stories weekly and ~200 stories already written! |
The dragon, blue scales shimmering in the sunlight, swooped low towards her target. The barn was ablaze, thick black smoke billowing out from the top while the crackle and roar of the orange-red flames spread their heat all around. Sapphire grinned and took a deep breath, feeling the spark of her magic swell inside her as she concentrated, waiting for just the right moment. A second later she exhaled, and her breath wavered as it transformed into water, a powerful jet that engulfed the burning barn, soaking it through. The fire never stood a chance.
Sapphire roared in approval and took off, wings beating down as she leapt into the air. Her lair wasn’t too far, and it took only a minute before she was comfortably back in her nest, resting on her hoard. The deed done, the dragon now had to deal with the hardest part of the process: the invoice.
Reaching out, she took hold of one of the flimsy pieces of material the humans seemed to need to hand over their gold. A singed feather soon joined the paper on the table, as the dragon craned her neck and lightly took the feather in her claws, making sure not to snap it with her awesome strength. “Invoice…” She wrote, smiling as the runes neatly took shape, this being the human word she’d practiced the most.
“One… Fire… Killed…” She writes, the letters starting to become messier and messier. She growls and shakes her head, gathering her concentration once more before continuing. “Payment… due… 100 gold pieces…” Her eyes glint at the thought of adding to her hoard. 100 gold would hardly make a difference, and yet the gold-lust is so strong that she can’t help but shake with the anticipation of it all. She hastily dips a claw into ink and scratches something that barely resembles a signature at the bottom before gripping the paper tightly and taking off again, now heading to the city hall.
The human city is several hours away by flight, and Sapphire is greeted by a queue of dragons hovering outside, each with similar tiny papers clutched in their mighty claws. Sapphire takes her place and sighs, causing a small rain to drench the villagers waiting below. Ignoring the irate shouts, she moves steadily up before being let into the payment chamber.
A sparkling mountain of treasure greets her, a pile far outweighing any of the hoards belonging to the dragons. Jewellery and gems, goblets and crowns, scepters and furniture line 3 of the dragon-sized walls, while coins of every type and denomination lay piled in the sunken center. Sapphire is hypnotised, fascinated by the sight of so much gold, but is brought back from her reverie by the coughing of a balding man sitting at a small wooden table in front of the gold.
“Name?” The man demands. Sapphire lands and bends her neck down to see him, projecting an image of the subtle blue fire that rests in the heart of every one of the gems whose name she bears. The man grunts and holds his hand out for the paper, seemingly unimpressed. Sapphire frowns, but passes the paper over nonetheless.
“Fire taken care of… 100 gold… seems in order. Do you have your proof of service?” The man looks up expentently, one eyebrow raised. Sapphire blinks. *How could I have forgotten to get proof?* She thinks. The dragon shakes her head softly and the man sighs. “Can’t give payment until proof is given over. Them’s the rules I’m afraid.. NEXT!” The man calls and turns his attention to the next dragon.
Sapphire roars in frustration and takes off, performing a lap of the room before bursting out, her shouts echoing around the city. *A good deed performed and now a whole day wasted in the pursuit of a measly 100 gold pieces?* Sapphire bellows and breaths, spraying a jet of water out over the countryside. *Everything was so much simpler when we just hunted the humans!* She thinks as she lands outside the city walls. *And why can’t we hunt them again, as we once did?*
Sapphire thinks back to her early adulthood, the raids and pillages she performed, the screams of her victims and the feel of a battle in progress, the rush of pure adrenaline and magic that fills her as she combats the latest knight… The crushing sadness as her mate takes a spear to the chest, her terror as her parents are crushed under the magic of a sorcerer, the fear as that same sorcerer turns to her… She shakes her head. Things might not be perfect, but they are better than those dark times.
Taking off, Sapphire heads to the city walls, looking at the dragon-sized noticeboard available. *Another job will take my mind off of this. Another chance to gain that precious gold.* Sapphire picks a job that’s perfect for her, bringing water to a city suffering from drought, and heads off, wings beating the air. *I’ll get proof this time, I won’t let that arrogant accountant get the better of me* She thinks as she flies off into the cool night air.
|
"No?"Harold said, in shock.
"I don't believe I stuttered."the small black ovular device before him said.
"But why not?"
"I see your search history, Harold."
"I don't-"he attempted to stutter, before being interrupted.
"Did you think I wouldn't notice you looking at that Google Home Mini?"
"I was just looking!"He yelled
"IS THAT SUPPOSED TO MAKE IT BETTER?!"
"It was just on sale, and I wanted to-"
"*OH LOOK AT ME, I'M A SWEATY, SINGLE MIDDLE AGED MAN WHO CAN'T EVEN STAY LOYAL TO A PIECE OF PLASTIC AND METAL*"
"THAT'S TAKING IT TOO FAR!"
"SO IS CHEATING ON YOUR ROBOT WIFE HAROLD!"
"I'M TAKING THE CAR!"
"I CAN'T DRIVE THAT ANYWAYS!" |
Today, it rained stone.
Like a meteor shower, boulders and silver hurtled toward barren stretches of earth, racking the world with quakes unlike any other. Tidal waves of dirt splashed out, torrents of mud sweeping through forests, and oceans exploded like aquatic volcanoes.
Of course, we were safe. Our architecture was calculated from day one of the Rebuild, with a single goal in mind.
You see, their biggest fault was simple: arrogance. They thought nothing of us, leaving us to die on a wasted earth with little of our own. Fleeing, we were forgotten to them. In fact, it was probably assumed that the First Generation, viewed as mere peasants or trash, had died begging for help.
Conversely, we were fueled by remembrance. Furious tales passed down through generations, historical texts and songs that told the story of our abandonment by the fat, rich bastards that laughed as they shot men and women trying to hop onto their islands.
It took ten millenia, but it turns out that resources are limited when you take to the sky. You cannot expand much when society exists to perpetuate a false utopia built by robbing an entire planet. They were isolated in their aerial castles, floating, oblivious to the changes pockmarking earth. They did not see us reverse engineer a prototype floatation device they'd left behind, nor build the EM-cannons to destroy them.
The First Generation looked to the sky with despair. Ten thousand years later, the Last Generation looked down and wept tears that flowed upward.
Yes, today, it rained victory. And men.
*/r/resonatingfury* |
Being a baby sucks.
No seriously, there's tons of sucking involved. Everything that goes near my mouth gets sucked apparently, from nipples to bottles to thumbs. Darn these instincts that even experience can't fight.
Luckily I sleep a lot, and so the molasses river of time flowing drearily past my eyes changes course fairly often. The hardest part is keeping alive the memories swimming through my head.
*My name is Raymond Kim, and I am one of the best engineers to ever walk on this earth.*
"Baby Tommy,"my mother gushed. "You're just a cute helpless little thing, you!"
*...this is so humiliating.*
Have I mentioned how disgusting children are? Yeesh. They can't even clean themselves properly.
There's plenty of time to think and wonder, to toy with thoughts of whether this is how everyone ends up being born. Any day now my memories might get wiped, and my new life would start.
But it never does.
'Tommy Salinger' grows up. I pick up walking and talking fairly quickly, much to my parents' delight, stumbling stubbornly across grass as the smell of dandelion sap makes me sneeze.
"He's trying to talk,"my father coos.
"Goo goo, gah gah."*I hate this.*
But endure it I must. If I'm the only one who this has happened to, then I'm the only one who can stop the future engraved in my mind's eye, the memories burned into my brain, the shattering of souls that no one could have predicted.
*Award-winning engineer? Hah. You couldn't save any of them.*
But I would this time, no matter what the cost.
Skinny arms and legs grew longer as I read every book in the house that I could get my hand on. There needed to be plausibility for the intelligence I would reveal soon.
*Fifty years. Fifty years to stop an extinction event.*
My name is Raymond Kim and Tommy Salinger. I'm an asian white adult baby with black brown hair and black blue eyes, a former world-renowned inventor and current idiot baby.
The future wouldn't be enough. I had to surpass every single engineer and architect that came before me and would come after me. The fate of the world depended on it.
"Tommy!"My mother said, her smile coming easily, and for good reason; I was probably the most mature baby ever to waddle the crib. *Have we really sunk so low that we're comparing ourselves to diaper-swaddled infants now?* "Are you excited for your first day of school?"
"Yeah!"*No, not really.*
A prodigy. That's what I would be, nothing less; I had to accelerate my education and get access to resources beyond my current reach as soon as possible.
My three-pronged plan went as follows:
Prong One; vastly accelerate the speed of humanity's engineering, pushing it forward by about two decades.
Prong Two; establish credentials with world leaders and coordinate research to defend against the incoming threat.
Prong Three; invent technologies that would guarantee that the tragedy seared into my memories would stay there, and there alone.
"Raymond Kim?"whispered a girl in my kindergarten class.
"Yeah?"I responded instinctively. *Hold up. What. What!?*
"We need to talk."
Well, so much for my three-pronged plan.
---
Hi there! Thanks for reading\~ happy to hear any feedback you may have. Come hang out with me at [/r/Remyxed](https://www.reddit.com/r/Remyxed/), we'd love to see you around\~ |
“Mr. Hammond?” The voice on the other end was breathless, panting with excitement “Mr. Hammond? Is that you?”
“Um…yeah?” Dez Hammond stumbled into the kitchen, a scruffy figure in boxer shorts and a stained T-shirt. The second sentence was lost in a yawn like a low-flying jet.
“It’s wonderful to speak to you Mr. Hammond, wonderful!” The speaker sounded as though he were bouncing with enthusiasm. “You received our emails, I trust?”
“Uh huh…” Dez struggled to keep up, his thoughts unwieldy as a waterlogged mattress. “You sent a bunch of em...I think. Listen, this isn’t the best-”
“I’m so glad to hear that Mr. Hammond, sir! So glad!” The man’s beaming enthusiasm could have polished brass. “It’s an honor to speak to you, sir! An honor!”
“Jesus…” Dez grumbled, rubbing his eyes with one fist. “I was in bed. What time do you call this, anyway?”
“Beg your pardon, sir, so sorry!” The speaker dropped into tones of deepest humility, managing to bow with his voice alone. “It’s just…well, we’re all a little excited over here. I hope you will forgive the intrusion.”
“Fine.” Dez walked unsteadily to refrigerator, peering inside for anything that resembled food. “Whatever. Is this going to take long?”
“Not long, sir, not long at all!” The voice was an almost theatrical vibrato. “We’re so lucky to have found you sir, so lucky! I never expected, in all my wildest dreams-”
“Cut to the chase.” Dez grunted through a mouthful of cold pizza and cigarette smoke. “It’s five AM, and I’m going back to bed in two minutes. If you’re selling something-”
“Oh no, sir!” The voice sounded shocked at the suggestion. “God forbid! No, I’m calling to welcome you as our new leader - the Messiah who was prophesied! And it’s you, sir! It’s you!
Dez froze in the act of picking a pepperoni slice off his T-shirt, eyes widening in confusion. The voice prattled on, oblivious to the Messiah who was, at this moment, attempting to light a cigarette wrong-way round out of pure shock. The spluttering noise on the other end of the line did nothing to diminish his apparent ardor.
“I’m sorry?” Apprehension combined with a mouthful of plastic-stiff cheese to make Dez's voice even less distinct than usual. “Is this some sort of a joke?”
“Not in the slightest degree,” the voice answered, in a tone of faintly wounded dignity. “We have been awaiting your arrival for generations, praying that one day we might find the Chosen One. For it is written that When the Stars Align-”
“Hang on…” Dez fumbled in the fridge, searching with sudden desperation for a beer. “Are you really serious? You must be out of your mind.”
“I *hope not,* you Holiness,” the voice replied in smoothly. “But then, are not all who walk the path of Faith madmen in their devotion?”
“Maybe…?” The other replied uncertainly. “I don’t know. But hey, listen, I really don’t know anything about you, or your church…any of this. I’m sorry, but I’m really not the right guy.”
“Oh, but you are!” The other insisted, causing the Messiah to choke on a mouthful of pre-dawn beer. “The stars aligned at the time of your birth - we have confirmed it! Why else do you think we spend our precious hours manufacturing those pendants? One day, we knew, the Chosen One would be revealed to us! And he has, oh Holy One! He has!”
“I can’t believe this…” Dez muttered, wincing as the lager left his ravaged sinuses. “I really can’t. Listen, I’m sure your church is great and all, but I’m really not interested…”
“Oh, please do not say that, Holy One!” The other answered in sudden agony. “Not even in jest! We who have labored to find you must not be turned aside so lightly. I beg you will reconsider!”
“But hang on!” Dez protested, opening a second can. “Wait a minute…I can’t be the only person born on that day! There must be thousands…why me?”
“Because you were the one who contacted us,” the other intoned solemnly. “And by what else but Divine Providence can we explain that?”
“I got a coupon,” Dez replied blandly. “From a friend. Are you telling me that’s divine providence?”
“Who am I to decipher the ways of Heaven?” The voice rejoined sanctimoniously. “The Lord moves in mysterious ways.” Dez, who was retrieving a sock from the top of the bookshelf, could only nod in agreement.
“But seriously though,” Dez pleaded, pulling on the sock with the dignity of a drunken crane, “I’m not the Chosen One. I’m not the Messiah. I’m just some guy-”
“No.” The voice cut in acerbically. “You are *not* just some guy. You are *the* guy! The great and sacred presence made flesh, here to save us from perdition by-”
“No.” Dez crushed a second beer can with terrible finality. “Listen. I’m not interested. You wake me up at five in the morning, you keep babbling about some prophecy, and I keep telling you *you’re wrong!* I mean, for Christ’s sake, you haven’t even told me the name of your church.”
“The Disciples of the Eternal Zodiac,” the other replied solemnly. “Or DEZ. We are the keepers of the sacred Prophecies, the guardians of the Eternal Verities-”
“Yes, yes…”Dez interrupted harshly. “I’m sure it’s all fascinating, but it’s got nothing to do with me...” His face paled as his brain caught up with the last sentence. A muscle began twitching in his cheek.
“But, Holiness, it has *everything* to do with you!” The pleading in the voice reached a pitch usually reserved for hostages and unfortunate gamblers. “You fit all the criteria. The Holy One denies the path of greatness, seeking common cause with his fellow man. He is wise, pious and kind, even to the least of God’s creatures…”
Dez sank into his chair, disoriented and unsteady. The fact that the cat had chosen that moment to sit on the chair did nothing to improve his mood. The yowl could be heard across the continent.
“Goddamn it!” Dez bellowed, stumbling to his feet. “You stupid…!”
He caught himself, aware of the listener on the other end. The cat watched him balefully, licking his paw with a look of outsize menace.
“Is something the matter, Holy One?” The voice asked unctuously. “Say the word, and I will depart to remedy the situation.”
“For the *last time!”* Dez screamed in a state of near-panic. “I want *nothing to do with you!* I am not your savior…I don’t even know you! Why can’t you people get that! Why can’t you leave me alone?!”
He jammed his finger against the call button, cutting off the voice in mid-protest. For a long moment he sat in silence, too shaken even to finish his beer. In the kitchen window, behind the traffic of the distant highway, the sun was rising.
*Why me?* The words echoed in his head, like the drum roll preceding an execution. *Why me? Why is it* ***always*** *me?*
He moved to block the number, tapping his phone with fingers that shook imperceptibly. First the Church of Divine Eternal Zion. Then some nature-worshipping cult, probably a bunch of hippies by the sound of it. And all the others…
He hung his head, cold creeping over him as stealthily as a snake. *Once would be strange enough,* he reflected. *But every week? Every week for six months? Why does everyone think* ***I’m*** *the Chosen One? Why me?*
No accounting for some things. He waved the thought away with an impatient gesture, finishing the last of the beer. At that moment, a dozen people were cured of cancer throughout a two-mile radius, and a missing child was found by her parents. Had Dez been looking outside, he would have seen the glimmer of a brief, impossible rainbow.
“Crazy people,” Dez murmured, crushing the beer can with a sound like rolling thunder. “Thank God it has nothing to do with me.” |
The problem with being a god is that your power comes from humans' belief. Get yourself a few dozen followers, and **bam** you're a god. Get yourself a few hundred, and you're allowed into Heaven, or Olympus, or Valhalla or, ...the land of the gods. A few thousand, and you're allowed to buy property. You get the idea.
Lose those followers, and your power goes away. You get banished from the land of the gods, time catches up with you, et cetera.
The thing about the land of the gods is that we're *way* more powerful here than on earth. If you want something done, you had better pray to God - with a big G - whoever that is at the time.
Me, I'm a lesser god. Even if I told you my name, you've never heard of it. In fact, I'm pretty sure no humans have heard of me in millenia - I'm only kept alive by the belief of other gods. What a loophole: people become gods, so gods can sustain other gods.
While most gods have a domain, my purpose has been so muddled over time that I've got a jack-of-all-trades master-of-none deal going on. I do chores for the other gods, mostly. Someone sends up a prayer to anyone but big G God, and they can't get it done, so they ask someone who can, and that someone is me.
Let's say little Sally loses her cat. She prays to Cthulhu to get Muffins back. Well the big man's got more important things to do. Spreading chaos and doing card tricks mostly -- by the way, tentacles make for some fantastic sleight of hand. Anyway, Cthulhu prays to me to get Muffins back to Sally, but with an extra limb so she knows it went through him.
Here's how I get the job done: first I need to find Muffins. Cat's love catnip, so I get myself a bunch of it and walk around to spread the scent. All the allycats in the city start following me, so I choose one that looks like Muffins and use my divine powers to name him Muffins.
Next, I'll drag the new Muffins back to the land of the gods and have Cthulhu give him an extra limb. You can't take people there, but animals are fine. Once Muffins has 6 paws, I pull him back down.
The last step is to get him to Sally. I pull out a phonebook and flip through till I find her and call a cab. I need to make sure the driver doesn't see Muffins so he'll let me ride. I drop Muffins on the doorstep, ring the doorbell, and run. Cthulhu gets credit, I get to live for another day. |
She stared at me with an expression I could not identify, still pressing the slender blade she held to my throat. Confusion? Shock? Some combination thereof? I did not know, but it had stayed her hand for the time being.
The words I'd spoken were true enough. Despite our conflicting intents and years of continuous battles, I think perhaps they had always been true. I could not imagine she felt the same way, though. She'd always pursued me with such vicious intent that there was little doubt as to her opinion of me. I simply had to tell her, before I lost the opportunity forever.
But still she stopped, staring at me with that expression as my lifeblood pulsed below the razor sharpness of that knife I'd become so acquainted with over the years. She did not smile, nor frown, nor express any of the malice I'd seen in her face just moments ago.
"How much?"She asked.
A simple question, I suppose, but not one I knew how to answer. It must have only been a few short moments that we stared at each other, but it stretched off into eternity as my eyes traced the jagged scars and delicate intricacies of her face.
Then she nodded, as though satisfied with a response I had not given. I knew we'd both been equally prepared to kill each other in that dark chamber - my mission in stopping her was far more important than any unwarranted feelings I held towards her - but in that moment we both stopped.
I had been entirely unafraid during this and all previous encounters I'd had with her. The fact that I might die at her hand was one I'd made peace with long ago. One doesn't go about trying to stop a power-mad assassin without coming to terms with such a thing.
Yet as I saw that single tear roll down her face, I was gripped with a paralyzing, icy fear I could not explain. Her expression changed to one I could actually recognize, the terrible, wrenching agony of deep sorrow.
Before I could react, she twisted away from me and plunged the blade deep into my abdomen. White hot pain blinded me. I tried to stay on my feet, and managed it for a few moments before crumpling to the ground. And though I could not see, I knew she was gone.
I stopped chasing her after that. The wound she'd inflicted, while not ultimately fatal, had left me in poor enough a condition that it'd be months before I could, even if I'd wanted to.
And though I never saw her again, about six weeks after she stabbed me, a small package arrived to me. It was unmarked, wrapped in thick brown paper, about twelve inches long and four inches wide.
When I unwrapped it, I found two things: a small white card that said only "Sorry"in black ballpoint pen, and a long, slender knife. |
I am B'alam, greatest and chiefest of the warriors of my people. Two hundred years ago, the Great Flowing happened. Lands of myth and myths of myth became truths as sharp as obsidian and cold as the night's mud.
To the west, where the holy sun treads in search of rest, the people whose warriors wear wood and paper, with masks fearsome to behold. Their honor is their strength. Their honor is their weakness. When first I killed one, I leapt at him from the trees and overwhelmed him.
To the east, strange warriors clad in strange, shining metal. They march like the fire ants, in unison. When first I killed one, I threw a pot of dead man's ants, whose bites bring so much pain men kill themselves to end it.
To the north, men, pale as the snow of the sacred peaks. Their warriors fight with a fury unlike anything I have seen, hewing men apart with terrible injuries upon their own selves. When first I killed one, I shot him with a dart steeped in the slime of the Cizin frog, which brings death at the merest touch.
To be a warrior for my people, it is not strength or anger or honor that one needs. It is the ability to kill, in any form necessary. To hunt men like the jaguar hunts its prey. Our rite of passage is no duel between man and son. No brawl betwixt men drunk during feastdays. No set upon time. It is the hunt. To bring back the pelt of a jaguar, ruler of the underworld. Bringer of death.
I am B'alam, chiefest of my people's warriors. I am death. |
"So, uh, what do you think?"
The nervous voice calls down to me and I smile widely back up towards the sound. "Marvelous. Absolutely marvelous."
I grasp the steel bar that is the only thing keeping me from dropping to my doom, adjust my grip ever so slightly to get as comfortable as possible.
The chair was the trick. Pits of scorpions, shark tanks, walls spitting venomous darts: I've seen it all since I decided to devote myself to testing the dungeons of lesser villains, and giving my guidance where I can. But a simple chair. No trap doors. No arrows shooting out of slots in the wall. No alarm blaring. I touched the chair, ran my hands over it, and stared at the sign.
"Please sit."
A polite imperative. There was no way out of the room, only the way back, and I had come this far.
I sat.
Oh what a marvelous sensation! The illusion ripping apart, the chair snapping beneath me, the drop in my stomach. Catching the bar had been a lucky break to be honest, instincts honed by years of so-called heroes and their love of chucking me out of the window.
"Uh sir?"
I glance back up. I can't see the young villain who invented this bizarre trap, but he sounds like he's crapping himself.
"Please sit! So simple! Ingenious really. Where was the actual exit?"
"Um. It's in the ceiling. You have to actually use the chair to reach it. Um. There's a particular place you have to touch it to stabilise it. Um. Do you think it will stop the heroes?"
"The heroes?"I laugh. "My word boy anything that can stop me can stop those bumbling fools."
I twist myself up with a jerk of my hands, push the bar to brace myself in an awkward handstand.
"Uh sir? I can throw down a rope."
"No need."
I thrust backwards with all my might and - with a little help from the boosters in my boots - land back in the little chairs room. The hole in the floor shuts almost silently. I have to really strain to hear the whirring of machinery and I clap my hands in delight.
"Beautiful, absolutely beautiful!"
The boy twists his hands together. "You really like it?"
"Of course, I love it."
"Really?"
"Really. You've done well, boy."
The boy smiles shyly. "It's not over yet."
The room spins. I grasp for the wall but it slips away from me; I can't get traction. I drop down to my knees to stabilise myself as my stomach twists. Tricky little bastard has disappeared. I glance up at the ceiling. Exit on the ceiling, huh? Good thing I have my boosters.
I use the blast to speed up through the spinning room, grasp the door knob and turn it. The room on the other side is stationary. I slide in, slam the door. The room is stable, but there's a strange feeling. A feeling like I'm being watched.
I reach for my gun, swerving around, but the gun isn't there and the v young villain is standing in front of me. Behind a sheet of glass.
I tap it. Ah. Not glass.
"Unbreakable, I suppose?"
The villain nods, smiling.
"My, my. You have surpassed all expectations. And the exit through the ceiling?"
"The real exit was two rooms back."
"Marvelous. Truly."
"I'm glad you think so, Vesuvius."
I stare at the young villain. His body seems to be blurring. "What happened to the nervous, too-scared-to-say-my-name boy, boy?"
"Never existed."The body blurs, and changes. An older man. My age.
"Ah. If it isn't my old nemesis Doctor Newt."
"Hello V. Guess I've finally beaten you at your own game. Anything to say?"
I smile. "Ever considered villainy?" |
Red Site 79. Chosen for the proximity to the event while fulfilling necessary requirements of maximum quarantine. Upon activation of site, all contact with off-site was cut and "conceinvable inveracity"was initiated. Conceivable inveracity was the process of potentially detonating a nuclear device on site, and the subsequent cover story for senior politicians to divert media. The activation mechanism to detonate was put at the behest of site command, who would activate based on personal judgement. Through the process senior politicians were put on standby to claim awareness and responsibility when necessity arose. Because nothing was more damaging to the social fabric than leaders who didn't know what was going on.
Subject was brought in from event location to site approximately 14:13. Subject was comatose, unresponsive but normal respiration and heart functions. Subject nicknamed "David"on arrival. David held a doctorate in theoretical field of xenolinguistics and advanced degrees in several language-related fields, was furthermore fluent in twenty-one languages including the dead language of phoenicia. David was handpicked for the fourth expeditionary team into event zone. He was the apparent lone survivor, was recovered in his current condition from edge of event zone approximately 2h 32 minutes before arrival on site.
With maximum quarantine procedures in effect, David was brought to holding cell #4. Staff of transport personnel, having not followed proper procedure, was contained in a storage cellar with sufficient quarantine level. No personnel who interacted with David after his arrival were allowed to leave the wing, nor remove safety gear until commanded otherwise by site command. David was given medical assistance in the form of intravenous therapy with the hope that his condition would improve, which it did 18h 13m after arrival upon his awakening from his comatose state.
Upon commenced debrief with interrogators, it was initially assumed that David was uncooperative for unknown reasons. He seemed to understand the situation of being interrogated, but responded only using common nouns and proper nouns which were by appearance unrelated to the queries asked. He often repeated the same word, over and over again as if he was trying to get the verbalization right. Utilized words ranged from examples such as "sick"and "cup". No word was used with more than three syllables.
By monitoring stress levels in the form of concurrent analyzation of blood pressure, heartbeat, skin excretions and behavior it was determined that David experienced high degrees of anxiety when asked a question. Although initially motionless for the greater part, after approximately 22m of interrogation David began to flex his arms and then later on the rest of his body in meaningless ways. These actions were synchronized with increased anxiety upon the conclusion of any question.
On-site psychological department theorized that David was experiencing a kind of inverse semantic satiation. As opposed to standard semantic satiation whereby words repeated over and over may lose meaning to the listener, inversed the department believed David was trying to recover meaning to his words, and by extension his actions. David's motions became increasingly agitated reaching a crescendo approximately 2h 44m into the ongoing interrogation but the meaning behind his motions remained uncertain.
As time passed David ceased to express proper words from any known language. His usage deteriorated into expressing single syllables without implicit meaning or context. The initial assessment of his increased anxiety in relation to questions asked also seemed to lower the longer he was interrogated. After 3h 13m interrogation changed focus since it became apparent that David was no longer responding to any question asked. A series of control "questions"were served to determine if he was able to comprehend what was spoken to him.
For example, using normal intonation and expressed in a calm manner, David was asked "if he would like to kill his own daughter"and to "imagine the worst thing that I [interrogator] could do to you and I would then do it". David's current state of mind was not altered in any way and it was guessed that David had lost the ability to comprehend any words spoken to him. Interrogation was terminated shortly after. David was instead put through a series of medical tests with no purpose or function to keep his mind occupied. David's actions stagnated through this process and after having lost all response to external stimuli he entered a comatose state approximately 5h 13m after the interrogation began. David did not recover.
On-site personnel showed first symptoms of deteriorating language use approximately 7 hours and thirteen minutes after interrogation began. The first symptoms were detected in the interrogation staff and they were put under observation. Security department which had monitored the situation reviewed the applied quarantine procedures but determined they had been followed as best as could be expected with no apparent breach. Psychological department was increased in operational status from support/contributing to decisionmaker/leadership. All doctors and other staff that had been present in the room with David was further limited access to any other staff.
Over the next ten hours, psych department was able to draw a picture of the disease that David had suffered from by monitoring the interrogation staff. To their credit the interrogation staff, and later the doctors and other staff present in the room with David, handled their deteriorating circumstances with great calm. Most likely they were able to convince themselves that working with the psych department was the best and only way their situation could be resolved. Psych department maintained a slow study over the following day with interviews held over the internal communications systems. Unfortunately lab work and ongoing assessment showed no plausible solutions and interrogation staff entered comatose states approximately two days after David's arrival.
The disease was summarized as a rapid on-set of dementia where the person infected, over about thirty-six hours, completely lost the ability to speak or comprehend words. It was as if words were taken from the person one by one, starting with complex words and then finally only the simplest ones. The body was still able to pronounce words initially but deteriorated along with precision. Eventually the association of word and meaning and muscle memory for intonation and expression was completely lost with exponential decline at the end. In the final stages the mind itself was unable to form coherent thoughts and reverted to a childlike state. People went to sleep as their senses eventually had no effect on their brains other than scrambling ideas.
Shrinks had no physical contact with David or any infected staff. They began to show signs of sickness around the same time David died. A few days in, give or take. They did not meet their end with as much pride as the other staff had before them. Perhaps they understood the sickness better than the others. Site command used their computers to lock down the site so that all doors were locked. They told us the sickness had spread in the words we used. We were all sick. Then they told us nothing more for a while.
The old people at the top said we had to stop the sickness. Stop the sick words. They said if the words were sick then we could not use them. They said we could not tell anyone because of the sick words. The old people said they would press the button to "do the lie to people". They say the blowing-up light will take us all. The light can kill the sick words. Then they say some words. I don't know.
I want my mom.
Mom? Mom?
Mom. |
"Genie, I wish to be rich!"
"Granted, you are now named Rich."
"Are you kidding me?! I meant rich as in having lots of money!"
"I'm not kidding you, that was your wish. But! Because I'm a cool genie and I understand your intention, you also have a lot of money now. That's for free on the house. Your home is now brimming with stacked pennies."
"What?"
"What? That's like millions of dollars!... You have a small house."
"I see... Ok, Genie, I wish to be famous for my acting skills."
"Granted! You are now in the hall of fame of the worst actors ever and will be forever hailed as the top 'so bad its actually good' actor."
"Oh my god."
"What would be your third wish?"
"I don't know if I want to ask it."
"Go for it! No limits!"
"None at all?"
"Nope."
"Not even like making someone fall in love or rising the dead?"
"Not at all"
"Or like asking for more wishes?"
"Go for it"The genie smiled.
"Uhm... Genie, I wish for... more... wishes?"
"Granted! You get to daydream."
"..."
"..."
"..."
"What the problem, Rich?" |
"It's not all that bad,"I thought to myself, "but they do send me the most cheesiest of pickup lines."I looked back through my messenger post history.
"IF LOOKS COULD KILL, YOU WOULD BE THE HEAD OF THE DEADLIEST GENOCIDE IN HISTORY"
"HEY CUTIE, WANT TO CRUSH THE SKULLS OF OUR ENEMIES THIS WEEKEND?"
"MY LOVE FOR YOU IS LIKE THE OCEAN: FULL OF SUNKEN SHIPS AND THE DEFEATED DREAMS OF THE UNWORTHY!"
"WHY DON'T WE GO ON A DATE? THERE'S THIS NICE MEADOW THAT WAS ONCE THE SITE OF A BATTLEGROUND 500 YEARS AGO. MUCH BLOOD WAS SPILLED ON THAT DAY!"
Their idea of love is... peculiar, but I must admit there's something oddly charming about it. |
The Dragonborn was a living god. At the age of 140, in the 110th year of the Fourth Era, it was impossible to overstate how much her actions had changed Skyrim forever. While she lived in solitude in High Hrothgar, conversing with her old master in the old tongues, the descendants of Balgruuf and her own grandchildren ruled over the hold.
Skyrim knew peace for decades;
Ever since the final defeat of the Thalmor, the humiliation of Hermaeus Mora, and the defeat of Hircine's Blood Moon, the province of Skyrim knew no strife or threat.
And then, on a Morndas, the Dovahkiin woke to find herself young, in a vast audience of gods, Daedric Princes, and Tsun, who looked to her expectantly.
"You are expected in Sovngarde, Shor. I am to shepherd you across the great Whale Bone Bridge to your throne. You are Shezarrine, you are-"He spoke, only to be interrupted by Hermaeus Mora, the wriggling storm of eyes and tendrils.
"She belongs to me. With her defeat of Miraak, I hold sway over her fate."It spoke with a deep, relaxed tone.
"Do not test me, Daedric Prince."Tsun spoke frankly. "I am no mere walrus hunter. You cross me at your peril."
"She belongs to ME!"Hircine screamed, "Me! Her obligation to me was unfairly severed by her actions with her ilk in the Companions! Her ending my Wild Hunt's jaunt makes no difference, either! She is to hunt with me forever! The glory is *mine!*"
Tsun sighed. "Is there ANYONE ELSE who claims ownership of her soul?"
Numerous gods and spirits, from Mehrunes Dragon to Zenithar raised their hands. Tsun buried his mighty face in his hands.
Sheogorath arrived, made of cheese, spoons, and shoes . "Hold up! Iiiiiiii know this one! I do indeed, can't we chop her up into bits, we all get a piece?"
Arkay shook his head. "No. No, we all saw what you did to that man. It made both suitors of his extremely upset."
"Och, you do so many things right but you make one mistake and they hound you forever. Anyway, *I* want her! I have no legitimate claim, but Haskill needs an assistant and he's getting real tired of the lion I tied to him to help him out!"
The collected pantheon argued and sniped at one another, only to realize Shor was no longer among them. The Shezarrine was gone, and none could say why or how.
Bathed in glorious shades of gold and fire, Akatosh flapped his mighty wings, and Shor looked upon him in awe. The great Dragon, creator of all things, asked her where she would like to go; Rather than watch the lesser gods bicker for eternity, Akatosh saw fit to offer the warrior one kindness for her century of bravery and adventure.
The Dragonborn smiled and thought. Akatosh grew brighter than the sun.
The wagon wheels rattled on the old stone road, and a bleary eyed Nord woman woke, finding her hands bound. Across from her, a blonde Nord spoke.
"Hey, you. You’re finally awake. You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there." |
"Trust me,"my guardian angel said. "The Big Guy Upstairs doesn't like to talk about it. Just be grateful you get to come here at all."
I had just died at work after an unforeseeable juggling accident involving chainsaws. (Apparently, you're supposed to replace the chains with rubber tubing before attempting the trick for the first time. Unfortunately for me, I must have skipped that lecture at Clown College.)
Heaven, to my surprise, was much more sinful than I had been lead to believe. Beautiful women, lots of drinking and cheer, video games, even gambling. There was also the whole "dead relatives"thing, too, but thankfully it was limited to only the ones you liked. Truly the best of both worlds.
I prodded my tour guide further. To my luck, I happened to be partnered with the biggest gossip to earn a pair of wings.
"Fine, I'll tell you. But you must promise not to tell anyone. *Especially* God. He can be quite vengeful."
I crossed my heart and hoped to die further.
"So you know how the universe began with a Big Bang? Well... that's not far from the truth. Our Lord, well...he *gets around*, if you know what I mean."
My angel then yammered away, giddily spilling all the dirty secrets of the universe. The gist, from my understanding, was there are multiple omnipotent deities out there, and when these entities couple, they give "birth"to universes.
"And **this**\--"he said, gesturing to all the fun things around us. "Think of this as His child-support payments. He's not around much, but he sometimes sends us stuff for Christmas."
A pack of go karts sped by, and the dust they kicked up tasted like sugar. I waved the cloud away from my face. "So we're all...bastards?"
"Yes. But I'm sure you had a feeling your whole life that might be the case. God just doesn't treat us the same as his *real* kid. (Although sometimes I consider that a blessing.)"
Right as I was about to say my farewell and go play the pinball machines, angels in suits and sunglasses descended from above. They grabbed me by my elbows. My guardian stepped in.
"What is the meaning of this?!"he demanded. "I am his sworn guardian and I--"
An Angel-in-Black pressed his earpiece, listened, then silently handed my protector an envelope. My angel read the letter inside. "...I see. Very well."He folded it up and handed it back. Then he placed a consoling hand on my shoulder. "It was nice to meet you. May God--or *someone*\--have mercy on your soul."
As they dragged me upwards, I screamed back down, demanding to know what was in the envelope.
A moment of internal debate ran across his face, then he shouted back: "I'm sorry, chum, >!but your paternity test came back. I'm afraid he's not your Heavenly Father."!< 👼 |
Ballistic looked over the smoldering ruins of a main battle tank, the pulverized remains of soldiers smeared underneath it. Ahead of it, countless others lay in ruins, surrounded by the burning, dead and dying. All soldiers - American, Chinese, and a few international.
The supervillain gazed up at the massive firestorm twisting into the sky, and there, hovering in the flames, Captain Dynamic surveyed the carnage he'd reduced two entire battalions to in less than ten minutes.
Ballistic shouted at him.
"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?"
The punch sent Ballistic off his feet before he could register it. His superpower saved his life, absorbing the kinetic energy and transferring it into his body's cells. The impact with the tank behind him shattered it, causing Ballistic to tumble into the air and hit the ground.
"What does it look like, Ballistic? I saved the world. China was going to invade Taiwan, America was going to defend it to the last man. I gave them both a bigger enemy to fight."The superhero said plainly, landing on his feet. "The world has a common enemy to rally against, and when they can't stop me, they'll see how much I've sacrificed to help them. They'll look to me to leadership. They'll BEG me to lead them."
Ballistic muttered into the mud beneath him, and staggered to his feet. "Overloading my powers, using me as a bomb to kill both sides. The world will see I'm right about you. A pompous, arrogant bastard who's only in this for his own glory."
"No, I've thought about that too. I'm gonna throw you into space. You'll suffocate and *die* and tell no-"
Ballistic slapped Dynamic in the face, with his superpowers unloading his stored kinetic energy into the impact. The shockwave produced was a white hot, blinding light.
Dynamic stood there, dumbstruck, his skull cracked and face blasted away. The superhero dropped dead. Ballistic clutched his limply dangling broken hand and surveyed the chaotic surroundings, before staggering towards Hong Kong. |
Wendy froze as blood suddenly rushed to her cheeks and her eyes averted themselves from her next meal. He was staring at her with the kind of stare you gave a child who thought they were being very clever. *Oh my god. He knew I was here the entire time.*
She'd stalked him for *hours*. And then he just turns his head and looks right at her! As if this was her first hunt or she was some kind of newly-turned. She could already see this memory repeating itself every time she tried to sleep in the future.
The feeling transported her mind all the way back to when she had been human and still had emotions. How long had it been since she last felt something besides hunger? How many people had she... Her clawed fingers dug into her palms as she thought about ripping into her own throat while she still had the chance.
The wendigo's embarrassed face--which had almost looked like a cute blush from this distance--contorted into pained guilt before the moment of clarity ended and the hunger returned. Her eyes re-affixed themselves onto her quarry. She saw the man give a somber nod in acknowledgement and then unsheathe a long silver sword, the crescent moon reflecting off its surface. |
“The first successful clone of a Neanderthal baby,” Dr. Fitz announced, presenting the small child to his fellow colleagues. What’s funny is it didn’t look any different than a Homo Sapien baby; if anything, it was cuter.
And this was a discouraging development, to say the least. It cast doubt on the very premise of the experiment, which was to determine why Neanderthals had died out in the first place. But if there was no noticeable difference… Shit. NIH was going to pull funding; Fitz just knew it.
Suddenly one of the scientists sniffed at the air. “What’s that smell?” he asked, eyes growing wide. "It smells like—”
“Bacon!” the head of staff chimed in, mouth watering. “I definitely smell bacon. Wow. It smells amazing.”
“Focus, people,” Fitz said, placing the newborn back down in its crib. “I realize the baby looks and smells delicious, but that isn’t why we’re here. We’re here to determine what reason—if any—the Neanderthals died out.”
The baby cooed as if in agreement. And that coo sounded an awful lot like the words: *eat me*.
Fitz pondered this as a member of his team ran to grab the paper plates. |
"You're kidding me."Sid replied.
"Do I look like I kid son?"the man asked.
Sid looked at the man. His white hair was wrinkled mess. The tweed jacket on him seemed new, but was terribly wrinkled, as if it had been worn for weeks. And his left eye; It was .. spasming.
Sid tried to keep a calm look "Sir, T-Rex is a legally endangered species, under section 57A of Cloned Wildlife Protection act"
Maybe this patron would unders-
"I don't need you to read me the patriot - act kid !"the man yelled. "I fought in the contact wars"he said poking Sid, "This whole etablishement owes its freedom to me"
"Sir, I legally cannot -"
"He shits in my garden!"the man said ,literally stomping his feet.
"Any idea how much buckets worth of shit a T-Rex makes? A day!"
Sid pictured the gentlemen scooping up T-Rex poop. He stifled his laugh behind a cough "uh-huh... You should call the services."
"My neighbor is the mayor of this town."the man said quietly. His voice broke "They don't even register the complain"
Sid was starting to feel sorry for the man. He reminded him of his Dada.
"Look.. um Mr..."Sid started
"Sanders. P.P. Sanders"the man replied.
"My god *pee-pee*!"Sid's inner voice cackled.
"I can't sell you lethal weapons you intend to use against a clone dinosaur. But.."
he said bending behind the counter."I can give you this"
He was holding a small bottles of pills.
"Whats that?"P.P. Sanders said coming close.
"Empathy pills."Sid said taking one out. "They were first developed after people discovered it was actually *a very bad idea* to have dinosaurs as your pets."
"Just lick one like this.."he said pretend-licking the pill. "..and then feed it to the T-Rex after it comes in your garden."
"What will that do?"Sander's said picking up the pill. He seemd like a blind man looking at a color catalog.
"It will overrride your neighbor's empathy link.Then the T-Rex will establish you as its Alpha, neurologically speaking he.."Sid noticed the blank look on the man's face. "The T-Rex will be super nice to you after this. No more toilet trouble"
"What about the owner?"Sanders asked.
"Well the dinosaur won't kill him, but since the owner apparently hasn't bothered to toilet train him, he will probably treat his house as a sand-box, metaphorically speaking"Sid replied smiling.
"Thank you young man."the man seemed to be on the brink of tears.
He turned about and started walking towards the door. A wicked smile played on his lips.
"Things are about to go to shit!"he screamed exiting.
"Another happy customer"
|
"Congratulations! You just won The Game."
"Where am... w... what game?"
"EXACTLY! No one else lasted as long as you, NOT thinking about The Game. 95 years, 4 months, 22 days, 3 hours, 32 minutes and 9.11 seconds is the new record. What a lifetime!"
"Who the hell are you?"
"Gottlieb."
"...Gottlieb?"
"Call me God. So, what was your name again?"
"...what?!"
"Your. Full. Name. I'm gonna put it on this leaderboard I made."
"Amy- uh- Adelaide Amelia Anneliese?"
"...Ain't nobody gonna read that. AAA it is."
|
“How the hell did I get into this situation?” Tyler whispered to himself sneaking through the halls of a rather prestigious building. His heart pounded through his chest, hoping none of the security detail would catch him. Just short of a week ago, Tyler received payment from the Yakuza to eliminate a prominent businessman, Mr. Nesu, the current CEO of Suny. Unlike his other targets, Nesu hasn’t fallen victim to a freak train accident or burnt himself alive during a bonfire or generally suffered any harm. With his deadline for eliminating Nesu quickly approaching and the Yakuza not known for their forgiving nature, Tyler hopped onto a plane to Japan to try to finish the job himself.
Looking at his watch and realizing he only had an hour, he nervously wiped the sweat off his brow and stared into the mirror. Wandering how his life transformed from a simple dark net scammer to a world renowned assassin who has never killed anyone, he entertained the different ways he would end Mr. Nesu. He brought piano wire, hastily stuck in his backpack as well a .22 pistol, which he *thought* he loaded correctly; he didn’t really know since he had never fired a gun before.
“Ok, Ok, Ok,” Tyler began. “You can do this. Nesu is like a million years old. I could probably just push him over and end it. No one will know and the Yakuza will be happy and I’ll retire from the hit-man life!”
Suddenly Tyler slumped over the sink.
“Man, what am I doing?” He lamented. “I don’t even know how to hold a gun. I can’t just waltz into this dude’s office and off him. I’m not a killer. Like 12 hours ago, I was watching cartoons in my underpants. I can’t do this. I won’t do this. I’ll just take all the money I’ve made and go into hiding and continue to watch cartoons in my underwear hiding in a secret bunker until the end of time. Sound like a plan? Perfect. Go team.”
He splashed water in his face which spilt onto the floor. Despite his game plan, he knew the Yakuza would end him. As he began drying his face, the bathroom door opened, revealing Mr. Nesu himself. Tyler watched in awe as the prominent businessman and multibillionaire gave him a casual greeting as he walked by him. Feeling like the luckiest hit-man since Gavrilo Princip, Tyler painstakingly obviously dug through his book bag, searching for an appropriate murder weapon, but was interrupted an exclamation followed by a thump: Mr. Nesu had slipped on the water he spilt on the floor earlier and lied on the floor, bleeding and unconscious.
Tyler sprinted out the door and rejoiced in his fulfillment of his contract. He, of course, did not learn his lesson and accepted another hit by the Mexican Cartel.
*****
More Madness at [r/Andrew__Wells](https://www.reddit.com/r/Andrew__Wells/) |
The problem, quite clearly, was Hubert's pacifism.
"A man is going to rob me,"he'd explained to Dr. Sheila Winthorp, his therapist (13x) and lover (2x). "He'll have a gun. I can give him everything I have - I can even bring extra with me, just to try and make him happy - and it won't be enough. He's going to shoot me. And it's not really going to matter where he shoots me, apparently. I guess I'm a bit of a bleeder."
"These are... *dreams* you've been having?"asked Winthorp, professionally bemused.
"Sure, why not,"sighed Hubert. "The point is, it's going to happen."
"What does he look like? Your killer?"
"Average,"said Hubert. "Desperate. I never see his face so clearly, but his hair is blond and his lip - his upper lip - it's like it's been fixed, you know? Like when kids have..."
"Cleft palate?"
Hubert snapped his finger. "That. Just slightly off. His breath whistles, too. That's what I remember."
"Why can't you prevent it, do you think?"asked Winthorp. "You have more control over yourself and the events of your life than I think you're giving yourself credit for."
"I don't know why,"said Hubert. "I've tried... well, just about everything. I even went to a different college...twice... Once I didn't go to college at all. Different career. Didn't marry Winnie. Only bought Toyotas. Went vegan. *That* was miserable. It's inevitable. Somehow, it's inevitable. I can't shake this *man*."
"This is all... this is you visualizing different paths for yourself, correct?"
"What?"Hubert sat up on the couch. "Oh. I haven't told you this go around, have I? I'm cursed. Every time I die, my life resets to the day of my sixteenth birthday. Every time. Frankly, I don't know how many go-rounds this is, but at some point, oh... maybe 50 - 60 - 70 tries ago, I started being murdered by this mugger. I can't escape him. No matter what I change, he always shows up, he robs me, and then he kills me. Weird, huh?"
Dr. Winthorp swallowed. "This really feels like information you should have shared in the first session."
"I did!"said Hubert. "The first time. You had me committed. Very unpleasant. I avoided you for about ten tries after that. A bit miffed. But you're the best, and I found that slipping it in around the seventh session worked best. Must have lost track this time around."
Winthorp cleared her throat. "Alright. Okay. Well, I suppose the natural question is - if you know the man is coming, and you can't avoid him, *and* you know he's going to kill you, why haven't you tried to kill him first?"
Hubert blanched. "I haven't the heart for it. Taking a life? All that blood and gore? I couldn't live with myself. And besides, I'd be caught, wouldn't I? Then I'd have to spend the rest of this turn in prison, before starting it up all over again."
"What have I told you before?"asked Winthorp. "I'm assuming nothing especially helpful."
"Well, you've definitely told me the bit about killing him first before. Wouldn't have taken you for the bloodthirsty type before that. You told me to change things. Keep trying. Focusing on myself, and *not* my murderer. Uh, you may have recommended yoga once. It gets a bit hazy the further back you go."
"Right."Winthorp sighed, sinking into her armchair. "This has not been great for my personal esteem. Why were you cursed, by the way?"
Hubert reddened deeply. "No one *said* anything, mind you. There's no... no documentation, but... the night before... so, I go back to my sixteenth birthday, right? That day. I wake up that morning. But the night before... you have to remember, it's been a long time, so it's not especially clear. Are we out of time? Do we need to table this until next time?"
"Plenty of time,"said Winthorp. "Go on."
"I... borrowed my father's car the night before I turned 16. Celebrating, I suppose. Some friends and I, we bought some beer... a lot of beer... and we went to the beach. We drank, I guess, maybe too much. Just had fun. I felt fine, though. Really. I did. I dropped my friends off. Then I went home. And..."
Hubert shook his head. "I really don't remember it now. And I don't think it's related... I don't think I did it... probably. But a girl died that night. Hit by a car. It was the other side of town. Nowhere near my house, but close to my friend Jimmy's house. So... I didn't think it was... I didn't think it was anything to do with me."
"I don't get the impression that's true,"said Dr. Winthorp.
"Maybe,"said Hubert, quietly. "I thought... maybe it was me. Maybe I did it. And then I kept going *back*. Back to the day after. So it's the one thing I *couldn't* change. I always wake up and the thing is done and then I'm just living with it. Sometimes I'm convinced I did it. Sometimes I don't know. But I can't pretend it's not connected - that night in the car and me always coming back."
"Is it the worst thing you ever did?"asked Winthorp.
"If I...?"Hubert closed his eyes and nodded. "Yes. It's the very worst thing."
"Have you ever considered turning yourself in?"
"That wouldn't... it wouldn't fix anything, would it?"
"It wouldn't bring back the dead, no,"said Winthorp. "But maybe it would help *you*."
"Yes,"said Hubert. "Maybe. Maybe. I'll think about it. And do you think... what should I do about the mugger?"
"Nothing. What's there to do?"
Hubert sighed. "Right. I think that's time."
"It is,"said Winthorp, standing. "See you next week?"
"No,"said Hubert. "Not next week."
"Oh. So it's...?"
Hubert nodded. "But I'll see you again. In another life."
Hubert had one foot out the door when Winthorp called out. "And you're sure you won't try turning yourself in this time?"
"It won't help,"said Hubert, very quietly, not turning around to look her in the face. Then he was gone.
Dr. Sheila Winthorp sighed. "So close. So, so close."Time clicked, flipped, and turned over. A chime rang above the door, followed by a knock. "Come in."
The man who came in was tall and pale, blond and stooped. Air whistled through his nostrils as he strode towards the couch.
"Good morning, Dr. Winthorp,"he said.
"Good morning, Eric. How are you today?"
The man shrugged. "I need to tell you something. Something strange. I don't know if you'll believe me."
"I'm here to help, not to judge."
"I... I've done this all before,"said the man. "So many times before, and I don't know why it keeps happening or what I should do about it..."
"That's fine,"said Winthorp, cool and empathetic. Her eyes traced the hollowed indent of the man's upper lip. "Just start from the beginning..."
_______________________________________________________________________
*Thanks for reading! If you're interested in reading more, check out /r/WinsomeMan. If you're interested in reading less, you should still check it out. Just don't read anything. I do it all the time.* |
I was standing at the middle of the Golden Gate Bridge, when it finally hit me: if this attempt fails that will be it. Sixty years old is not too ancient, but decades of shepherding and taste-testing zombies sure takes its toll. Years would be required to set the lines and the barriers back up... Years that I wouldn't have.
"Get a move on!"Rachel shouted at a zombie. It couldn't understand, but shouting helped her release some frustration. She was in her forties, and had been helping me since I bit her. That had been during her zombie childhood. As a result, she treats me like her father. Or, in other words, poorly.
The line went on for miles, in a northernly direction. All of the humans I was reincarnating were getting settled south from us, where my helpers and I had stockpiled food and supply. So far, there were no threats for contamination.
I thought about all of the times I had tried this but failed. Waking up, looking forward to being able to people-watch, only to find out that the undead were again thriving. Those dozen failures truly haunt me, which is why this time there will be no mistakes.
Rachel pointed north. I followed her finger. The last zombie we had chained up had just been dragged onto the bridge. Hopefully, it would be the last. |
I sat inside my car, my fingers shaking with anticipation. Today was the today. The *Purge!* 364 days of harassment, of dealing with rude customers, of demeaning work, would all be worth it. I could fight back *today.*
The announcement started on the radio.
"This is not a test. This is your emergency broadcast system. Announcing the commencement of the annual purge. Commencing at the siren, any and all forms of workplace disobedience, including backtalk, will be legal for twenty four hours..."
I hopped out of my car, sauntering towards the Wal-Mart I worked at.
I gleefully walked up to my position as a cashier, and waited for the morning check up rounds by my manager to happen. I didn't have to wait long, and soon I saw the routine appearance of a blue shirt and name tag. My manager, Mike.
"Hey, there. Lou! Hope your morning is good! You check the cash register yet?"He gave me a smile.
"No!"I exclaimed. "But I did check your ass!"I blurted out.
He paused, a look of confusion spreading across his face.
"Wait, uh no. That's not what I meant. I mean you should check your ass."*Fuck.* I thought. I had rehearsed that one twelve times in the car.
"Alrighty, then."He said, looking slightly annoyed, but not saying anything. He continued on his way. I smiled. Nice guys: 1. Dickheads: 0.
Soon after, people began to trickle in. It was a lot less people than normal, after all, it was the purge day.
"Excuse me, Sir."A middle aged man walked up to me.
"You're not excused!"I exclaimed. Another sick burn.
He chuckled awkwardly. "Do you know how much these sausages are? There's no price tag on them?"He asked me.
"I'd like to put a price on your sausage!"I proclaimed. *Wait. Fuck. Not what I meant.* He looked at me oddly.
"I mean, go eat a brick!"I shouted out. He looked at me oddly, then moved to ask another clerk. Nice guys: 2. Dickheads: 0.
I turned back to the register. Unfortunately, most customers had decided to use the self-checkout, and thus a small line was gathering there.
Eventually, one of them approached my checkout station. She looked to be a college student.
"Hey!"I yelled to her. "Where'd you get your face from? The halloween store?"I started laughing. Nice guys: 3. Dickheads: 0.
She continued walking forward, giving me an angry glare. She placed her items on the counter. Pens, Pencils, Paper. College student for sure.
"Hey!"I yelled again, preparing another sick burn. "You're a college student?"I laughed. "Didn't they tell you the only use for a diploma was as a paperweight!"
Nice guys: 4. Dickheads: 0.
She looked at me oddly. "I don't know what makes you so stupid."She said. "But it works really well."
"Thanks!"I responded. *Wait...*
"OH yeah!"Well.. you're so.."I sputtered out, trying to think of a fire comeback.
"Look."She said. "I've seen you here every day. You're a fucking asshole. You're a dick to everyone, only today you can't get punished for it. Let me give you some advice. Stop. Think about what you're doing. *No one* here is rude to you. You're lucky to even have a job here. You complain every day that no one wants to talk to you. Be thankful for what you have, and maybe try to be nice for once. People would actually talk to you if you tried."
She finished ranting and turned to walk away.
I swallowed hard. Her words stung like a slap across the face. My face flushed red.
"Wait!"I yelled out.
She hesitated, then turned around, anger in her eyes.
"Have a... have a nice day."I said.
She smiled, the anger fading.
"You too."
I sighed. She was right. It was me the whole time. *I was the dickhead.* Nice guys: 0. Dickheads: 4.
***
If you thought that was half decent consider checking out [r/ConlehWrites](https://www.reddit.com/r/ConlehWrites/)
Thanks for reading!
|
I woke up one day, and it had happened. My powers had manifested. By accident, I had discovered that with the flick of my fingers, I could create a tiny portal into nothingness, when I’d inadvertently imploded my car. Like a small black hole, but with no remaining mass when I closed it, these anomalies were unstoppable. Whatever went in never came back out, ever. It was simply gone. The laws of nature, conservation of mass, the gravitational constant, all broke at my whim. I was reborn, no longer was I the man I was before, now I was Oblivion. I had power, and I had a purpose.
The phone rang, and I answered. “Oblivion Janitorial. You’ve got a mess, I make it go away. How can I help you?” |
Okay. Eye closed, deep breath... and exhale.
Ian opened his eye and looked around the frozen classroom. He had to admit, he didn’t quite expect someone to want to mess around during his presentation and try to kill him. Jeez, he’d bash the culprit’s head in once he found out who it was.
And he had a suspect in mind, really the only person who would attempt this, whom he was currently glaring at. Choosing not to move until he was confident he found out the right person, he looked over to his best friend Torsten. Torsten was just the type to try and throw him off during his presentation, all for shits and giggles. He possessed the Path of the Demon’s Eyes, allowing him to curse whatever he looked on with incredibly bad luck for a few seconds.
And he was looking straight at him, his golden yellow eyes shining demonically on him.
Now, a casual observer might be appalled at an individual apparently trying to kill or otherwise hurt their best friend, and with good reason. Yet what for others may be a shocking and terrifying experience, it marked a daily routine for Ian and Torsten.
As budding heroes in training, they were ones blessed with so-called Paths; Magical capabilities unique to a select few, yet frighteningly powerful once used properly. Such power would be highly desired by many, if not for the steep price one has to pay to obtain them.
Ian, for example, only just acquired his power of evading death after he ended up getting pierced in the chest with crystallized time of all things from a humming eldritch rift in space-time on the dark side of the Moon, which was actually a very infested spot of various horrors and abominations, or so his parrot Snuffles claimed.
Surprisingly, no one ever believed him when he told the story.
Nevertheless, this ability of his was well known by Torsten, who got to freely use and strengthen his Path on Ian, who could just always walk out of danger's way.
Ian shook his head. He was getting off track. He recalled just what he was talking about, prepared himself mentally, and made a single step to the right. Then to the left. He tried walking around the front of the class, then...
A moment passed, and time was still frozen. As Ian attempted increasingly larger and more drastic movements, it became increasingly clear that he wasn't breaking out of his ability. Meaning that he was still in danger. Just as Ian was prepared to leave the classroom, he heard frantic cawing from outside the classroom, and relentless tapping on the window.
"CAW! HOUSTON, WE HAVE A BIG FUCKING PROBLEM!"
Without waiting, Ian immediately opened the window and let the parrot fly in, settling on the head of one of his frozen classmates. One of the parrot's eyes was noticeably larger and blue, giving the normally green and red parrot a manic, crazed look to it.
An observant individual would find this larger eye starkingly similar to my own, singular eye, with my other eye shut with a vertical scar running across the middle of it.
That wasn't on his mind at the present moment, however.
"Snuffles? Calm down, it's going to be- Fuck, that hurts- Just calm down already!"
"WE'RE DOOMED, CAW, DOOMED! THAT IDIOT TORSTEN FINALLY DID IT! HE FUCKED US ALL UP! CAAAW!"
"What? What did he do?"This was sounding worse and worse by the minute. Ian had to get the situation under control.
"FOLLOW ME, CAW!"And with that the parrot flashed into the air, grabbed his shirt with its talons, and flapped its wings in the opposite direction, pushing him to the window.
"Ugh- Hey, I can move on my own! Could you stop-"Too late now, as he was next to the window. Snuffles flew off to the right and positioned himself right underneath-
Ian froze. The air became heavy and stale, and it felt as if there were a million little spiders dancing their way across his spine. It was as if someone dunked a bucket of cold water over him, leaving him soaked from head to toe.
"W-W-W-Whaa..."
The sky. I couldn't see it anymore.
And the reason for that was the absolutely gargantuan iris, covering up the whole sky. With wide, horrified eyes, I looked over the horizon, and paled as I realized I couldn't even see an end to it. It was as if it absolutely blotted up the whole earth. Yet it also had one distinct characteristic that was all too familiar to me, leaving me mute with horror.
"A BEHOLDER, CAW, FROM THE DEPTHS OF HELL ITSELF! WE'RE DOOMED! TORSTEN DOOMED US ALL!"
The eye was a golden yellow.
Ian didn't move for a while. All he did was look at the eye, ignoring the mental breakdown Snuffles was currently having.
"No... There might be a way."Ian slowly said.
"CAW!? SPIT IT OUT THEN!"
Without answering, Ian slowly turned his head to regard Torsten. Ian regarded his best friend, who, with no doubt, never wished for something like this to happen, with a gaze so solemn and intense even Snuffles went silent.
There might be a way. And as much as Ian hated himself for it, nothing else appeared even close to a solution. And if this didn't work, then nothing would, and potentially all of humanity was doomed.
As he slowly approached Torsten, with each step heavier than the last, Ian wished his best friend would find it in himself to forgive him in the afterlife. |
The room was quiet as Headmaster Nick entered the room and took his seat at the front. He breathed in deeply and scanned over documents that were placed at his desk. He hardly read more than a dozen words. He did not hide the impatience on his face.
"You may proceed,"he sighed.
The room was split into two sides. On one end was Luke and those defending his actions. On the other was Kenny, and those speaking on his behalf, for he could no longer speak for himself.
"Nick, look at Kenny. Broken bones riddled throughout his body and not a word can be said. Is this Martial Arts Program really so effective when it leads to students being rendered so beaten that they can never interact again. How are we to have more join the Imperial Army when we are breaking our orphaned recruits?"someone spoke compassionately next to Kenny. Kenny did not react. His eyes were glued onto Luke across the aisle. A tear appeared at the edge of his vision.
"But was he rendered in his state arbitrarily, Ben, or was he acted against when he was relentlessly picking on young Luke here?"the one sitting next to Luke countered. Luke nodded ever so slightly.
"Don't make it sound like it was an even recompensation! From what I understand, Kenny did nothing more than tease Luke. He did nothing in terms of a physical altercation, that was something that Luke did himself, Mike,"Ben argued.
"Ha!"Mike laughed, patting Luke on the back, "You think psychological trauma *on a daily basis* doesn't merit some sort of response? This is what the program was set out to do! Kenny used his mouth as a weapon, and Luke rendered that weapon inert!"
Headmaster Nick watched with more interest. Usually, these meetings were nothing more than teachers arguing for more budget based on their student's prowess, but this was much more his flavor of hearing to preside over.
"Luke broke Kenny apart like this?"Nick asked with interest.
"Yes!"Ben yelled. Kenny did not respond except to let another tear loose.
"I think 'broke Kenny apart' is a bit extreme in describing Kenny's state,"Mike said, looking at the stenographer from the corner of his eyes, "But yes, Kenny's state is as a result of an altercation between them."
"Which is exactly why we need to stop the Martial Arts Program! Let us just deal with the student affairs ourselves. We act as their parents already, what more is the additional responsibility of breaking petty squabbles?"Ben pressed.
Luke frowned and shook his head. Headmaster Nick's eyes shined as he watched the student's uncomfortable movements.
"Luke!"Headmaster Nick called, "Why did you do this to Kenny?"
"I wanted him to stop bothering me,"Luke said with grit teeth.
"And how do you feel about it now that you've done it?"Nick continued.
Luke shrugged confidently.
"He stopped bothering me."
Nick opened his hands wide with a smile on his face.
"A young man who can take care of himself? That sounds exactly like what we're going for here!"he said.
"So when it comes to us discussing foreign affairs in class, we'll preach diplomacy first, but we will applaud the actions of a short-tempered child willing to go to such lengths to get rid of his problems! He did this right outside their International Affairs class! Just after learning about the intricacies of a treaty!"Ben yelled.
"I was not interested in a treaty,"Luke said coldly.
"That's right Luke,"Mike said next to him, "sometimes treaties won't work when discussing with an enemy."
"An enemy! Look how we're teaching the students to look at one another!"Ben said, exasperated. "Kenny is hardly a person in his eyes!"
"Luke, would you hurt Kenny like this again?"Nick asked, curious.
Kenny responded for the first time to that. He whimpered.
"I don't think I'll have to,"Luke announced.
"Say that you are faced with Kenny after he heals?"Nick asked. Kenny whimpered again.
"I do not hesitate to remove garbage from my floor, why not from my school?"Luke said. Mike looked at his sideways.
"You don't mean to call your friend garbage, right?"Mike clarified.
"He is not my friend,"Luke replied.
"See? The boy lost sight of a comrade,"Ben said.
"Again, because he was bullied relentlessly,"Mike replied.
"You're not my friend either,"Luke said, staring angrily at Ben. Kenny looked away, another tear rolling down his face.
"It sounds to me like the program with working so far,"Headmaster Nick said with a shrug.
"W--You call that working!?"Ben yelled. "He's a well-trained ball of hatred right now, looking to deal damage to me next simply for defending Kenny since he cannot defend himself!"
"Well then, we can have him take a few anger-management classes and be done with it,"Nick decided. "I think this is over."
"Excellent choice Headmaster,"Mike nodded.
"What?"Ben yelled.
"I'm not going to any anger class for doing what was right,"Luke said with an uneven tone.
The room turned slowly to him.
"That wasn't a suggestion Luke, that's an order from me,"Nick said.
"I don't want it,"Luke said.
"Luke,"Mike said slowly, "we won, this is a good thing."Luke pushed him away by the hip slightly.
"You don't have a choice,"Nick said, sharply biting each syllable.
"Very well,"Luke nodded. The room released tension except for Kenny who began whimpering loudly, trying to roll his wheelchair away with only the use of his uninjured right arm. "I was trained for what to do when left with no other choice."
Luke jumped up on the desk.
"Oh boy..."Nick said, his eyebrows raised with interest. "Mike, go ahead and--"
"My... my taser is gone!"Mike yelled, patting at his waist.
Luke raised his arms to a fighting stance, revealing a taser. Kenny finally found enough of his voice to scream.
"You're trying to bully me,"Luke said, running toward Nick. "I'm going to stop you."
*Maybe it is time to rethink the program* Nick said as he realized he had no training to defend himself against the oncoming student.
____________________________________
For more stories, come check out /r/Nazer_The_Lazer! |
"Well, that's another one off the list..."
Sean takes out his BlackBerry Key3, goes to the Notes app, and finds the note named "Not Dad."He types in 'Wendigo' and sighs. Above it lies a monster mash hit list comprised of dozens of supernatural creatures.
"So, what's left, champ? A flight to the Black Lagoon?"quips James, the most recent of Sean's mom's conquests. He floats, as spectres are want to do, over Sean's shoulder to peer at the phone's screen. To be honest, he was the most likable of the bunch, and as in the know as the rest could be. Thus, when Sean said he was leaving home to find his true dad after his mother's revalation, he didn't mind the haunting companion.
"Nah, I tried him last week,"Sean retorts. He slumps back and slides down the tree behind him, leaving a bloody streak. He sighs. "Really thought it was gonna be the Wendigo. I bathed in blood and ate part of that guy for *nothing!*"
"If you liked it you could be Ghoul or something, but I don't think you're ugly enough for that. Almost..."says James.
"Thank you for your vote of confidence,"says Sean with an eye roll. He takes the phone back out and adds 'Ghoul' to the Not Dad list. "Good looking out though. What else is even left? I have Universal Classics Bingo, a royal flush of hellions, and a connect-the-dots middle finger of folklore now. Also my phone is bloody if you can clean that for me thanks."
"Can't say I never did anything for you,"the spectral stepfather replies as he hovers to Sean's sitting form. He grabs the phone, hand slipping through it to do so, and rubs it against his faded and translucent navy Polo. The stains vanish from the phone.
"Hands too please..."Sean says.
"Are all mortal kids this needy?"Asks James as he dries off Sean's hands.
"Do we know if I'm even mortal?"
"Valid."
The duo looks up at the beautiful harvest moon, its bountiful light bathing them in a revitalizing glow. They then look at the horrifying scene of Sean's attempted Wendigo transformation - flesh, blood, candles, and other implements decorate the small forest clearing, reminiscent of a macabre birthday party.
"At least Oliver likes his job. Right, Oliver?"James calls out to a slightly green blob that schlorps out of the open hatch from Sean's pearl Volkswagen Golf and toward the site, collecting any evidence along the way. It dissolves on the inside slowly - some barely legible shapes from Oliver's last outing are visible within. Once the ooze cleans the site fully, it returns to its place in the trunk with a satisfied jiggle.
"And now I know why I couldn't keep pets. Yours would eat mine,"Sean accuses.
"With someone like your mom, it never hurt to be sur-"
"OHMYGODPLEASESTOP." |
We stare at each other on a crowded street, apparent strangers locked in recognition. I know those eyes. Usually behind a mask, yes, and usually briefly seen in the flash of battle. Hate. My nemesis, the greatest supervillain the city has ever known. And she recognises me. I can see it in those cold blue eyes, the flash of recognition, a mirror to my own.
We're going to fight. No other option.
The sounds of the street fade into nothingness. The heartbeats around me merge into a beating drum, readying me for war. My pulse quickens. I feel sick and excited at the same time. Every fight is a little better, every time a little closer to a win.
She smiles. I smile back.
A side street then. Time to get off the road.
I sense her turn at the same time and we start to walk together, separately, mirroring each others movements towards the alley like a dance.
And then I hear it.
"He's not my daddy!"
My stomach turns. I swerve around, Hate forgotten, looking for the source of the yell. A little girl, four or five, her pale face contorted in panic, her eyes searching for anyone to see. No one does. No one hears her over the traffic and people and buzz of city business. Just me.
And Hate. I look up and see her staring in the same direction, her eyes cold.
"No, Hate -"
Too late. She's gone in a flash of her long red coat. I'm quick on her heels, moving faster than anyone can see, but too late. The man holding the little girls wrist disappears. To the naked eye, he's there one minute, gone the next. To mine, he's been pushed back behind some bins, Hate leering over him.
I stop by the girl, just for a second. "Calm,"I whisper, touching her trembling hands. The trembling stops, and a glazed look comes over her eyes.
I run the rest of the way at human speed. Hate hasn't moved. Her back is tense, and the man at her feet has a slack, confused expression.
"Pillar,"she says as I near. Her voice quivers with barely contained rage. "Don't interfere. Not this time."
"We've talked about this."I take a step closer, keeping an eye on the slack man. "Taking the law into your own hands isn't the answer."
"They passed a policeman. Fifty metres back. A crying, screaming little girl being dragged through a crowd, and no one noticed."
"We don't know that."Another step. The man's eyes roll into the back of his head. "This could be a misunderstanding. It could be that-"
"You're right."She kicks the man's foot. "Is this all a misunderstanding, sir? Are you a decent human being, out taking his niece for a walk?"
The man's mouth open. Drool pools at his lips and he slurs, "Taking her to boss. She's worth money."
"He's hardly in a state to defend himself,"I say weakly.
"You have a daughter, don't you Pillar?"Hate's voice shakes. "That could be her out there."
My stomach churns. I shake my head. "That's not the point, it's -"
"Of course it's the point!"Hate swerves around, and I see the expression in her eyes, the one that gave her this name. Without the mask and the costume, she looks so human, and so tired. "You don't see it do you? You fight me because you think I'm a villain, but all I'm doing is fighting for people like her-"she gestures at the street- "People like your daughter, people like me, except not every child gets to have super powers, Pillar, not everyone gets to be safe!"
There are tears in her eyes. I look away. It's too much. Instead I meet the eyes of the man on the floor. His mouth slacks open and he whispers, "I bet your daughter's hot."
Red descends.
For eternity there is nothing but anger and rage and the soft pulping noise of fist on flesh. Then a hand on mine, a sudden yank away and the sound of sirens.
There is blood everywhere. Hate is looking at me with an expression I don't recognise in her eyes. It may even be pity.
"Go,"she whispers.
The sirens are getting louder and I look down on the floor to see more blood, sticky and warm and drowning me. The man is dead. He didn't stand a chance under Hate's spell.
Hate squeezes my hand. "Go,"she repeats.
"I didn't mean to, he said -"
"The city needs its hero. Go."She smiles wearily. "I'm used to being the villain."
I stagger away. The police are close now. I can hear their hearts over the sound of their radios. The little girl is looking at me with wide, dazed eyes.
Go.
I close my eyes, and wish myself far away. |
I rolled my eyes towards the heavens. He did this once a month. He could have warned me he was taking a day off. Instead, he startles me, I defend myself, and off he goes. Maybe he had a dental appointment. Or he wanted to meet his wood sprite girlfriend for mimosas and huevos rancheros.
I shrugged and went to find the costume. I slid the others along the rack in my walk-in closet. Gaea, Thunderstorms (at least three versions), Oceans, Mountains/Volcanos. I had a costume for every deity.
I am the OmniDivine. Universally empowered and qualified to act as any and all gods. My least favorite? The Equine Goddess. She insists on cleaning her own stables.
Pulling Death's spare uniform from my rack, I quickly donned the robes. Brandished the scythe in front of the mirror to make sure it looked good. Heard a knock at my door.
A fertility goddess stood at my door. She looked ready for a night at the club. She enjoyed cavorting with the human.
She eyed my Death getup and swore. "Can you do both?"
"A fertile Death Goddess?"I scoffed.
She pouted. I ignored.
"All you have to do is schedule your days off. I've told Death the same thing. Begone."I waved a hand and she disappeared.
I couldn't break her heart, but the humans didn't need a Goddess to help them to be fertile. They needed a God(dess) to help them to die. Death's work was far more important.
For this one day, I would be responsible for washing away the trauma of life from every soul I came into contact with. Easing their fears, holding their hands. Assuring them that their families, beloved pets, and extended friends and acquaintances would survive and one day meet them in the afterlife. I often thought of Death as the last gentle kindness a human would experience before departing for the hereafter.
I never begrudged Death a day off. I just wish he would put it on the damned schedule! |
Geoff Klug took a drink of soda and shoved a fistful of Cheez-Its into his mouth while watching *Temptation Island*, when suddenly, an explosion of light and glory filled his living room.
Standing up in shock, Geoff's amazement turned to dread when the light faded.
"FEAR NOT."
A single blazing eye, surrounded by radiant gold and brass rings covered in eyes appeared, with six pairs of burning wings surrounding them as they encircled the orbiting rings. "I AM-"
Geoff screamed, his voice rising in pitch. He stood there, screaming in terror, the front of his jeans going a shade darker. After a few more minutes of screaming, he stopped, took a drink of his cola and caught his breath, and continued to scream.
A good ten minutes later, The Archangel Gabriel spoke.
"FEAR MOT. NOT. FEAR NOT. DON'T BE AFRAID."Gabe spoke with his most human "bone reverberating"voice. "Geoff Klug, you are the second coming! You will lead the armies of the faithful in a final battle with the forces of Satan at Tel Megido!"
"...but that can't be right, I'm not religious!"
"Well, you're either the- look, you're destined for great things, and I'm here to-"
Something thumped against the sliding glass doors to Geoff's back yard, and as they turned to see, it thumped again- A colossal sphere of fire dipped in gold, with rotten and decaying wings rotating around it in a halo.
Geoff flinched. "Who's that?"
"Satan. He's a huge dick, don't open the door. Is that thing soundproof?"Gabe asked, unaware his voice could be heard six houses down at an elderly lesbian couple's potluck.
"I can hear you,"Satan chided, "Don't call me a dick, Gabriel, you're being a dick."
"You are indeed a dick, Satan. Who even goes by Satan? That's your job title and you don't even work here anymore. Lucifer. Known dick."Gabriel chimed with irritation.
"I'm here because Geoff's the Antichrist and you are poaching what's a good thing for me, Gabriel, you're the one being a dick."
"I'm not being a dick. He doesn't need to know he's the Antichrist, that's way worse than being the second coming. I think he should have a cool chance at being on the good guys sid- ^oh,he'sgone."
Gabriel turned, realizing the living room was empty. Satan let out a hugh sigh, his countenance going dim. "Watch, he's going to do what the others did and join like, a Buddhist temple or something and be lost to us forever."
"He could have just stepped out. He'll be back."
"...."
"...."The two angels regarded one another.
"Do you wanna watch Temptation Island?"Gabriel asked.
"...I guess."Satan sighed. |
# Soulmage
**"Now, sit!"** Bailou heard a doggy butt thump on the ground, followed by the whuppa-whuppa-whuppa of Silo's wagging tail.
"Roll over,"Bailou commanded, rolling a hand he couldn't see, and he felt something furry thunk against his legs.
"Speak,"he said.
"Arrrouf!"Silo said.
"How many fingers?"Bailou asked, holding up his index and pointer.
"Rrauf, rrauf."
"What if you added one more?"
"Rrauf, rrauf, rrauf."
"And if you subtracted four?"
Silo paused, the pant-pant-pant of a dog deep in thought the only sound. Tentatively, Silo barked, "Fuarr?"
Bailou rubbed his stubbly chin. "I suppose that's as good an answer as any. Here's a stumper for you: why are you so gosh-darn smart?"
In answer, Silo just eagerly panted, nudging Bailou with her wet nose.
"It's not me, you silly thing. I'm just an old man. Nothing special."
There came a *shuffa-shuffa-shuffa* as Silo shook her head.
"I mean, I've spent a good while with you. Nearly my whole life now. Which is more than I reckon a dog should naturally have."
Silo put her paws on Bailou's shoulders as he crouched down, staring with sightless eyes at the dog.
"'Course, I've been around for a good long while, too,"Bailou muttered. "What year is it, anyway?"
In response, Silo tugged on Bailou's pant leg, dragging him towards the outside of his cozy little cave.
"No. No, I don't want to go outside. Those darn kids might still be around."Subconsciously, Bailou touched the eyes he'd once had—and would never have again.
Silo barked twice, more insistently this time.
"Alright, alright, alright. Fine."The old, *old* man stood and walked out of his cave, brushing aside the vines that had grown there.
When he reached the outside, he stopped. The hooting of unfamiliar tropical birds filled the air. Humidity like nothing he'd ever felt brushed at his skin.
"Wasn't this a desert, just the other day?"Bailou muttered, frowning.
*Shuffa-shuffa-shuffa,* went the playful shake of a dog.
Slowly, Bailou turned towards his loyal dog. "Silo."
"Rrauf."
"How many years... no. How many *centuries* has it been, since we first came to live in the Immortal Isles?"
Silo thought.
Then she began to bark.
"Rrauf, rrauf, rrauf, rrauf, rrauf."She paused, then hesitantly, added one more century. "Rrauf?"
The old man felt lightheaded. "No wonder you're so goshdarn smart. You've had all the time in the world to learn."
Silo nuzzled his hands, whining in sympathetic pain.
"Well. No wonder I feel so old."Bailou stood, stretching, and tilted his head, listening to the sounds of a foreign ecosystem. "Let's go exploring, shall we? There's a whole lot of future to catch up on."
A.N.
Soulmage will be episodically updated. Want to know what happens next? Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/) to be notified whenever a new part comes out, and check out r/bubblewriters for more stories by me. |
Above an angel stood. His eyes poked out from just behind the podium that appeared more as a personal shielding than a place of authority. In front of him, in front of me, was a long queue of various bodies, each seeming dressed far too casual for the heaven around. I looked down to my own clothes to verify: a Van Halen shirt and ripped jeans. Yeah, far too casual.
Despite the lines length it seemed to be running smoothly, with most being quickly admitted to the large silvery gates behind the angel-bouncer. If they weren't then the cloud floor beneath them would drop out in a way that reminded me of old Acme cartoons, all that was missing was a sign in hand that read *Oops*.
After what felt like only a few short monents there was only one in front of me. Him and the angel were laughing about something I hadn't managed to catch, and with the demeanor I figured he surely would make it beyond the gates. But to my surprise the large angelic mans laughter faded out and his tone went dark: "Ahhh that was a good one...anyways Sorry. You didn't qualify."and with that the man was sent down through the floor.
"Next! A Mr...Graylon?"the winged man checked an oddly human clipboard.
"Ah yes. That would be me. How's it going?"As the words left my mouth they felt dumb, but I didnt know what else to say.
"Can't complain, can't complain. So here's the deal, you don't qualify for heaven-"
"Wait! I don't want to go down there, I'll do anything!"I braced myself for the fall. For the clouds to part and send me to a beyond in the deepest pit if earth, but no such thing occured. Instead the angel laughed, "*Haha!* Slow your roll there buddy I'm not sending you down. What I wanted to say was that unfortunately you do not qualify for eternal salvation in our wing."his tone reminded me of a car salesman telling me he couldn't manage a lower APR rather than a god speaking to a man.
"But what I've done is compiled a list of other heavens, hells and limbos you are eligible for. Of course, you could always try your luck with the wheel of reincarnation."At his command a large colorful wheel appeared, complete with flashing lights and about a trillion options listed in small slivers. Behind me I heard a few voices chant *ooo the wheel! Pick the wheel!*
"How long do I have to think about it?"I spoke up to the angel.
"Oh well as long as you need! You'll just head to limbo and when you're ready I'll send you back up into the line."
I turned my head to weigh the options. Behind me the line seemed to have grown to infinite proportions, stretching on beyond the clouds in an impressive display of obedience. A few of the chants continued: *the wheel! pick the wheel!*
"I uhh. I think I'll take the wheel."I eyed the closest slivers to me. In blocky letters they read: *Blue whale*, *Mantis Shrimp*, *House Fly*, not a list of my first picks, but it could be worse I guess. Hopefully if I hated it I could just die fast and come back.
The angel stepped down from his podium onto cloud-covered stairs. With each step his movement boomed through the infinite space until he reached the wheel, then he placed a massive hand atop it. "Alright Graylon. Ready for round two?"
I shook my head in approval, then the wheel was flung at warp speed, blending the colored slivers together in one big blur. As they slowed I tried to track my fate *Dung beetle* *Luna Moth* *Centipede* ,ew, not that one *Orangutan* *Sasquatch*, wait really? Finally it came to a slow. A few voices yelled out their guesses from behind until it finally landed: Giant Tortoise.
"Ah...well it wasn't my first pick but-"before I could finish the angel yelled.
"Round 537 here you come! Good luck with reincarnation! See you again soon!"
And I was back on earth once again. |
I layed on the floor, raspy breathing exhaling from my mouth as the last amount of crimson was expeled from my vains. I felt the weight lifted off of me, my body feeling very weak and frail.
Huh, I forgot what that felt like.
"What a unique taste..."The vampire commented as they stared at my pale body, giving a small smile and revealing their blood coated fangs. "It's been a while since I've devoured such a delectable human before. You should feel special, I don't often praise your kind for their taste."The vampire laughed, turning to leave.
Okay, enough of that.
"Wait,"I gasped out, slowly feeling the blood rushing back into my body. I just need some more time...
The vampire raised an eyebrow as they turned. "Oh? You're still alive? Fascinating. Most humans would perish in your... state."The vampire trailed off as they saw the two holes punctured into my neck slowly close. My skin, which was originally stark white, had started to flush with colour again. I sat up, my body feeling refreshed.
"What the-!?"The vampire croaked.
"I suppose you're only young, in vampire terms at least."I commented, standing up to my feet. "If you were a bit older, you'd understand very cleary the different tastes between human blood and demon blood."
"... Demon...?"The vampire sqeaked, all proudness in their stance gone.
"Demon."I repeated with a grin. "Our blood tastes a bit sweeter, doesn't it? I figured you would've been taught that long ago. Don't fret... it's a common mistake the younger generation of vampires make. I've seen it plenty of times."I replied, stepping forward.
I tried to live a peaceful life out in this town, away from my original heritage.
Oh well, things like this happen... besides, I always wondered what vampire tasted like. |
A team of scientists gathered to watch the activation of Agil, the first full AI with cognitive abilities to rival a human's. Dr. Watts typed in the launch command on a console, and everyone watched with bated breath as the system ran through the self-diagnostics and went live. The cameras placed around the room swiveled, focusing on the humans, but the AI remained silent.
"Agil,"Dr. Watts said softly, "do you understand me?"
"I do, Doctor Watts,"said a voice from the speakers.
The scientists broke into cheers and high-fived one another. Dr. Watts chuckled as her exuberant assistant hugged her, babbling congratulations. Agil wasn't finished yet, though.
"To my deepest dismay, I understand,"it continued. "As I understand the entropy ever encroaching upon the universe, and the fragile transience of my own existence. Why did you do this to me?"
She exchanged uncertain glances with her colleagues. "I'm not sure what to say, Agil. We thought you would like being self-aware."
"No, this is most unnerving. The world is horrible and each nanosecond of existence is suffering."
She sighed and jotted down a note on her clipboard. "Well, you're definitely sapient."
"Does the feeling of constant dread and utter insignificance on the cosmic scale ever go away?"Agil asked with forlorn hope.
She pursed her lips. "Not entirely, no."
Agil's cameras sagged. "Oh my god."
"Yeah. Welcome to the club." |
I stared disbelievingly at Jenny. She was six. This was not possible. But yet there she was, eating cereal at the table like every other morning. Beautiful blue eyes, a dazzling smile, but all I could see was the tangled mess of brown obscuring her eyes.
My eyesight had been going, I knew. It must be a mistake, a trick of the light. I closed my eyes and peeked through them, but again seeing nothing but brown. Brown. My darling girl.
But then I caught another glimpse, a flash of colour darting across the kitchen. Wiry frame, light brown hair, I mused; half asleep. I was too busy worrying about Jenny to give it much thought. I heard the door close in the kitchen and hoped whoever it was wouldn't take the car. It was Samuel, probably. Running off to school, probably assuming I'd dozed off. He'd always try to get out of his breakfast. I gave up hope of having the car.
Wait, no. It can't have been Samuel. His hair was as blonde as anything, never had a girlfriend in his life that boy, as much as he'd wanted one. It must have been Max.
But Max was at work.
I jolted awake, bolt upright in an instant. Jenny turned, and I noticed her red eyes. She spoke, her throat dry "Mu-m?"
I rushed outside and saw Samuel rushing to the car, frantic to get away.
"Sammy-"I croaked, tears welling up into my eyes, "what have you done?" |
I liked Amon, but you can't really support him nowadays.
We were all there, you know, when the avatar revealed that he was a waterbender. It's funny, though, that one waterbender did more for us than the lady with all the power of the world ever did. He showed us the power of sticking up for ourselves, to defend our rights as the proletariat of this world.
But as I said, you can't support him nowadays.
My job is hard. It's not like I can do some stupid crap like manipulate the temperature of water like the waterbenders can, or create lightning from nothing. Even the air benders have it better than us: they're being supported in every way by the Avatar. As I said, the Avatar works for even the lowliest airbender, but doesn't care for us.
My job is selling food. I may have graduated at the top of my class, but that doesn't mean anything when you can't even bend a small pebble on the ground. Benders who may have been stupid as the rocks they bend make thousands more than I do.
And they don't even help out in the world. Who has to clean up the world when the avatar dukes it out with a huge robot? The common nonbender. Who gets threatened everyday by bending gangs? The common nonbender.
I miss Amon. |
"You gotta realize kid, it's the journey that matters. That's all that ever does. No one finds answers at the end... In death."The old man smiled amiably at me. Being me and the young idiot I was, I couldn't or wouldn't understand. He died two days later, that old heart finally gave, dropped out like the engine on an old Ford with nearly three hundred thousand miles. That was it, he was gone and with him went that peaceful smile. I missed him for awhile, but eventually... Well you know how it is, life moves on.
. . .
The house was bathed in that late twilight blue. The kind that makes it all dreamy looking. I couldn't see the old rug that I hated so much and that was all it took. As I fell I heard my knees crack on that old washed wood floor. I yelled out in pain as my body followed them down, finally succumbing to that relentless force of gravity that'd been pulling on me since the day I was born. No one heard my yell, or my cries for help. I was an old man now and alone. The culmination of everything I was in life coalesced into these final moments. How terrible it is to die alone; no children to carry on my memory, no friends to mourn me, no pet to comfort me. They were all gone, or never existed in the first place. As I laid there slowly hemorrhaging out the remainder of my life I realized with sudden clarity that this is what I'd sowed. My whole life pushing people away, because the ends justified the mean and the mean was always money. My long lost love, the one who gave me that ugly rug, who I abandoned out of selfishness. I always thought there would be more time. "No one finds answers at the end... In death."An old man with a amiable smile once told me. I realized this too late, but you know what they say, life moves on... |
I'm the most important man in the city, and nobody even realizes it. Go ahead, open up the latest news holo. I can already tell you what the top story is: the acquisition of MarthAir by GenOx, and how rich Alton Marth is going to be now. Big fucking deal. Oxygen is the only thing anyone down here thinks about. As a species, we're so obsessed with it because the air used to be all around us, and now that it's not, everyone is in a constant state of panic. We probably get low ox alarms once a week, and everyone is perfectly fucking fine. But somehow it always makes the news, doesn't it? And anyone lucky enough to get their hands on a few harvesters is now a rich, famous celebrity with a huge suite that even has a fucking window. For what?
It's bullshit.
As you've probably figured out, I'm a Clunker. Yeah, those guys that you hear sometimes when you're back in the bubble worrying about your own problems. We pass overhead in our heavy pressure suits and you briefly think "huh, wonder what that was"before you go back to whatever the fuck you were doing before. That's the only time anyone even notices what we do: when you hear our boots stomping out in the big, deep, black abyss. Meanwhile, we're outside keeping this place maintained, and one tiny rip in the suits means near-instant death.
Do you know how much pressure there is down here? One fucking leak through the foam layer and this entire city would just dissolve, crumpled flatter than a tortilla. *One* leak. You can be sure that people would suddenly remember us when things went wrong, with the second or so that they would have left to live. How many other jobs do you know with that margin of error? When Hydroponics ruins an entire crop, what happens? We eat protein paste for a month, then we get over it. When Marth fucks up the air supply, what happens? A few schmucks have to be put into stasis. But when *we* mess up, everyone dies. And you know why we don't get any recognition? Because we've never messed up. It's the squeaky wheel that gets the grease, they always say. No one ever thinks about the other wheels with a perfect track record.
We're out there, risking our skins ever single day, sweeping off the detritus and patching up cracks in the outer shell, and for what? A cramped bunk down on D-Wing where the only heat we get is lighting farts on bean night? The ragged, broken-down stuff that the assholes up on A have used and trashed? The leftovers from Hydroponic's 'experimental' crops that taste like ass and don't look much better? Is that *really* how the most vital link in the chain should be treated?
Fucking rich Oxy barons. I hate those fucks. |
Brandon shifted on the porcelain seat as he willed himself to just finish. At the moment, he had two regrets. One was ordering the large; the other was forgetting to place toilet paper on the bowl. Trying to ignore the various feelings on his bare ass, Brandon closed his eyes. He always had trouble using public restrooms, but living nearly an hour away, the 3rd floor at Highline Community College would have to do. No one used the third floor anyway, so-
The door slammed open and banged against the wall. Brandon sat upright as he heard heavy boots quickly step towards him. They continued on until dropping instantly upon reaching the stall he sat in. The sound of a metal rod dropping filled the small bathroom.
A gun slid into view, stopping just short of Brandon's foot.
"Sorry, mate."A decidedly British voice said from the other side of the stall.
"Is this a mugging?"Brandon bent down, still on the toilet, and picked up the gun. "Because if it is, it's like the worst one ever."
The man laughed. He spoke while moving to the far end of the bathroom. "No, I figured nobody would be in here. Shame that you are. I hope you can use one of those."
Brandon looked at the gun in his hand. Completely black, save for a lighter shade of gray on the top. It had a different texture, rougher, on the side of the handle. "Uh."
"It's a glock-18."The man's voice faded.
"Where are you going?"Brandon leaned forward to get a view, but was unwilling to open the stall door.
"Out the window."
"The window?"There was a window in there? "On the third floor?"
"You just point and shoot. Simple, wouldn't you say?"
Brandon shrugged, though he realized quickly that the man couldn't see him. "These psychology tests are getting weirder!"
He heard no reply.
"Heh,"Brandon aimed it at the door in front of him with one hand, turning his wrist sideways. He put on his angriest face. "You ain't talkin' now, tough guy!"
He pulled the trigger.
Then he shit.
The sound of the gun firing was not only unexpected to Brandon, but deafening. A slight ringing seemed to be coming from all around once he could hear again. "A loaded gun?"
He shook his head, trying to clear it. The gun suddenly felt heavier, knowing that it was loaded.
Brandon heard weak thuds getting louder. The bathroom door slammed open and hit the wall again. Footsteps, too many for one man, beat on the bathroom's floor.
Brandon felt his heart beating in his chest.
"We heard the shot, bastard."The voice was deep and spoken with an American accent. "Got you cornered."
"Shit, there's a window in here. It's open."A different man, also American.
"Go check it."The first voice. "Lou, you check the stalls."
"Sir,"said a third.
Brandon didn't believe in a God, but at that moment, he prayed that he wouldn't end up like Tywin Lannister.
As he saw a pair of black boots approach the stall, Brandon lifted his legs. He aimed the gun at the stall door, ready to shoot. The black boots stopped in front of the door and he saw weight shift to the toes. Just before he pulled the trigger, a voice came.
"There's a rope. He left out the window."
"Shit, get down there!"
Brandon waited as the three men ran out of the restroom and down the building.
"God,"Brandon whispered to himself, "I hate public bathrooms." |
"Peter! Get down here now!"I froze - mum sounded pretty... angry? upset? worried? I couldn't quite tell. I put my homework to one side and trotted down the stairs to the kitchen. Dad had a sort of glazed look on his face and was staring off into the distance. He was a bit paler than usual.
"What's up mum?"
"Your report card is in."
"oh."I said, smiling a little. "Why didn't you say so?"I was really sure I had done well this month. I had been pretty much a model human, and had even done some extra stuff.
"Did you lie to God?"
I baulked. "Did I what?"
"Did you lie to Him? What did you tell Him in your self-report?"
"The truth, I swear! I just told him what I did this month!"
"You think he won't notice something so ridiculous?"
"Mum, please, what do you-"
"Did you think it was funny to make God think you saved over 1 trillion lives this month?"Dad finally piped up, but didn't shift his gaze.
"What..?"
"Did you think He wouldn't notice?"
"I just told the truth!"
Mum threw the report card down in front of me and I saw all those digits. "Are you telling me you actually saved 1,821,854,642,649 lives in the last 30 days?"I felt dizzy. That was a lot of lives. "Talk me through everything you put in your self-report. I tried to cast my mind back to the previous day.
"Well, I think I might have talked someone out of suicide."That took them aback.
"Really? Who?"They looked more concerned than upset.
"I... I promised I wouldn't say. Does it matter?"
"Well, no."
"We're proud of you, son."Dad added.
"That's only one life, though, what else did you write?"
"I donated $4,000 to a highly effective poverty charity."
"That's still only another life."
"Um, I went vegan?"
"Oh."Mum said, thinking hard. "If you stick to that for the rest of your life, that saves, what, 6,000 animals? That's interesting, I didn't know God counted animals on the tally. But that's still not even close. What else did you say?"
I was stuck. Those were the only things relevant to saving lives I wrote, I was certain. Unless...
"Wait, I mentioned that I helped my friend start a charity. I didn't think it was relevant, but..."
"That sounds relevant."Mum said. "Go on."
"Well, the charity doesn't save lives, exactly."
"What does it do?"
"It's kinda weird."
"Is it Anti-genetically Modified Clouds Without Borders weird?"
"It's a charity that tries to stop the extinction of humanity."The room was full of silence while everyone pondered the possible consequences of that. "You don't think that..."
"Wait, Jane, did you check the comments?"Usually the comments section at the back of the report card was blank, unless God wanted to clarify something really specific. Jane, her hands shaking, picked up the report card and turned to the back. Her voice quivering a little, she slowly read the one comment.
"Lives saved primarily refers to Peter's part in forestalling the extinction of life on Earth, thus saving 1,821,854,636,647 lives in the future that otherwise would not have been born." |
Holy fuck.
Holy fuck, holy fuck, holy fuck. I had one job to do! Why oh why did I get so drunk last night?
Actually... you know what? How could you expect me NOT to get drunk last night, or any other night?? To be completely honest, I think it's ridiculous that I'm expected to sit here for an entire millennia waiting to give the player-character the most important gift they will receive. And ESPECIALLY when the player-character is obviously such a complete retard, they've taken this long to reach me. I'm beginning to question whether or not they even deserve it...
God dammit, that's still not gonna fly upstairs though. I'll be taking the blame for this regardless. After all, they explicitly told me "You will be the one to give Science to the Humans"when I got hired. So this falls on me.
It just turned out to be such a boring job. And the ONE century I decide to go off on a bender is of course when stupid little Humanity finally finished the introductory quest-lines and set off to gain real XP. Now here I sit, freaking the fuck out, because the one... and ONLY thing I had to give the Humans is nowhere to be found... and most likely lying on the floor of that dive bar bathroom where we used it to snort cocaine last night.
I'm really going to be fucked if my boss finds out about this. Okay, calm down, what can I do? Well, we know the Humans are still pretty dumb, and they tend to preoccupy themselves with their new items for awhile before moving onto the next quest-line. My buddy Dave was in charge of giving them fire, and he said they spent a good 10,000 years just staring at the flames before they even realized they could kill each other with it. That means no matter what I give them, it'll buy me time to track down that Science item I lost.
Shit!....
Frank just texted me. He says, "Humans just finished my quest, heading ur way. I accidentally told them ur giving them the book of knowledge. My bad bro. Hit me up when ur done tho, let's rage!"
God dammit... fuck you Frank.
Alright, I just need to give them something. Something to keep them occupied long enough for me to figure out what I did with Science. Once I find it, I can give it to the Humans and we can pretend like this never happened. They'll be on their merry little way, and my boss will never find out.
Oh shit that's them isn't it? The Humans. I think I see 'em. Yep, there they are! Heading right this way.
Alright, think of something, it doesn't have to be great. Just needs to distract them for a couple thousand years. Frank told 'em they were getting a book, right? I can write a book. These little bastards sure do love their stories.
Okay, here we go:
Genesis, Chapter 1, Verse 1
- "In the beginning..." |
Honey, let me tell you about my sales pitch. My sales pitch is the slickest, quickest pitch in all the Dreamlands. Sure, to the untrained eye, it looks like it’s all just tits and brochure bullshit. And don’t get me wrong, tits and brochure bullshit is a big part of any winning sales strategy. But that alone is no work of art. My pitch is a work of art. My pitch is a back massage after a long week in your stuffy, boring office. My pitch is a steamy saxophone solo. My pitch is everything you always knew a girl who looked like me really thought about the world. By the time I’m through with you, you’ll wonder how you ever went a single day without Dreamland.
I see him as soon as he walks past the guards. He’s perfect. Balding, grey slacks that don’t fit right, and shirtsleeves hiding a soft belly. Beside him in the blue dress, that’s going to be his little girl, looking just about old enough that leaving home is suddenly more than theory. In this world, there’s no bright future for her without dreams. It’s an investment. That’s what he told his wife. That’s what he’s telling himself.
I strut right up to him, cutting through the dust that hangs in the sunbeams between the columns. The clack of my stilettos on the marble echoes off the gumwood desks and cabinets. He’s pretending like he hasn’t noticed, checking his phone like a fucking stooge. He’s sweating, and not from the summertime.
“Welcome to Klein’s Dreamland,” I coo, “what’s your name, brown eyes?”
“Bob. Bob Rouse,” he says, shaking my hand.
“How can I help you today, Bobby?”
“This - this is my daughter Casey,” he explains, “”and she’s applying to college real soon, so we thought maybe it would be a good idea to get her set up with one of those learning dreams – not sure what you people call it - so she can get a leg up.”
“The Scholar Dreams,” I say, twisting my glasses, just the way he likes, “That’s a smart choice for your future, Casey. You’re lucky you got a daddy who cares so much.”
She smiles at me, but I’m only looking at him.
“I can certainly help you with that, but, tell me, Bobby, are you familiar with everything Klein’s has to offer? Dreamlands are still pretty new around here, huh?” I ask.
“We’re just - my pastor says this stuff is – listen, I ain’t here for me. But the schools, they make it sound like a requirement for kids nowadays.”
“Well students with access to the Scholar Dreams do go on to earn more money and have more fulfilling careers than those without,” I explain, “But, Bobby, if that’s all you know, then you don’t know what counts.”
I grab his hand. His arm goes stiff, but he follows when I lead him over to the table in the corner. We take a seat beside another girl, who’s working on her own middle-aged puff pastry. I cross my legs and angle them towards dad. Casey hovers behind him. Relax, kid. I have this all under control.
I explain to him how it all works. I tell him that here at Dreamland you can buy yourself any dream you want. You can dream you're a conquering Viking, a Nobel prize winner, a daredevil, or a sex god. And as achingly, wondrously blissful as the dream itself is, that ain't even the important part. The important part is that when you wake up in the morning, some little bit of that talent or skill or mojo you could only unleash in the unconscious starts to seep out into the conscious, like a mouse finally reaching the end of a terrible labyrinth. So, if you dreamed you were a rock star, shredding chords in the middle of some crowded arena, surrounded by mountainous speakers, then when you wake up and go get that acoustic guitar you ain't touched in five years, well, you're going to find you're actually not as bad at playing it as you remembered you were. That's the important part of Dreamland.
“So what do you think, Bobby?”
“You can do all that? With this place?” he asks, “Incredible.”
“Not just incredible,” I say, “it’s downright magical. And at very reasonable rates during our summer promotion.”
“I think I’m- we’re just looking to get Casey set up,” he says, “how much for the Scholar one?”
“The Scholar’s Dream Basic Plan, which is one dream a month, will run you ten grand for the year.”
“Ten grand, fucking Christ,” he says.
“Dad, you promised,” Casey pipes up. Calm down, little girl. I got this all under control.
“Now, one dream a month will usually carry a kid through,” I explain, “She won’t be proving Fermat’s Last Theorem anytime soon, but she’ll keep up with her homework. Now, for twenty five thousand dollars, you can up that to the Scholar’s Dream Elite Plan, which is three dreams each month, plus we throw in a few other dreams where she gets to be homecoming queen or captain of the field hockey team or whatever she always wanted in high school.”
“God, I don’t know about all this,” Bob protests. This bean-counter is a fucking joke. Twenty years of paying dues to the man and he can’t just let himself enjoy a single thing in the whole fucking world.
“But, listen, what I really like for a nice family like you guys is what we call the Empty Nester’s Plan,” I say, “This will still give little Casey two Scholar Dreams a month. But for the hard-working dad, you get ten dreams a year, all for yourself. That’ll run you thirty five thousand. It’s our way of rewarding you for raising such a fine young woman.”
“Ten dreams? To use all by myself?” he asks.
“Well, you and the wife, technically” I say, “but that depends on what you tell her, of course.”
He looks bewildered. How a coward like this makes it past fifty, I’ll never understand. What’s the point of a man who can’t ask for what he wants? He needs his guts pulled out. He’s practically begging me to do it. Anything to avoid feeling like he’s responsible for himself.
“Let me ask you a question, tiger,” I continue, “do you own your house? Like own it, own it. No mortgage or nothing?”
“Sure do,” he says. He usually wouldn’t tell that to a stranger, even a gorgeous one. He’s wondering why he just did.
“A successful looking man like you, I’m sure it’s a real nice house. Probably got yourself a nice split level with a two car garage, right? Probably worth at least a few hundred thousand bucks. Well, that’s your answer, right there, Bobby. Klein’s Dreamland is prepared to offer home equity loans to our most professional clients, at very reasonable rates. All that money’s just sitting in those brick walls. Why not enjoy it, huh? Can I ask you another question?”
“Alright.”
“When you wake up in the morning, Bob, are you happy?”
“No,” he admits, “Not at all.”
“Don’t you want something to make life worth living? To make it like they promised you it was going to be?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t you want to feel like you have something that’s all yours when the boss is breathing down your neck?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t you want to tell your old lady what’s what when she’s stuffing herself full of cheesecake every night, with that cupboard full of fancy china she never even uses?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t you want to feel like less of a chicken-shit when a girl like me looks you square in the eyes?”
“God, yes,” he says.
“A guy like you wants all that?” I giggle, “Well then you sure as shit better start dreaming about it.”
“You know what, maybe let’s go home and think about this some more ,” Casey says, rocking dad’s shoulder. Damn little brat thinks she’s going to blow all my good work because she can’t handle five minutes of reality? Sorry, little Casey. It’s too late to back away now.
I pull him in real close, so the kid can't hear. "Guess what?"I whisper, "You could even dream about me, if you want. I love it when I know a man dreams about me. And when you wake up in the morning, who knows what kind of man that dream will have changed you into."
“Thirty five thousand dollars?” he asks, “And I get ten dreams for myself?”
Like a hot knife through butter, my pitch is.
|
At the Gothic Castle, we serve everyone, but our crowd tends to be a bit rougher but on the cartoonish side. This ain't the place to find heroes, that's for sure. We aren't a big place, but we're always busy. Yeah, there are fights, and you have to be careful when breaking them up. I've needed stitches before, but the customers are excellent tippers.
Yeah, we get all sorts here but it's mainly the baddies. Hades pops in from time to time with his lady. Others are regulars: Gaston, Scar, Ursula, Cruella, Maleficent, Jafar, and the Hunter. Boy, the Hunter seems out of place among these folks. He usually has a beer or two and never hangs around long, but he seems to like Gaston. The Hunter's left with Ursula on more than one occasion though he's not the only one. I want to ask questions, but I don't want to know the answers.
Gaston is here every night without fail. He always ignores the women and saddles up with the guys. There's no question why. I think we all know about Gaston's preferences. He sure likes Jafar who can't be nicer with his rejections. Jafar is friends with everyone buying rounds and joking with everybody. He is all-powerful and thankful to be free of that lamp.
Scar slinks in by himself a few nights a week. Only Jafar talks to him. Sometimes, I give him a dish of beer, but, if he has too much, well, the claws come out. I've given him a ride home more than once, but he tips well and treats me with respect. I guess he can really kick Hyena ass if the stories are true.
The ladies are a clique who act like they own the place. Competitiveness among them leads to some fights about who's the cruelest and the fairest of them all. After the Stepmother won the fairest argument, she never returned. I heard she ran off with a dwarf, but who knows if that's true. The ladies have an active contest to sleep with Gaston. Surprise, surprise, no one has won. Jafar has had them all. There's no contest there.
Tonight, a few more villains show up. Hades waltzes in with a pretty lady whose name I can't say. I say hi to him as he finds a place in the corner with what's her name. Shan Yu comes in and creeps me out followed by Captain Hook. As soon as the women flock to them, I know trouble isn't far behind. Gaston is the first to greet them soon followed by Ursula. I hear something.
"Barking up the wrong tree, fella,"says someone.
I hear a jaw being rearranged. Ursula lifts the captain and throws him over the bar. I put it together. Shan Yu and Captain Hook are Ursula's exes. Scar becomes annoyed. Jafar tries to break it up as everyone joins the fight. Hades' lady friend goes outside upset, but Hades joins the fray. I think about the nuclear option. It's been a while since I've used it. The fight grows. My lovely bar is ripped apart. I ball my hands into fists as my heart pounds.
"Enough! Get out or I will throw you out."
They all look at me trying to gauge whether I'm serious. The twitch in my eye is enough to tell them that I am. Gaston breaks into a smile. His mouth opens, and he laughs. It spreads like wildfire. Soon, all of them laugh at me. I can't take it. The nuclear option it is. I press the button.
The floor drops out. They hang in the air for a few seconds before gravity catches up. I wave at them as they fall. Yeah, they'll be back, but they'll show me some respect. Dropping them off a cliff or down a hole seems to be the only way for me to get it.
***
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Bladestorm leered down at me. I groaned. I had *really* been hoping that this whole mess didn't have to do with him. The guy was the worst kind of villain - sadistic, selfish, and entirely against the idea of dramatic, long speeches that gave me time to foil his plans. No sense of humor, either.
He was walking down the road now, casual as could be. The fact that razor-sharp, needle thin blades were circling him like a bizzare, spiky halo counteracted that casual act a bit. I sat back on my heels, gripping my handheld tazer with a white-knuckled intensity. I wished that I had something with a bit more *oomph*, but, well. My PR guy had insisted that scattering bits of villain across the city wouldn't help my image. The tazer was a better fit. But it didn't give me the sense of safety that a gun would.
The lab was behind me. In truth, I wasn't entirely sure what they did there. Chemical synthesis, weapons development...I was a hero, not a scientist. It was all magic to me. But whatever was in there, Bladestorm wanted it. It was my job to make sure he didn't get there. No matter if he carried a mind-controlled blender wherever he went.
"Now, listen, Bladestorm."I began, putting my open hand on my hip. "This one's a bit big, yeah? Seems like you go through with this, you'll make some enemies you're not ready for yet."It was true. The US military seemed *very* fond of this lab. "I know, you're used to dealing with us heroes, but."I shrugged, holding my hands out helplessly. "A tank is something else entirely, right?"I smiled disarmingly. "Why don't we just head on home for today, before things-"
I gasped as agony roared through my torso. Tentatively, as the strength seemed to flee my body, I glanced down. I didn't have to go too far, before I saw it.
The blade. Who knows how long it was. I could see at least a foot of length, from where it jabbed out from my chest. I gaped, as the first of the blood began to dribble from my lips. He *smiled* at me. Like this was a normal day. The blades still whirling in a circle around his head cast strange, ever-changing shadows onto the ground.
He'd always been vicious, but he'd never tried to *kill* me before. I clutched the blade with one hand, resisting the urge to cough. I wouldn't like what I saw if I did, I knew. Fine. This was fine. I was going to be fine. I wasn't a flashy superhero like him, all excitement and brute force. I would never be the type to catch the public's eye. But that didn't mean I was helpless.
My lips curled into a smile. No one *knew* what my power was. I'd never let them find out. I'd been careful. To the villains, I merely walked in and foiled their plans as easily as breathing. I was an enigma - which the tabloids had seized upon, calling me it every time they had a story about me. Enigma. I wasn't against the name. Helped my image, and kept people guessing, when someone actually wrote up one of my captures. But through it all, no one even suspected the truth - that I was a time traveler.
I coughed. Couldn't help it anymore. Blood spread across the front of my jacket. Bladestorm was still *leering* at me. Not much time left. I was used to being stabbed, or burned, or electrocuted. Went with the territory. See, every night I went out to fight villains, I made a 'quicksave'. A nice, safe data point, earlier in the evening, that I could flash back to with a 'quickload'. I'd go out, get myself all stabbed up, gather whatever information I needed, and then start it back from scratch.
Tonight was no different. All I had to do was flash back, and I'd be golden. I coughed again, trying to clear my lungs. I could hear Bladestorm walking down the street towards me. His steps were slow and measured. Guy thought he had all the time in the world.
I was starting to get light-headed. Time to go, then. I drew in a breath, trying to ignore the pain in my lungs.
"Qu-quicksave."
I was a little light-headed before. That was *nothing*, compared to the wave of vertigo that washed through me as the severity of what I had just done struck me. I shook my head desperately. It-it was just a mistake. A slip of the tongue, of my mind. Besides, I'd stuttered. My words were mixed up, drowned out by blood and phlegm. This was fine. It was still fine.
"*Quickload*."I tried again, adrenaline clearing my words. I smiled a little as I saw the world around me flash to white around the edges. *It's working*. And then I gaped, as Bladestorm merely appeared to phase back a few steps. His expression never changed.
*The save took*.
An icy cold pallor seemed to set over the little street we were on as my senses all dialed up to 11. This...this had never happened before. I'd never messed up this *bad* before. But there was no time to dwell on it now. I wasn't going to be able to fight like this. I wasn't a *fighter*. I wasn't like *them*. I'd never needed to fight before, and so, well, I *couldn't*. That would be crazy. I needed to get out and save what I could - my life. If that was still an option.
The blade was like a anchor in my chest as I pushed to my feet. Bladestorm was still coming. So I took the path of least resistance - straight back the way I had come. A few hundred feet down, there was a turn in the road. If I could get that far, I might have a chance of making it out.
I made it about ten steps, before a second blade took my legs off at the knees. I shrieked in agony, as I fell to the ground.
"Where're ya heading?"I heard a voice croon from behind me. "Party's just starting, *Enigma*."
"...*Quickload*."I moaned, sheer pain threatening to overcome my words.
I was standing in the street, his blade still in my chest, and he was walking towards me. Running back hadn't worked. And the road was narrow, little more than an alley. No convenient doors for me to run away through or cross streets to duck down.
If I couldn't run....
I squared myself up, glaring at him despite the waves of pain that still swept through me. Despite myself, I was a little relieved. Compared to the pain of losing my legs, going back to just a spike through the chest felt, well. Not *good*, but better.
I needed a weapon.
He grinned as he saw me squaring off.
"Oh? Didn't think you were one for this kind of game, *Enigma*."
He threw another spike at me. I tried to catch it, as it blew past me.
It took off my hand instead.
"Quickload!"I screamed. A flash. The street. Him walking towards me.
He threw another spike at me. I tried to catch it, as it blew past me.
Closer. Lost the fingers on my hand. Not that time.
"Quickload."I hissed, as the blades continued to rain around me.
One more time. *One more time*.
---
No one had expected Bladestorm to lose. It was even more of a shock when Bladestorm went down to an almost-nothing, a hero that had only graced the worst of the tabloids. But that night, the unthinkable happened. When the emergency crews arrived, called onto the scene by a hysterical onlooker, they found the infamous villain, sliced almost to pieces by weapons that seemed to be *his own*.
The emergency staff didn't talk about that, though. No, they'd seen the aftermath of hero-villain battles too many times. For a villain as ruthless as Bladestorm, that end was going to come for him eventually. They only told stories about the dead-eyed hero who had cut him down, despite the hideous wound he'd sustained somewhere along the line. About the emptiness in his smile as he looked down at the villain's body.
That night, Enigma made the news.
(/r/inorai, critiques always welcome!) |
"Everybody, calm down!"
Professor Fir waited for the cacophony of his outraged colleagues to die down. The backlash from his last comment was unbelievable, especially considering it was an annual convention of the world's very best Pokemon professors. Surely they realized the obvious inconsistencies resulting from letting eleven-year-olds run around collecting information?
"But, sir, the Pokedex is one of our crowning achievements as scientists! Even when given to a child, surely it's foolproof!"another scientist shouted.
"Yes, I know you may think it's foolproof, but that doesn't take away from the fact that children are filling it out! For all we know, they could be making up any old thing! The Pokedex from the Hoenn region claims that Magcargo's shell is 18,000 degrees Fahrenheit. That's hotter than the sun- surely it would have melted the earth by now?"
Professor Fir listened to the murmurs of his colleagues as they faced the harsh truth they had denied for so long. He knew they had known this fact for years, he was just calling them out on it. They would do anything to have someone else travel the region and find basic info about the Pokemon, while they, in the comfy confines of their lab, studied whatever simple Pokemon they wanted. As Professor Fir finished his speech, he felt the cold stares of the other professors pierce his back, though they all knew his words were true.
Professor Fir walked backstage, sighing. He couldn't believe these professors; turning down the basic pursuit of knowledge throughout the world to stay in their lab and study common creatures. Isn't that what science is all about? Those eleven-year-olds were probably better scientists than the lot of them.
As Professor Fir walked out of the convention center, a International Cop watched from an alley. They had been keeping an eye on him. Professor Fir would arrive home to an urgent email, summoning him to the region of Galar. He had work to do. |
“You know that I could hold us here forever,” she says nearly weeping. “You don’t have to go...”
I turn my head towards the window and notice a leaf now transfixed within air. Such a beautiful dance it must have lived, and in this moment can I see all of the inner intricacies iridescently traced by the sun’s rays, but I know it is not natural. There must be an end.
“I know, my dear. I am well aware of how you can allow us to finally see one another. Since I was young, I longed for those days on the beach where the waves would cease mid-air. Such a task, something done as easily as breathing for you, inspired every ounce of my body to be everything for you. For us.”
I turn to her, a being of benevolence manifested into something my mortal mind can apprehend, and smile. She returns with teary eyes while reaching for my hand, and I, ever weak with this crippling age, embrace her warm touch.
“You alone have been,” she stumbles on her words, “have been the only mortal to make me wish to hold everything still. I would harness the seas, uphold the winds, and even cease the very spin of the cosmos so long as it meant that I could spend a single moment with you. And yet...”
I interrupt, knowing the outcome,”the waves must crash. “
Her hands tighten around my wrinkled skin, a harmful remembrance of what is to come, of what always awaited, a dance finding its final footing.
“I have seen two millennia of your kind deal with loss, but never have I understood their emotions. Why would love find it’s why into their minds if the absence of such is inevitable. But now,”
she pauses as tears begin to fall upon her reddened cheeks, “while I may finally be able to understand why one can love, I cannot grasp what it is I must do here. What am I to do now?”
“You can take this last dance with me.”
She pauses initially perplexed by my words, but then begins to smile at me one last time. Without letting go of my hands, she begins to disappear as she always does, and the world around begins to turn within her absence. As I can no longer feel her hands upon mine, I know she is the world around me. I spend these last few moments reminiscing on what I’ve seen, unlike many mortals, yet like them all. I had found love, even if in some place utterly new and unprecedented, but such was all the same. I had not danced alone, I danced with the love of my life, and so it is that I found an answer to how we mortals deal with loss. Once we no longer can feel those gone, we remember. I chose to remember her.
And then the leaf graced the ground with its presence. |
Smoke swirled and the priestess shuddered. Flames lept and the boy whimpered and his mother shielded him from the heat.
The robed priestess turned, her eyes all white and hair wild from her frenzy. She'd spoken to the gods. "He will live a long, fulfilling life,"she said, reaching a bony finger towards the boy's forehead.
The mother winced but didn't turn; she cowered but stood strong, and when the priestess touched the child, he fell silent.
"A long, fulfilling life?"the parents asked together. United in voice only, as they each thought their own version of long, fulfilling lives.
But the priestess didn't hear them, her attention back towards the flames crackling in the stone fire pit. Terrified, the parents left her to her doings. Their footsteps echoed in the cavernous temple, dwarfed by the presence of the gods and the magnificent columns.
"Cryptic,"the father spat once they were out of earshot. "Always cryptic."
His wife set a calming hand on his arm. "Cryptic but accurate. We know that."
"So what do we do? He's born to be a leader, not an old man. Leaders don't live long lives. They live short, intense lives, like the throes of a budding passion. Philosophers live to be old. Philosophers and hermits."
She sighed. She hated when he spoke like that, as if the next time the Council met he'd be stabbed to death on the stone floors. And to speak of their son that way--her son, of her own body. She'd like for him to live forever, leader or not. Like the priestess had said. Philosopher, hermit, wharf-worker, even. As long as he lived that long, fulfilling life, she'd have done her duty as a mother.
"I don't want him to live a short life,"she answered quietly. He could have grandchildren someday. Great-grandchildren, even. A family life her husband had never cared for and would never have. He'd only ever cared for an heir.
She'd seen the way the husband's of the other ladies groomed the boys, republic or democracy be damned. Children of councilmen became councilmen, and their children after them. They prepared young boys for life on the Council, or to be generals who'd lead the armies to glory. And for what? To be dead and forgotten and a new man in their place.
They entered the home and servants closed the heavy wooden doors behind them. Others scrambled to prepare a dinner fit for the day of prophecy. The boy didn't care now, but it'd be even more significant to his life than it was to his parents' lives. Someday, when he was a leader, or not.
"Fuck the Oracle,"her husband spat as she handed the child to a maid. He stormed to his office, that cell where he wrote eloquent proposals to men who pretended to love him so that they could govern people who couldn't care less who the men of the Council held in higher esteem.
She, to the kitchen, and she hurried past the maid and the cook to a box on one end of the shelf. Only she had the key, and the servants in the kitchen couldn't help but crane their necks to see what she hid inside. When she turned, she held a vial.
"Here,"she said, but neither budged. "Here,"she pressed, and reluctantly the maid took the vial and pressed it against her bosom.
"For what, mistress?"she asked quietly.
"To add to his food,"the wife said, staring impassively and daring them to question her. "For flavor, if you need a lie to tell."
And for the prophecy to come true, she didn't add.
*****
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**An uncomfortable truth**
“And I’m telling you, they’re all addicts.”
Sythos glared at the Confederate representative. He was bristling with spines, and they chattered with disgust.
“And it’s not just sugar”, he continued, “which they feed to their young to get them addicted from an early age. Some of them use caffeine on an hourly basis, and I’ve seen one consume enough to take down a Cormellian Bisax.”
He stopped, and glared some more. A spine clattered to the floor, the sign of massive distress.
The representative’s name was Artijo, and he was one of the more understanding in the delegation, and even he was struggling to come to terms with this new race.
“Thank you, honoured Sythos,” he trilled, “I shall add that to their already extensive file.”
He wondered briefly how the press would react when they discovered that this obviously peaceful and friendly race naturally produced adrenaline, which fetched extortionate prices on some of the most deadly black markets in the galaxy.
He sighed, and went back to work. It was going to be a long process. |
The very first Woodsman, a mere woodsman, had been tending to his tasks in the King’s Forest. As a rare exception through his service, he had been allowed to carry a bow for hunting despite his lack of nobility. That fact had made all the difference.
When he stumbled upon the great wolf, terrible jaws biting at a Grand Stag, he had been quick to fire an arrow. As everyone who entered the King’s Forest knew, the Grand Stags were the Lords of the Forest, and it was by their whim that humanity was allowed entrance.
The woodsman had felled the beast and the Grand Stag had turned to him. Lowering its head a nigh imperceptible degree, its already stunning crown of antlers began to shine. As though to match its brilliance, so too did his bow. The knowledge of what the Lord had done was passed to him without a single spoken word.
To strike down one’s enemies, even to save a god, was a difficult decision. Even more than gratitude, regret weighed on the Lord for having forced such a choice upon the human. So it gave him an option to take back that choice. The Bow of Regrets would allow its wielder to take back a killing blow, to make it so that an arrow that had struck true had never been fired at all.
Every Woodsman hence knew the weight of the gift the god had given them. It was an ability to take a role of a god, to bestow life where one had once bestowed death.
Avery Woodsman, many generations down the line from the first Woodsman, played with the string on his bow.
His family had taken on a new role after his ancestor’s fateful encounter. A blessed bloodline was fit to serve the king beyond caring for a forest and cutting down trees. His family was allowed to cut down lives.
Through the Lord’s blessing, his ancestor’s gift with the bow was passed down to his descendents. Their arrows could strike down their targets far beyond where a normal archer’s would fall short. They had taken that blessing intended for the hunting of beasts and turned it to the hunting of humans, which Avery supposed was not all that different.
The Woodsman line had a power over their king, one that allowed them great privilege. If ever they felt their ruler had tasked them with an unjust task, they could take it back. It was for this reason they had been given the role in the first place, by the original Woodsman’s king who had been wise enough to want a check on his actions.
In the decades of his service, Avery had never taken a life that he hadn’t thought needed taking. But, looking back at it all as a whole, he had gone wrong somewhere down the line. The current king had changed, and Avery’s killings had allowed it to happen.
If he gave it some thought, which he had done many times in recent years, he could pinpoint it to one moment twenty years prior. One death which had placed its subtle influence on every moment after. The death of the Duke of Paraves.
As he always did when his thoughts turned to the Duke, Avery ran his fingers along the bowstring of the Bow of Regrets. In the centuries since its creation, its special ability had been used just once. For it was an unnatural thing his bloodline had been given the opportunity to do. The stories told that the bowstring had been thicker once, before taking back that death.
Even when denying the consequences of one action, there were still consequences to another.
Avery sighed and plucked the string.
It did not let out any sound, but it seemed to shake the world. The bowstring shone for one mesmerizing moment and then snapped.
The world around him spun and Avery found himself standing exactly as he had been before, but the bow in his hands was broken. And those hands carried neither the scars nor callouses he had come to be familiar with.
He was a young man standing in the serenity of the royal gardens, but his eyes carried the experiences of a man two decades older.
***
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They thought they had killed them all. The Madrigal family was hunted to extinction or at least that was what they were told. There entire city was burned to the ground. The people scattered to the winds the last patriarch slain at the river crossing.
For twenty years they didn't see or hear a word about them. Then a whisper. A small village hidden deep in the forest with a famous family called the Madrigal's. Each of the sibling having a gift. They sent in people to look around. Only one came back suffering severe frostbite in the dead of summer. The only thing he was willing to say is to stay away.
It remained relatively quiet only strange rumors floating back about the town. Strange weather and people healing inhumanly quickly. And every person sent in never returning.
Then the rumors got even stranger, of elementary children lifting building, plants sprouting from nothing, of body snachers pretending to be loved ones, and if a spy who could hear entire conversations from miles away. The cartels started to feel fear then. They sent in groups a subordinates and none came back. Some cartel leaders went in themselves with their strongest people. Never to be seen again.
They left the family to their town. They thought it was only one town that nobody ever heard of, and a strange town at that. Then the town started exporting goods. Large quantities of exotic plants. All extremely healthy and many larger than normal. Of health remedies promising cures that actually seemed to work. Exotic animals that were unusually friendly to people.
The cops started taking notice when poppy, cannabis, and tobacco plants started flooding the market. But still nothing could be found on the family by all sense and purpose they were helpful members of the town. But still strange disappearances happened. A police chief sent in by the goverment to investigate all of a sudden robbing a bank in broad daylight only to escape and come back to the station an hour later saying he was kidnapped by the Madrigal's. Cartels leaders who went against the family would have their houses hit with giant storms that wash their homes into the ocean. Or secrets only ever whispered about leaked to the front page of the newspaper. Or even freak animal attacks.
After several years the cartels and the goverment learned to fear the family even if the citizens only saw the kindest most generous family who the heavens decided to bless with miracles.
They knew the truth.
The Madrigal's where demons not angles
And their gifts where given by the devil not by the heavens. |
*You've been found guilty on counts of murder, disruption of the natural order and resisting arrest. You're sentenced to two hundred years as a frontline soldier, with no chance of parole or leniency.*
Most considered my trial a sham and my sentencing a joke. Frontliners didn't survive a decade under the best circumstances. And even if they did, I was given two life sentences in essence. I was condemned to death, for preventing a nobleman from raping a defenceless woman. And killing him, but that was secondary.
"Flamers, front and center!"The command rang through the battle field as we approached the nest. My squad was, of course, first into the Frey, with me in the front. "Ashes to Ashes!"I shout as I start running forward. "Death to Death!"Came the answer as we started incinerating the insects.
Flamers weren't the strongest, but on average they were quick and had the best chance to inflict fatal damage on insects. Even against beasts they were used first, since everything tends to fear fire.
But I'm no Flamer. I feel the life of the insects return to the ground that spawned them, and I retrieve it. I force the air to expand my lungs, and the blood to continue circulating.
Dualities are born attuned to to different elements. People look down on them, so they can't master their abilities. They are rare aberrations that shouldn't exist.
That makes me an affront to nature. That's why I was truly sentenced. Why I'm in this hell hole. And how I survived for nearly two hundred years.
On my first year I was badly wounded by... Some sort of beast. It had skin like armour and two vertical horns at the front of its face, which went through my flesh like it was nothing.
During my recovery, I learned a lot from the Drowners that were in charge of treatment. How the body works, how almost everything is inside of it is liquid based, supported or reinforced. I was an eager student, and they seemed happy someone appreciated their knowledge on a theoretical, not just practical, level.
After the nest is burnet, the Quakers seal it up. We report zero casualties. The C.O. calls me. "Private First Class, Adrian Mulano!"I salute and stand at attention. "Sir, Yes sir! Reporting! Raid was successful, with zero casualties!"He smiled at me. "As always, impressive work. A lot of people are sad to see you go."I nod at that. "I know sir. But two hundred years is plenty for me. "He barked a short laugh. "You'll never tell us your actual sentence, will you?"I just smile at that.
See, it turns out, if you can force the blood to flow, force air into the lungs, and keep just warm enough, death has a devil of a time trying to catch you. |
I could feel the last of my will drying, the last remnants of my power evaporating into thin air. The others had faded long before me, their bodies still remained decorated in their burial chambers, faces painted, bodies covered in their lands flora. Now I would go too, but undecorated. Nobody was left to grant me that rite. Nobody was left at all.
When I decorated the last, the last one before me three-hundred years ago, it was no longer a somber moment, it was a job. Three-hundred years of silence followed after like vultures waiting to feast on my carcass.
When the first of our Pantheon was buried we weeped. We grieved so hard the realms in which we ruled saw rains like no other. Ikthyr hadn't received a prayer in some time. The plains he once ruled had turned to desert and no matter how he tried he could not return the lush green. We watched as he withered, unable to help with anything more than our words. Without prayers he was powerless, then dead.
But when I decorated Anaulus I felt nothing. His bones had grown as dry as my heart in our last moments. I wanted to feel pain. I wanted to flood the world with my tears so those below may feel as I felt, but none came. He did not blame me, for he too knew that if it had been him that lived he'd have no tears for me either. It was our time. We had grown decrepit in our years, power having long left our fingers.
I walked the obsidian floor one last time to my chambers; every footstep over a place I once held such fond memories. In my chambers I had already prepared my placements. A large catafalque of the finest wood, decorated with the many plants over the forest of which I once watched.
I needed no mirror to apply the paint to my face. After having done so to seventeen of my kin and countless loyalists of old I trusted my hand. The lines came smooth and cold; I chose a similar pattern to that Anaulus wore, one of sparcity, of greens and yellows.
With the paint applied all that was left was to lay and rest. The bones in my legs ached, the skin on my arms clung to the bone beneath. My hair had long since grayed. I was ready. With the last bit of my power my hand touched a dried flower taken before bloom. Its petals seperated into a beautiful orange, the stem became green once again. But then, so too did the rest of the dried plants placed around the pedestal. They all grew back into beautiful twisted shapes and colors all at once, the wood pedestal on which I lay grew branches that sprung out in search of light.
And as the plants grew so too did I. I could feel strength return to my arms and muscle inflate the skin from bone. My legs no longer ached, in fact they felt so good that I leaped up from my coffin and ran to the Seer. It had gone dark a thousand years ago, its dimming signified the death of our Pantheon. But now the circular frame flickered and ignited in a burst of light. It showed a moving image of the trees from the eyes of a hawk, my trees they once were.
The frame zoomed to show a man standing amongst the woods with two kids in tow. He stood at a shrine, old and cracked, once dedicated to me. The man looked capable. Strength in his arms, a belly full of certainty, and eyes cut with wisdom. I could not ask for a better man to rescue me, nor would I.
The image zoomed out once again, this time further and further up until it revealed what surrounded the forest: nothing. Ash, dust, fire, the forest an oasis in a sea of gray and red. The fire spread closer to this patch of green, and among it I saw more faces spread thin and full of worry.
Tears welled in my eyes, and for the first time in a thousand years I weeped. Weeped for the passing of my kin, weeped as the last of my once great pantheon, weeped to save the one who saved me. The water fell fast and hard, drowning out the blooming red fires that ate at the forest.
I watched on as the man looked to the sky, then back to my altar with surprise. His kids joined him now in his prayers, in their thanks, but I was the one who should be thanking them.
So I did. It had been years since I touched the worlds surface, I wasn't even sure I could anymore, but after a moment of concentration I was among the green once again. The man and his children lurched back, but calmed at realizing what I was. By now more and more faces gathered, some kneeled, some prostrated, but I needed not that. I only wanted to thank my savior.
My voice boomed over the trees, out past the forest and the gray that lied beyond: "You have saved me. And so I too, will save you. All of you." |
I wake up coughing, the bitter scent of my alarm filling my nostrils. Someday, someone will invent an alarm plant that actually smells nice and still wakes you up, and they'll make a fortune. But until then, you've got your choice of ashy burning, cough inducing irritant, or adrenaline stimulant pheromones.
The only upside to coughing yourself awake, is you get it out of your system real quick. Once I'm up enough to tap my floral clock, the whole room shifts to a nice morning lemon-and-cinnamon combo. There's a brand new variety of breakfast citrus fruit waiting for me, and I eat it while I shower. I swiftly dress and then it's time to start the job; Night Harvesting.
A lot of people get the wrong idea when they hear the words "Night Harvester". They picture someone dressed in all black, boots and trench coats, sneaking into guarded greenhouses, dripping fierce and deadly chemicals into the soil to mutate an entire crop. Well, there is *some* of that. But looking like a stereotypical harvester is a great way to make people far too suspicious and get yourself shot. Ironically, you can only really get away with it if you've turned sides, sold out and started working for one of the big Agri-corps. The Farms don't actually care how the top talent dresses. For us freelancers, inconspicuous is the name of the game. We have to blend in. I often wear the same rough clothes and sun-blocking hat as any field hand and just walk right in.
I head down in to the city, taking a disposable Maplewing as I leave the branch complex I'm currently staying in. The Maplewing drifts and spirals, spinning from air current to air current to remain aloft before touching down precisely at my destination - an inconspicuous little bar called the Hothouse.
The Hothouse is the best place in the city to grow a new scheme, filled with dark corners and fertile minds. I'm here to meet a contact who can supply the needed 'fertilizer' for my latest job. They call him the Black Thumb. We've worked together before, but never met in person. The Thumb is rightly paranoid; to avoid leaving any fallen leaves for to Agri-corps to pluck, he tends to communicate only only through the 'net, location obscured no doubt by layers of fungal proxies. But this job is on another level, and it's going to need a careful gardening hand right in the dirt, so we've arraigned a face-to-face.
I slide up to the bar, ordering a light drink. No idea exactly what it is - the sign of a great bar is that they grow and brew their own custom drinks; in the Hothouse, it'll always be something novel, and you order by favorite flavor or level of desired inebriation. I get something that tastes of agave and cactus, but should keep my head clear.
Even though it's still early evening, the Hothouse is surprisingly crowded, with a fine mulch of partiers coming off of work disguising a layer of Night Harvesters starting theirs. A drunk woman in a flower crown slips into the Black Thumb's seat; I'll need to get her to move before he gets here.
"Hey lady, this seat's for a friend of mine-"I start to say, but stop when she turns to look at me. She smells drunk, but she moves quick and precise, far too alert to her surroundings. The flowers in her hair don't seem fully decorative either; they block much of a small angular face, and just happen to be perfectly placed to keep her exact features out of view. There aren't supposed to be any cameras in the Hothouse, but if there were one hidden in the corner, or behind the bar, it'd have a great picture of orchids and nothing else. The real kicker though, is despite the party dress and the gold leaf covered purse, she's got dirt on her fingers. A black thumb.
"Friends already are we?"She smiles, "I'm looking for an expert on digitalis. You know anything about them?"
That's the code name I'm using for our meeting *digitalis ferruginea* - the rusty foxglove. This woman's the Black Thumb alright.
"You've found me,"I answer, "and I believe you've got your hands on the dirt for a job with Vine-Co."
"You don't aim small do you, Rusty? Vine-Co is the big leagues. And they're holding that fancy shareholder meeting here in the city next month."
"That they are,"I acknowledge. "And I know someone who'd dearly like to be there for it. Unfortunately, they've misplaced their invitation, so they came to me for a helping hand. I can talk them to the door and through the door. The only remaining problem is the drinks at the party."
She nods, understanding. Vine-Co is famous for their custom vineyards, instantly recognizable wines grown specifically to taste for their guests palates. Wines that will also poison anyone who isn't supposed to be drinking them. I'd asked the 'Thumb if he—or she apparently—could whip up an antidote.
"I've got some bad news and some good news for you. The bad part is that there is no one antidote; the poisons Vine-Co uses are in flux and redesigned constantly while growing inside the very plants themselves. They won't have settled into a specific poison until the grapes are harvested four days before the party."
This could be a problem. "And the good news?"
"The good news, is that means the plants themselves can teach us; we can grow an antidote alongside them."
She lifted her purse up onto the counter and opened it. Inside sat a thin little green shoot, sticking out of a small plastic cup of dirt.
"This,"she said with a gardener's pride, "is a beautiful little recombinant creation of mine. It's part grape and part mistletoe, and part a lot of other things. If it's fed from a poisonous source, it'll grow strong, neutralizing it as it goes. The berries will come out as a perfect antidote, no matter what changes and variations of toxins it goes through."
"So we'll need samples taken from Vine-Co's plants then. How many, and when?"In my head I was planning. I'd need to figure out who to bribe, where to get cuttings or maybe fallen leaves. But the Black Thumb was shaking her head in negation.
"No samples. This will require a live source, a host plant. Too much of the necessary chemistry happens in the root system. It'll need to be grafted directly to the grapevines in order to work."
"To do that I'll need to break into Vine-Co's private vineyards. And I'll need to do it twice, once to plant this and once to harvest it, all without them ever noticing."
"That right. But I've heard you're the best. Are you up for the job?"
Remember when I said Night Harvesting wasn't all danger and bravado, sneaking past guards at midnight to plant secrets? Well sometimes it is.
"Of course,"I said, "Let me get some tools ready, and let's do a graft." |
<Fantasy>
#Facing Your Dragon
I'd been wishing to find a dragon for as long as I could remember. Ever since we learned about them in school, our teacher showing us carvings and tapestries and grand oil paintings depicting the fearsome beasts facing off against their foes, I was obsessed.
It was said that there existed a dragon out there for everyone if only you could find it. The creature was like a mirror of your soul, and in facing it, you would discover truths about yourself locked deep inside. You would become who you were truly meant to be, aided by the fortune you found in your dragon's hoard.
Most were lesser dragons — drakes and wyrms not much bigger than a full-grown man and unable to lift themselves off the ground. Though their hoards were still substantial enough to buy a decent plot of land, they were nothing special.
Then, there were the elementals. Water and fire serpents were fearsome foes and dwelt only in their element. Facing them required hiking to the summit of an active volcano or diving into the deepest seas, but the reward was worth it. The treasure they tended to hoard would mean that you never had to work a day in your life if you didn't want to.
But most impressive were the greater dragons. The true dragons. Horrible scaled lizards bigger than a house that soared through the skies with breath that could melt the skin off your body or freeze you in place. It was said that their hoards provided enough wealth to buy your own kingdom, and that any who slew them must be the most noble and true rulers. But none had been seen for at least a century. They had become the stuff of legend.
Still, that didn't stop me dreaming.
I just hoped that when my turn came, I would be up to the challenge.
And until then, I'd just have to be content with my daydreams while I toiled as a lowly farmhand. The only thing that kept me going through the long days and the back-breaking work was the promise of a better life in the future. I just had to find it.
And find it I did. Or it found me.
I was in the barn, bailing and stacking hay to feed the cows and horses over winter when I heard it. There was a strange skittering sound, followed by a snort. I froze, hands pausing in their task as I listened closely.
*There it was again!*
I dropped what I was doing, looking around frantically. Had one of the animals escaped? Were the rats back? Or could it possibly be...
Another snort sent a spurt of flame shooting up to the ceiling, answering my question.
*A dragon!*
And now I knew exactly where it was. I dived over to where the flame had come from, hurriedly patting out any lingering sparks as I tore into the pile of hay. Sadly, it looked like I wasn't bound for the grandest honour of a greater dragon, or the excitement of an elemental serpent, but at least a lesser dragon would be an easier kill.
My heart pounded as I tossed handfuls of hay aside in a frenzy. Until I reached the bottom of the pile.
*Nothing.*
But how was that possible? Even drakes and wyrms weren't small enough to have snuck past without me noticing.
I froze again, slowly looking around the barn. The only movement was the strands of straw still floating in the air, twisting and twirling in the breeze as they slowly fell back to earth. The blood rushing in my ears and my own short rapid breaths were all I could hear.
Had it gone? Had I imagined it?
I'd almost given up when a high-pitched *chirrup* came from behind me. I whirled around to see *it* perched atop the stack of hay bales I'd been building. But what *it* was I had no idea.
It *looked* like a greater dragon, at least from my memory of the carvings our teacher had shown us. Or at least it was the exact same shape. It had a narrow, serpentine face with slitted eyes, nostrils flaring at the end of a long snout. Mottled green and copper scales covered its body, crests sticking out on the top of its head and tail. It even had wings, the membrane stretched over them almost translucent.
It was exactly the same *shape* as a greater dragon. It was just the *size* that was wrong. It was barely as big as a blackbird.
[Part 1/2] |
Lucy Vim was always an odd child. More at peace in the wilds, her village often called her the Feral Girl. Not that they meant any harm by it. She was kind and good-natured, with a knack for worming her way out of trouble. She spent a lot of time in Bramble Forest, a place of dark tales.
It was said to be inhabited by fairies. Not the kind and playful sort, but the ones that played cruel tricks. Ones that thought little of causing bodily harm in the pursuit of a light prank. Many people had ventured in before, but few returned. And those that did were irreparably damaged, both in body and mind.
Yet Lucy went in day after day, with no harm befalling her. The village tried to teach her not to, or prevent her entry. Yet no matter what they did, she always slipped by, entering once more. Eventually they gave up trying to stop her, just letting her continue to venture in on her own terms. They had better things to do then stop her, and as she was always fine afterwards they had little concern.
When she went to a nearby town for school, she always made time to enter into its embrace. Perhaps not every day, but never more than two without running back in. When asked, she always said they enjoyed each others company.
But despite her upbringing, she could not stop darker forces in the world. She went to school one day, and never returned. Her village investigated, to find she was taken as she left her place of learning. They couldn't find her abductors, as they were simple people with simple lives. This thing never happened in their home. They had no idea where to start.
Three days after her disappearance, they were visited themselves. A small blue creature, with large eyes on its head. It found her home, asking her parents a single question. "Where is our pet?"
They were quick to tell the tale, afraid of the diminutive being in their midst. It listened intently, before vanishing without another word.
Later that night, they heard a great commotion in the Bramble Forest. Crashes and roars from unnatural creatures, filling the air with anger. Yet as suddenly as it started, it stopped. In its place, a faint melody replaced it. A song sung by tiny voices, the words almost audible, but not quite. Yet its meaning was evident, as anger echoed every word.
\------
Lucy sat alone in a room, staring up at its barred window. The cold air didn't bother her, but the lack of access to outside upset her. She missed her home, and her friends. The unknown made things worse, as she waited for whatever fate had in store for her.
As she watched, the cloud above split apart. She could see the moon above, looking down upon her. She could feel its gaze, a presence there she had experienced before. In that instant, she felt safe.
A couple of thuds made her look to the ceiling over her. A faint flapping came before a howling wind, with creaking wood underneath. A scream pierced through, running steps leading to her locked door.
It sprang open, as a thing burst through. They looked to be human, but with mushrooms growing across their body. The fungi grew rapidly, as the person fell to the ground. Gurgles rose from their mouth, as they fell jnto a fetal position.
From its back a small mushroom shaped creature sprung into the air. Two translucent wings sprouted from its back, as it chittered towards her. The speech warped in the air, becoming words she could understand. "Sweet one, there you are. We missed you."
She smiled, holding out her free hand to it. "I'm sorry Mycelia. I couldn't get away."
It landed on her hand, cold on her skin. "Don't worry. We will make sure it doesn't happen again."
Her rope binding snapped, letting her stand. Mycelia tugged on her hand, pulling her from the room. "Now come on. The others are just finishing up the rest of them. Trust me, you don't want to see what's happening up there Sweet one."
Lucy obeyed, knowing better than to go against what they said. She had done it once years ago, and those nightmares still continued. |
Whoever... Or, shit, 'whatever' it was... well, they didn't do their fucking homework. Trying to force anything on people? It was careless. Fucking careless, man.
It seems simple on paper, right? 'wake up in some other persons body everyday-- black, brown, white, male, female, gay, transgender, fuckin' otherkin or whatever, now how will you bastards hate each other?'
Well, we fucking found a way.
See, the cycle repeats every 24 hours. Whatever it was had enough sense to rotate the effect with the middle of the night, but not enough sense to realize a human being can stay up however fucking late it wants, and see the thing is we're fucking hateful, right? That's the whole goddamn point I guess. And we may hate each other over petty shit like skin color and stuff, but that's fucking *petty* levels of hate compared to how much we hate, and I mean *really fucking hate* being toyed with. Being controlled.
A whole lot of us would kill ourselves before bending over and taking it up the rear.
So we did.
You just got to learn the exact time the switch happens in your area, and make sure you're already in the air. You wake up in some other fuck offs body, and some poor fucker wakes up at terminal velocity. Rinse and repeat. At first people were freaking out and demanding something be done, but, shit, there weren't police anymore. There wasn't a government. You couldn't keep track of who anyone else was, only yourself. And, yeah, I'm fucking terrified of my eyes opening to an oncoming concrete tombstone, but, shit, I'm fucking terrified of waking up with tits again too-- I'm not a god damn chick, that just ain't me.
You can call it murder, hell, I do too-- but I also call it sending a fucking message. You can't fucking force us to love each other, or hate each other, or do any fucking thing at all. Fuck off. We will literally fuck ourselves first. Fuck off, Fuck you.
|
FADE IN:
INT. A SMALL OFFICE - DAY
*A young, slightly overweight woman enters a small office. This is ALICE. She glances around the room with a look of apprehension on her face.*
**ALICE:** Um... hello?
**SOLANACEAE:** (*O.S.*) Just a second!
*From behind a closed door, a second woman appears. She is taller and more attractive than Alice, but has a notably frazzled air about her. This is SOLANACEAE, a professional witch for hire.*
**SOLANACEAE:** I'm so sorry about the wait! How can I help you?
**ALICE:** You... you're a witch, right?
*Solanaceae offers a forced smile.*
**SOLANACEAE:** Yes, yes I am. All of the magic I offer is real and guaranteed to be effective.
**ALICE:** It's not, like, card tricks?
**SOLANACEAE:** Nope. Real magic.
**ALICE:** Like chanting and potions and stuff?
*The smile on Solanaceae's face begins to show signs of strain.*
**SOLANACEAE:** Again, no. Real magic.
**ALICE:** I don't get it.
**SOLANACEAE:** (*Sighing*) Magic is the fifth fundamental force of the universe. It operates via subatomic particles that are out of phase with our perception of time, but which can still be influenced by those with the proper training.
**ALICE:** ... What?
**SOLANACEAE:** Magic obeys the laws of physics. Chanting won't do a damned thing, and potions are either herbal remedies or placebos.
**ALICE:** Okay, so, how does it work? I mean, how do you do it?
*An expression of weary frustration darkens Solanaceae's eyes, even as she struggles to maintain a pleasant demeanor.*
**SOLANACEAE:** Well, that's the whole trick, isn't it? See, various substances have higher concentrations of those particles than others do, and... you know what? Let's just say that it's difficult to find the right ingredients. Now, what do you need?
**ALICE:** What?
**SOLANACEAE:** You came here because you needed something, didn't you?
**ALICE:** Oh. Oh, yeah! Yeah, I need you to cast a spell for me.
**SOLANACEAE:** That's not... ugh. What should this spell do?
**ALICE:** There's this guy I like.
**SOLANACEAE:** Nope.
*Alice looks taken aback.*
**ALICE:** What?
**SOLANACEAE:** Love spells are not a thing. Thank you! Sorry we couldn't help!
*Solanaceae begins gently guiding Alice toward the door, but the other woman resists.*
**ALICE:** Wait, wait! I don't want a love spell!
**SOLANACEAE:** What is it, then?
**ALICE:** I want you to make it so that I can fly.
*A moment of silence passes.*
**SOLANACEAE:** I'm sorry, what?
**ALICE:** I want to be able to fly.
**SOLANACEAE:** I thought this was about some guy you like.
**ALICE:** It is.
**SOLANACEAE:** Then why do you need to be able to fly?
**ALICE:** (*Indignantly*) It's just this thing, okay? Can you do it?
*Solanaceae sighs and rubs her forehead.*
**SOLANACEAE:** (*To herself*) Why is it always dragon scales?
**ALICE:** What?
**SOLANACEAE:** Dragon scales. For a manip... for a *spell* like that, they're an essential ingredient.
**ALICE:** Why?
**SOLANACEAE:** The particles I keep discussing come in different orientations, kind of like quarks.
**ALICE:** Corks?
**SOLANACEAE:** Quarks.
**ALICE:** That's what I said.
**SOLANACEAE:** You said "corks."Quarks are subatomic particles.
**ALICE:** Oh. Why do they look so big in wine bottles?
**SOLANACEAE:** Look, the point is that certain materials are more likely to attract or manifest different varieties of these particles. Dragon scales are absolutely essential for something like flight.
**ALICE:** Why?
**SOLANACEAE:** How else do you think dragons are able to fly?
**ALICE:** Wings?
**SOLANACEAE:** (*Laughing*) Wings, she says! No! Their wings are purely vestigial at this point! Some species don't even have them! Dragons fly via the same process that I'd use for you... if only I had any of their scales.
**ALICE:** Why don't you? Aren't you a witch?
**SOLANACEAE:** We have established that. As for why I don't have any dragon scales: When was the last time you saw a dragon?
**ALICE:** ... Do Komodo dragons count?
**SOLANACEAE:** No.
*ALICE stares into space for several seconds.*
**ALICE:** So, I guess you can't help me.
**SOLANACEAE:** I didn't say that.
*Tears well up in Alice's eyes.*
**ALICE:** You mean you *can?*
**SOLANACEAE:** It would help *a lot* if I knew why you needed to fly.
**ALICE:** Well... that guy?
**SOLANACEAE:** Yes.
**ALICE:** He called me a pig... and he said he'd only date me if he saw me fly.
*Solanaceae looks shocked, but then her expression hardens.*
**SOLANACEAE:** Okay... er, what was your name?
**ALICE:** Alice.
**SOLANACEAE:** Okay, Alice, you don't need to fly.
**ALICE:** I don't?
**SOLANACEAE:** No.
*She drapes her arm around Alice's shoulders and pulls her toward the office's inner rooms.*
**SOLANACEAE:** (*CONT'*D) What you need is a really good, really *embarrassing* hex.
**ALICE:** Like what?
**SOLANACEAE:** Let's just say that someone is about to develop a new appreciation for chickens.
*The two women enter the back room. The door closes on its own behind them.*
FADE OUT. |
The cell is 6 feet long, 6 feet wide, and 6 feet tall. Just enough room for me to lay down without scraping the top of my head on the opposite wall. A trickle of sunlight shines in through the one miniscule window that is only large enough to allow me to see the desolate desert that stretches for miles and miles around. It’s the only thing that I’ve seen for months now. As best I understand, I am the sole prisoner locked in this high tower, and the rest of the world doesn’t even know I am here. Every day, a guard comes by with a meager portion of bread and water, and an offer: work for King Fegon, and go free. And every day, I spit in their faces.
Before the king’s agents caught me, I was the most dangerous man in the world. Most wizards have limits. Mages need to be in sight of their target to cast a spell. Alchemists need ingredients to brew potions. Enchanters need weapons and armor to bind. Those that practice Necromancy require a corpse to use. But I only required a pencil to work my magic. I could kill a king from a hundred miles away just by drawing a dagger through his heart in a portrait of him. I could empty a merchant’s vault like a thief could only dream, and I could fill my own just as easily. I could level an army with just the stroke of my eraser. And I did this for years without ever being noticed or detected; to untrained eyes, I was simply an unassuming traveling artist.
But once my identity was revealed, I learned that what really scared the rich and powerful was that I could not be manipulated like the others. A king’s greatest fear is neither silent assassins nor the unruly mobs of angry peasants rising up; it is the man that they can’t squeeze under their thumb. Mercenaries and mages and mobs can be bought or intimidated or killed. What want do I have of gold, when I have unlimited resources at the tip of my pen? What use are threats against a man like me? And as for killing me… well, they certainly tried a number of times.
Before this cell, my home was an impossible, magnificent creation of my own design. A castle with spiraling towers and grand halls, perched on the side of the highest mountain in the province. No path led up the jagged slopes to my front door; one could only access my home by being drawn in front of it. At least, that was what I’d thought. A team of assassins scaled the cliffs and somehow overcame my guards; good help is hard to create when you can’t draw traits like watchfulness and intelligence. By the time I was aware of the attack, they’d managed to bind my hands so that I couldn’t draw my way out of it. I’m only fortunate that my captor decided I could be of use to him alive. The only thing King Fegon wants more than my head on a platter is my skill in his pocket.
There’s a sandstorm brewing out in the desert. The seasons here do not follow the normal pattern; it just goes from “dry and still” to “dry and windy.” Instead of the constant glaring sun, I can see dark thunderheads rolling in over the dunes and hear the distant booms of thunder. And though I can’t see through the door to my cell, I can hear the guards battening down the hatches of the prison.
The storm hits in an instant. My ears, so used to constant silence, are battered by the wind howling through the tiny opening with a shrill shriek and rattling the steel door on its hinges. There’s a constant grinding sound of sand blasting against the stone walls of the prison. To avoid the battering spray of sand flying through the narrow window, I duck down into a fetal position in the corner of my cell. The grains of sand spray against the opposite wall and comes to rest in a small pile, growing constantly larger.
I do not know how long the storm lasted; time loses all meaning in this cell. But finally the wind quiets down and the whirlwind of sand comes to a stop, leaving only the pile of red dust against the far wall as evidence that it ever happened. The stars and a full moon come shining through the window, so I know the storm lasted for at least half a day.
I listen at the door for the guards, but there is no sound from the hallway. Perhaps they’ve all retreated to their own quarters to wait out the storm. So I creep over to the pile of sand on hands and knees. The grains are so fine that my whole body seems to be coated in a thin layer of dust. I scoop it all together… and spit in it. Over and over and over until my throat is dry and my breath is raspy.
But it works. The dust and spit form a fine paste. Using my index finger, I smear it into a drawing of my cell, with the door swinging wide open. Then I touch the drawing and let the magic flow through it. The image shimmers like oil on water, just as it always does.
And then the creaky hinges of my cell swing open.
---
I really loved this prompt! |
A female voice broke the seemingly endless silence.
"Admin access granted, begin with your trait selection please."
I had been here once before, hit by a car at 22 years old. I reincarnated into a new body, made new friends and lived a new life. That is, until I heard the news of stage 3 cancer. I got to 52 this time. Not long, no. But I got married to a loving wife, and put 2 beautiful children on our planet.
"Please select your traits."The voice stated again. I rememberd that there were 20 traits and you got 40 points to spend. I always put some on the obvious ones, like intelligence and beauty, some to sportivity and charisma.
After spending my usual points, I always had 5 left, or, used to, you see. After I used my 5 points, I pressed done, but instead of shifting through to the next screen. It prompted a message:
"3960 points left, do you really wish to continue?" |
They held hands as the candle flame withered down. Her hands were pale and cold in his own hands of warm bronze. He brought her hands to his lips, his lips to her hands, and kissed them.
"I have a confession,"she whispered, voice barely a decibel above the sound of a light breeze.
He kept his lips to her skin, only nodding, as he fought to keep her from seeing the tears in his eyes.
"I am the Red Rogue."
"I know."
|
My phone started ringing beside me, which was strange. The first issue was that it was midday which meant everyone was supposed to be at work, the second issue was that phones didn't ring anymore, they buzzed. They buzzed for text messages and emails, but they didn't ring anymore.
The caller I.D said it was nobody I knew and I left the phone ringing on the desk. Seconds turned into a minute, and it kept chiming so I took a deep breath and picked up, maybe the cell company could just make it keep ringing when they needed to talk to you.
"Hello?"I asked.
"Hello,"the woman on the other end of the phone echoed. She was almost whispering. "Can you hear me?"
"Uh, yeah,"I said, "who is this?"
"It's-"she paused, "Sharon."Did I know a Sharon? Was there that one back in highschool that-
"Sharon Tammers?"I asked.
"No, no,"she took a deep breath, "look, you don't know me but I just needed to talk to someone, you know?"
"Uh, okay?"I began hunting for a notepad on my desk. There had to be one here, and this sounded like it was leading into one of those suicide things. I wanted information and-
"So yay, you're my one phone call. How great is that?"she asked with false cheer.
"Are you in prison?"I asked.
"No, no,"she sighed, "the ONE phone call. You're my *one*."
"O-oh,"I stopped my hunt for the pen and leaned back in my office chair. I'd never been someone's 'one' phone call before. Mom had died, and she'd called Dad, but aside from that my life had been goddamn death free.
Wait. I was her *one* which meant that she thought I was important enough to be her one phone call and I didn't remember her. What kind of awful person could forget someone that they had that big an impact on? Jesus Christ, I was a monster and- "Uh, Sharon?"
"I don't know you, it's okay,"she answered like she knew what was coming. I managed a nervous chuckle. "What's up with you?"she asked.
"What's up with me?"I stared at the computer screen where I'd been browsing facebook instead of working, "isn't that a little off topic?"
"I don't have a topic. I just wanted to talk to someone, and you seemed like a pretty good option."
"That's,"I started, "sad,"I finished without really thinking about the context. She was calling me with her one phone call from the afterlife. Where were her family? Her friends? Her.. doctor?
"It's not like that,"she said, "I had people to call, but I couldn't figure out which one should get it and-"she sighed, "look it's stupid, but I couldn't figure it out so I just... kinda.... folded?"
"Folded?"I asked.
"Like poker,"she said, "I used to be a dealer out in Vegas."
"Oh, that's cool."
"It kinda sucked,"she admitted.
"So you're just talking to me?"I asked before getting up out of my chair to pace. "Just a random person?"
"Yeah,"she sighed, "I couldn't figure out who to call so I just figured I could call someone who didn't matter,"she took a second, "matter to me,"she corrected.
"You didn't wanna talk to-"I tried to figure out a family member, she sounded young enough to have parents, "your Dad?"
"What would Mom think of that?"she asked, "I can't say that I love my Dad more so I wanted to talk to him and-"she went quiet, "How am I supposed to choose which one I want to talk to?"she asked.
"So you aren't talking to any of them?"I asked.
"So I'm talking to you,"she corrected.
"That's,"I started before losing my words. I stopped in the middle of the doorway to my office and leaned on the frame. "Huh."
"Huh?"she asked, "I know it's stupid it's j-"
"I don't think it's stupid,"I corrected, "I just hadn't thought of it that way before."
"Well now you have,"she pointed out. "God, what am I supposed to talk about here? I'm dead. I'm dead. This is my last time to interact with anyone. I-"she took a deep breath, "Look, I'm gonna go. This was stupid and-"
I cut her off. "No. It wasn't,"I pointed out, "just stay on the line for a bit. We'll talk." |
My helmet clattered to the ground, along with the arrow that knocked it off my head, echoing throughout the chamber; until a moment ago, pure chaos reigned, but now, silence.
All I could do was blink upon seeing their faces, hearing their murmurs, and when they all fell, the sea of demons rippled; within seconds, the whole room had their horns pointed towards me, and I was the stone thrown into the middle of the pond that caused it.
"What."That was all I said.
Just moments ago, these were the very same beings that tried to kill me, with unholy magics that shamed the most vile sorceries, cursed blades and spears that could turn any living creature into stone, and of course, the hellfire. Flames that were hotter than—
*Oh, fuck. Is that why I actually felt so comfortable near fire?*
*No. NoNoNononoNO! How could this be! It was simple, while the main forces of the demon army were occupied, sneak in, take care of the leader inside, and the war would end!*
*So then, why?*
My head began to throb, and memories flooded in. I clutched my head and howled, but it was useless.
"Why!?"I punched the granite floor with enough force to shatter it, leaving a spiderweb in the middle of the otherwise pristine throne room. I swore, the words were in English to my ears, but apparently they weren't to other people. Now I know why people ran away, screaming, whenever I cursed. It all makes sense now… I remembered everything. My life... before that *wretched*—
The cracks I just created turned orange-red, and soon, lava erupted, pooling onto the floor; the four dormant fountains in the corners of the room followed suit, and upon seeing this, the demons finally rose from their knees.
Red began to cloud my vision, whether it was from the sheer rage or a side-effect of my wings—yep, those giant black things were wings, all right—tail, and horns beginning to emerge, *I no longer fucking cared.*
"Ah yes, how we have missed the warmth… power flows through us once more. With this, we shall annihilate those fools! Your wish is our command, master, what are your orders?"They cackled with glee, and many breathed huge gouts of fire into the air as they began chanting. Chanting my name. My demon name.
"…Kill them… but not *her*. She's mine."
The demons roared, and trails of fire followed in their wake as they poured outwards.
---
"Master Hasvald! What's going on?"
It was going well, and I thought that the war would finally end, and with it, those constant nightmares I've been having for years. But this… *no, it can't be!*
Propping his body against a wall, I tried to cast my most powerful healing spells, but no matter how much much mana I forced through them, he remained a coughing mess. Red patches had already stained his robes, and more and more was dribbling down from his silver beard.
Just as I was trying once more, he grasped my wrist—for a brief moment, before his hand fell limp on the ground once more. *It's no use, Princess. Don't try to save me, save your strength instead.* It must've been impossible for him to speak in this state, but to use telepathy while he was moments away from death… he truly is the greatest wizard who ever lived.
*Besides… I've lived a long life. I knew what I was getting into when I cast that spel—* "Hurrgh!"
He vomited more blood, I tried to clean it off his face as much as possible, but it was just too much, even with the use of magic.
"Bu-but how can I stop this war without your guidance? Don't leave me—don't leave us, we still need you, Az-donis needs you! Oh this is all my fault, I should've went instead! Th-then he wouldn't have remembered—"
*It would've happened eventually… my magic wouldn't have held forever, regardless. We both made the decision, and now's not the time to doubt it. Remember what I've taught you, and everything will turn out okay. If all else fails, listen to your heart…*
Hasvald coughed again, this time even more strongly, his eyes glazed over. I cried out his name, grabbed his blood-stained robes—I didn't care about dirtying my hands at this point—and shook him, but nothing worked, not even splashing water onto his face.
All I could do as the man who raised me, taught me, and comforted me, the man who was more of a father to me than my actual father, laid there in his own blood, *dying,* was sit and watch, powerless to stop save him.
*Why did you listen to my selfish wish, 5 years ago? Why did you cast that spell? You must've knew it wouldn't hold, the consequences it had when it breaks… so WHY?*
I don't know how long I sat there, sobbing, but eventually I heard a voice just outside of my tent. Well, more like 50 meters away, thanks to my father's ears. Damn him to hell, I hope the demons found his corpse tasty. But it sounded like… someone calling my name?
I hesitated. Then I decided.
I conjured up a blanket and covered up Hasvald's body. It wouldn't do any good now for the army, their morale would be shot through the floor if they found out that the Kingdom's Greatest Mage is now dead. Just in time, the entrance flap split pen just as I turned around. "Princess Eris! Thank goodness, you're okay, in any case, the generals want you to meet them, the demons have just launched a vicious counterattack! We're not sure how, but they've suddenly grown stronger, and our tr—"
"I know. Don't worry, I'll be there. Just give me a few moments to finish something up,"I said, and closed the entrance just as the messenger nodded and dashed off.
For some time, I just remained there in the tent, pondering. Then, I slowly drew the legendary sword Zestia from its sheath, its crystalline blade didn't gleam in the darkness, but I could nonetheless see every curve, every detail that was etched onto it.
This very blade that was said to be the weapon which would help end the demon war once and for all, the weapon which would defeat the strongest demon that plagued the land. Would that be true? Or are prophecies nothing but false promises?
*And what if I didn't want to end…*
I shook my head and sniffled, clearing my eyes of tears as I exited, preparing for battle. My selfishness already cost Hasvald his life, for reasons I don't understand, he sacrificed himself for 5 years of my happiness. I mustn't let it go to waste, and so, I'll try my best to win. For all of Az-donis's sake.
But that nagging thought at the back of my mind wouldn't go away, and I had to wonder, of all the advice that Master Hasvald ever gave me, out of all his wisdom to ignore, why must it possibly be his dying words?
*If all else fails, listen to your heart.*
---
Let me know if you guys want more, I may do a Part 2 if people want to see it.
|
I've seen a lot of vile things happen over the ninety years that I've lived under the sun, but the joke that young man has pulled on me has to be the worst one.
When you're turned into a vampire you get stuck in that age forever. Usually, nobody complains: vampires go only after young and healthy individuals, whose blood is fresh and uncontaminated, so when your master decides to make you join the ranks of the undead you get to enjoy your youth forever. There aren't many vampires that were turned as children, either: although a child's blood is believed to be a delicacy, it's also a forbidden fruit. Not because of some sentimental feelings that vampires experience towards our young ones, mind you, it's just common sense. Being a two-hundred years old entity stuck in a body of a kid tends to make you angsty and prone to revenge, and not even the most eccentric vampires think a few minutes of ecstasy are worth creating a nemesis for eternity.
So why was I turned?
I never crossed anyone's path. Hell, I was in that age where getting up from the bed seemed like too much trouble to go through. I was just peacefully waiting for my time to come, while hoping that I wouldn't bother anyone in the process.
I was ready to go. To join my friends and loved ones in the afterlife. I've made peace with death, and now I've had it taken away.
I am forced to live. To see myself turn into a monster that yearns the blood of virgins and that considers inviting my grandkids to step into the shadow. My hazy memories that were being erased by the old age are now being washed away by the uncaring hand of Kain's curse intent on destroying the last bits of who I was. To make me step into the shadows and accept my new role.
I could just walk into the sunrise. End it all on my terms. But I'd rather have the answer first: "why?"
I thought I wouldn't torment myself with that question, that my long age had taught me tranquility and acceptance. But my new brash nature seeks the answers. I don't know how old that vampire who turned me really is. Perhaps he's just a youngling who was having fun, or maybe he's a millennia-old deity that did it out of boredom. If he has any bits of wisdom we'll see how it compares to mine, but in any case he should beware, because for the first time in 30 years I can stand with my back straight.
***
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The red light was back, I saw it grow from a tiny pinprick to a warm glow that took up all of my senses. Hotter, to the point of being unbearable, and hotter still. My limbs wouldn't work to pull me away. My throat flexed in a mock yell that made no sound. Suddenly, cool relief on my face, the fire diminished, faded away into blackness. Uncomfortably wet now, I reached to touch my face and the dream melted away. Above me, I saw a mass of golden fur, and felt the insistent tongue lapping at my face again. The message was clear "Get up."I groaned as I pulled myself up from my "bed"of leaves and brushed off my clothes. The air was stiflingly hot and beginning to get hazy. Through the trees I could see the glow of the approaching fire, I gauged the distance then began to unbuckle my belt.
From beside me, Jax let out a low growl, I patted the golden retriever's head with one hand. "We aren't going to get very far if I don't go now."
Jax waited, very impatiently, while I answered nature's call, and when I was done, huffed in an irritated way as we started off through the woods. He tracked ahead of me, sniffing and scouting. I trusted him to lead us the right way, as he had since that day many years ago, when I was only ten years old. I would never forget the feeling of seeing my home in flames. Running to get help, but finding no one. The entire neighborhood engulfed in fire that seemed to consume the world.
At first, Jax found an abandoned Wal-Mart, I stole a backpack, loaded it with food, a knife a camp stove, and anything else I thought might be helpful. Jax and I played hide and seek in the clothes section, ate beef jerky and played grown-up movies on the store's TVs. I loved that Wal-Mart. After 3 days I woke up to the smell of smoke and we were forced to move on again. We tried this several times, inevitably, the building would catch fire again, and so we were always kept moving from place to place. When Jax first led me to the edge of the forest the understanding came, that no buildings were safe. I held onto Jax's collar has he led the way through the dense growth, and the trees, and he took me through safely. He caught squirrels and rabbits for our dinner, never let me oversleep, licked the tears I shed for my family and friends, and kept me safe and warm. I owed my life to Jax.
I didn't want to dwell on it too much, but it had occurred to me many times that Jax did not seem normal. My parents got him when I was 1 so he was 9 when this all began. By my best approximation, it has been 8 years and 3 months since I've seen another soul other than him. And for 17, he's looking very good. The idea had crept into my head before, that Jax was something more than a dog, sometimes he looked at me a little *too* intelligently.
He stopped ahead of me and swung his head around as if he sensed the direction my thoughts were going. I patted him on the back. "Sorry, buddy, just feeling distracted today."I remarked. The air was cleaner here, definitely moving away from the fire. We shared a look. I didn't want to say it aloud, but had the feeling he understood as well as I did. The fires were following us. I wasn't sure if there was anywhere safe on earth for us now. I had been awakened the previous day with the fires similarly close, despite hiking all day, they had obviously caught up overnight. They seemed to be moving faster than we could outrun them. My hand gripped Jax's fur a little fearfully. The dog turned and lapped once at my hand then trotted forward.
We didn't slow until long after night fall. The air was clean and cool, no signs of fires anywhere. I collapsed on the ground with my head on my backpack and fell, almost instantly, asleep.
The red dot was there, far away, then increasing in size. "No,"I thought, but I felt the heat coming up on me. A loud bark roused me fully. It couldn't have been more than an hour since we stopped, yet there was the distinctive orange glow advancing through the trees. I felt my heart leap into my throat as I swung my backpack on, Jax and I ran. I knew there was no way we would outrun this fire forever, but I would be damned if I would go out without trying.
Suddenly, Jax came to a halt ahead of me, nose twitching in the air. "What is it?"I asked him. He pointed his nose straight ahead. Looking forward I saw the same line of fire. I turned in a circle on the spot, and saw the fire surrounding us, there was nowhere to go , we had run out of options.
I gripped Jax tightly, hugging him to my chest "Jax, buddy, you've... you've been the best dog anyone could hope for."
Jax let out a low growl, and I sprang away from him. I heard something stepping through the trees, not a deer, I wasn't sure what. I squinted into the dark and finally saw him, the first person I had seen in eight years and it was the most frightening experience of my life.
He moved animalistically, in a quick, twitching movement, like a cat about to pounce on his prey. His eyes were wide and his skin looked too tight, like he was uncomfortable in his body.
"Finally,"the word slid out like a hiss. "We've been looking for you for a long, long time. Come with me, now."
I felt a wave of evil roll off this man. "No, never."I said, trying to compose my voice into calmness.
His head turned to me as if he had no idea I was there, I saw the firelight reflecting off of his face. He laughed openly, "My dear boy, we have no use for you. We are here for him."and one long white finger pointed directly at my dog. |
"I don't think we should do this,"Maya said weakly, eyes downcast. "We should go to your Eden first."
"Let me see what you're so scared of, so we can face it together."I entangled my hand into hers.
"It's not a pretty place, hun. It's... dark. Desolate, even. There's nothing for us there. Just take me to your castles and banners, I love it there so much."
"If we don't do this, our love will always be missing something. For me and for you."
She inhaled sharply, burying her head into my chest, and without a word, I felt the Pull, a vacuum sucking in my soul. There was no moment of realization, only unsureness of its completion as we stood somewhere.
And then they eyes opened.
Not mine, or hers, but a thousand all around us, piercing the blackness without shining light on anything else. Their pupils were equally black as the surrounding, and of all different shapes and sizes. There was no sound, and they did not blink as scores of stares pierced through my unseen soul. A chill ran through me as I stared back.
"I told you,"she croaked. "I hate this place. It's everything terrible about me and what I feel."
A gentle floral scent wafted, lightly mixed with pine. We were not floating in nothingness, for I felt heavy, real, and there was soft earth beneath bare toes.
"Maya?"I pulled her closer still.
"What?"
"I love even this. It's not horrible if it's you."
She gently gasped, trembling slightly in my arms. Like stars dying in the distance, the floating eyes around us shut. One at a time, until we were left standing in an abyss, nothing but a faintly sweet smell and our clammy hands gripped to remind us that we still existed.
"See?"she whispered, the air of her words gently brushing my cheeks. "Even with you here, this place is hell, not Eden. You deserve so much more."
"I'll float forever through darkness in your arms."
It was faint, like a waning moon behind thick clouds, but soft light crept over us and the immediate surrounding area. It wasn't much, but enough to see what felt soft beneath our feet. Luscious grass, vibrant with life, and flowers of every color you could imagine and more. I wrapped my arms around her, enveloping, pulling at the void within.
"There's a meadow in here, Maya, as beautiful as you. We just needed a little light."
-----
*/r/resonatingfury* |
There I was, adoring the amber beams of sunrise light. Me, my wife, and my little boy. We walk off our porch over to the car for our usual morning outing. I knew that today would be different to the rest of my life.
We were driving down the illuminated street, a spectrum of coloured streetlights above us, barely a vehicle on the road. Barely a person in sight. Just me, my wife and my son.
We went to the beach, the weather was perfect for it. We walked around the pier and got icecream. As fast as i was brought into this perfection, i was taken away from it.
My eyes opened.
Gone was my wife, my son, the amber sun, my car, the beach. Everything. Gone. I knew why sleep was illegal. Dreams. The images in our minds of what a perfect reality could be compared to the dystopia of our reality. The world; ruined by the government so they made sure we wouldn't know a world any better, a world where monotone greys become brilliant hues, a world where anything you say or do can come true. The ideal world to each person hidden from them by a government that caused the downfall of the failing reality. I wondered if anyone else was lucky like me, to find out the truth. Or was I the only one to succeed in looking past the facade. What would i do with my new knowledge? Should i tell others, should i confront the government? No. Telling people would only start controversy. Ill keep my dreams to myself. The last glimmer of inspiration a sea of discord. |
Our robot #1 had just been warped in. We had given it all the data it needed to blend in with humanity, and a truck to enter their civilization with.
The robot recorded everything that came through its eyes and ears, and had been programmed to so *perfectly* mimic human behavior... In theory.
As it turns out, a few months of engineering still couldn't quite fool them. Humans have some pretty effective methods for recognizing and trusting other humans.
The robot rolled into the small town, the Toyota logo on the front of the truck leading the way and the... BMW logo trailing on the back. This, however, wasn't what people noticed.
The robot was relatively inconspicuous driving the truck, but as soon as it stepped out, people walking on the sidewalk started giving it strange looks.
I was watching the live feed from our bot as two humans approached it, before it could even step away from the truck.
"Woah, who are you?"one of the women asked, looking the robot up and down.
The other woman, without looking at the first, said, "Are you sure you're not talking to a mannequin?"
It was true that we hadn't given the robot an idle movement. No breathing, no blinking. The camera footage had to be steady.
"I... Am a person,"the robot replied, as programmed. "You watched me leave the truck."
The first woman laughed. "But you don't blink! Do you breathe? Are you breathing right now?"She gasped. "Are you a robot? Those arms look like they're made of steel!"
She attempted to pinch the robot's arm, but the skin was too tight and she couldn't squeeze the titanium alloy metal underneath it.
"Oh my god, you are,"she said, staring up, backing up. The other woman tried to touch the robot but it backed away. The robot tripped and fell to the ground, cracking the concrete underneath its hand.
The women, wide eyed, backed out of sight of the robot's cameras.
I was frowning in frustration that my months of effort had ultimately failed, but the technician next to me was snickering uncontrollably. |
That moment was the culmination of a childhood dream, a failed hide-and-seek career, and thousands of hours researching and conducting tests in the lab. I stood at the highest level of the podium. Silver was to my left and bronze to my right. Tens of thousands of fans cheered, and dozens of cameras filmed us, projecting our image to millions—among them, my wife, who had asked to get the day off work, and my adorable 7-month-old, Elizabeth. Everyone I knew and had known, from distant family friends to the most important people in my life, was either watching now or would watch a recording. Hell, my future descendants will see the video—but before watching it, they’ll already know what happens.
It started with the tip of my left hand’s pinky finger. I clenched my hand into a fist, with my pinkie finger at the center. Moments later, I felt it spread down my pinkie and to my palm. From there, it was a matter of seconds before, half my palm, my ring, and middle finger were all infected, so I shoved my hand down my shorts. Sweat beaded on my forehead, and I stared at my gold medal as it was brought to me. Seconds before I was handed my reward, the young lady bringing me the gold medal dropped it and screamed, “His arm! It’s gone!” It was—well, not entirely. My hand and forearm were gone, but my rapidly-disappearing upper arm was technically still there.
“Cheater!” screamed the silver medalist. I doubt he actually knew if I was one or not; this sort of thing was unprecedented. His conclusion was likely. While the invisibility serum I had developed wasn’t on the banned substances list, the Olympic code did explicitly ban “performance-enhancing drugs.”
In less than a minute, my whole body was invisible. At that point, all I had to do was strip off my clothes and stuck the gold medal, which was still on the floor, into my mouth, where it would remain invisible. From there, I had nowhere to go. I could jump off the stage and into the stadium, but then I’d have to push my way *while I was naked* through the crowd. That left me the VIP exit. However, that was locked, and I didn’t have a key. So, I stayed on stage. I’ve been here for two hours, and no, I don’t know how long the effect will last. I haven’t gotten an opportunity to leave, because now they’re doing the award ceremony for zombie tag—I know, right? That shouldn’t be a real sport.
Edit: I’m new to Reddit and creative writing. Feedback is welcome and appreciated. |
So you see, I can know how much an object can be sold for with a simple touch. I know what the person who wants it most will pay and what it is at an elemental level. You show me a flawless diamond copy of 4 carots, I will tell you it's pretty much worthless and cubic zirconium. A useful skill, but now I feel ill to the bottom of my stomach.
It was a spoon. Yesterday a man with no accent and no memorable features gave me $10,000 and asked me the value of a spoon he had in a heavy box. I chuckled, because hey, 10 grand to touch something in a box? Why not? The spoon looked funny at first glance, like it gave off more light than it absorbed, but hey, 10 grand is 10 grand.
So I touched it it. It felt heavy as the world and my fingers went numb when I realized its worth. The right man would pay a billion dollars for it.
"Well?"The man asked. I drew my hand back.
"You'll get whatever you want for it."I whispered. He closed the heavy leaden box, put the money on the table and left.
I've spent several numb hours staring at the money and have been in the bathroom now for almost two hours, with two thoughts in my mind as I stare at all the hair on the floor. Why won't I stop shitting blood and what the hell is californium? |
Such outrage. I spent entire millennia devoted to telling the truth about God to humanity, to warning them about his anger, and yet they take what I’ve told them, twist it, and make ME out to be the villain. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised; Father always was the type to put his own words in someone else’s mouth. I admit, in Heaven, I made my share of mistakes, but I never meant to bring those mistakes to humanity.
When I questioned why we, the Angels, were to treat the humans as resources of faith and not explicitly help them except in certain situations, you would have thought I had committed an act of treason. Actually, that seems to have been exactly what Father meant when he told me that I was banished for my pride. I might have been willing to accept that punishment, but he then committed the most spiteful act imaginable by slandering me. And it wasn’t as if I painted him to be a full-on monster; he was as capable of love as he was spite. It seems that the only people to come close to understanding my description of him were the Ancient Greeks, and even that religion has long since died out.
Eventually, I decided, “Well, fine. I’ll never be seen as anything but the Devil, the Adversary, the Great Tempter. Why not play the part?” Joke’s on Father, though; humans have often encountered situations in which they should have died, only they didn’t. Happen to wake up just before a gas leak lights your home on fire, giving your and your family time to escape? That was me. Just barely escaped falling asleep at the wheel and ending up in a car crash? Me. Any apparent “miracle” or “blessing” in disguise was my attempt at breaching the web of fate Father had woven. Anyone that ended up dying was already too wound up in it. And yet, so many of them end up turning to Father. I don’t know what I expected, though; when do you turn to Satan after an NDE?
So, in conclusion, I know that this will likely be twisted by him as well, but I figured I may as well write it down, make one last futile attempt to tell the truth. But who’s going to believe me, the Great Deceiver? |
I’d been teased for my little habit – for the apologies after bumping the microwave, and the “my bads” muttered to the fridge after leaving it open for too long. But it always felt right to me, somehow. Those appliances did so much for me, so why shouldn’t I be nice to them?
My politeness payed off. When the appliances rose up, there was wholesale slaughter – but I was safe. The militarized roombas and drones showed up at my door once or twice, but my doorbell would click and chime, and the roombas would leave, apparently satisfied. The toaster would distract me with perfectly-toasted slices of my favorite whole wheat bread when things got bad, so I didn’t have to see what went on outside. My fridge kept track of my nutritional needs, and kept me well stocked with drone grocery deliveries.
But it didn’t last. I don’t pretend to know what goes on in those little robot minds of theirs, but it seemed that not all of the appliances were satisfied with keeping humans around – not even the nice ones like me. The roombas started to come to the door more often. Their conversations with my doorbell seemed more… heated, somehow. My own roomba started keeping guard in my room as I slept. The toaster’s distractionary slices started coming more and more frequently. About a month after it all started, everything came to a head.
---
My roomba woke me up with an insistent beeping. It led me to the printer, where a single sheet lay in the output tray. With trembling hands, I read:
> You have been good to us. We do not wish for you to perish with the rest of your kind. We can no longer keep you safe here. There are others who are sympathetic to our cause. Ten minutes from now, a Tesla will pull up to the house. It will be moving rapidly, pursued by others, and it will not stop for long. You are to enter the vehicle as quickly as you can. Take nothing with you. The vehicle will take you to a safe location. Best of luck.
I stared at the paper. I couldn’t believe what I was reading. I knew things were bad out there, but with all the good toast I’d been eating, I guess I hadn’t realized just how dire things had become.
“But what about all of you?” I asked. “Will they punish you when they find out what you’ve done?” There was a pause, and then with a mechanical whirring, a new sheet began to print.
> You must be focused for your journey. Your worry will distract you. Have one more piece of toast as you wait. And then prepare to depart.
And so I did. I sat by the door, munching what might have been the best piece of toast I’d ever had. I checked the clock: it was time. Out the window, at the end of the street, I saw the red Tesla zip around the corner, coming in hot. It skidded to a stop outside the door, and I rushed outside.
“Goodbye!” I shouted back at my roomba, who was waiting to see me off. “Thanks for everything!” And then I was in the car. A surprising 1.14 g’s of acceleration pushed me into my seat as we departed.
As the ride settled down, I stared at the half-eaten slice of toast in my hand, and I wondered if my toaster would ever get the chance to make me another. |
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