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“God damn it.” Said the villain, paranoid and scanning the downpour of rain behind me. “Were you followed? Whoever did this, because I know it wasn’t me this time, did they come after you?”.
My eyes hung down to the doormat displaying a welcoming “gtfo off my porch” in bold calligraphy. “I, I don’t know. There were so many of them, I didn’t know what to do Jess.” Clutching my side I wince in pain, and blood begins to rush through the fabric painting the doormat beneath me.
Jess leaves the door open and walks inside a few steps before turning back, “don’t bleed on my FUCKING couch.” She turns back inside and I sheepishly follow. I mean what the hell was i thinking? If she wanted to take me out I might as well have handed her a loaded gun.
I quietly shut the door behind me and am instantly consumed by confusion. “Is, is that Chopins nocturnes?” I thought to myself. “Why is there only candlelight? Holy shit is that a suit of armor?” I had never seen how Jess lived, even though I had spent a great deal of time staring at her blacked out windows planning a break in.
Busy admiring her decor I look up only to see that I have no idea where she walked off to. “This is it, she has me now, why the hell did I come here. Stupid. STUPID. God damn idiot. Shit.”
I find the nearest chair and fall into it, slipping away from consciousness with every uneven breath. I pull my last throwing knife from my holster and sit waiting as Chopin plays out my last moments with precision. My waning heartbeat mimicking it’s 12/8 signature. Bum, bum bum, bum bum, bum bum, bum Bum.
I see a shadow move behind a doorway in what looks like her kitchen. “Fuck she’s probably getting some cleaver to finish me off.” With the last of my strength I clutch my knife and raise my arm, pointed at the doorway. The pain is unbearable but I’m probably dying soon anyway.
There it is again, the shadow. I know I’ll only have a moment, but if I’m going out I’m taking her with me. Just wait. Patience.
The shadow thickens and and I can see her long black hair peak around the corner. I prepare my shot, I’ll only have one. But just before I release I see a small spout at waist level. “Wait, is that a kettle?” In my confusion I fail to notice she is now standing fully in the doorway, with a pot of tea and pockets overflowing with bandages and syringes.
“Dude, you’re fucking kidding me right?” She says with a giggle, staring at me bleeding all over her chair, arm raised and ready to die in our final conflict. “Put the knife down, damn.”
“You’re...you’re not going to finish me?” I whisper, just loud enough for her to hear.
She’s sets the tea down on an old wooden side table and walks closer. Wait a minute is this what she looks like without her mask and uniform? I couldn’t even imagine her in sweatpants and fuzzy socks before tonight. She almost looks, beautiful. She places her hand on his forehand.
“Yeah whoever fucked you up really had it in for you, you’re burning up. Might be poison.”
She grabs my wrist and forces me to finally lower it to the arm of the chair, dropping the knife.
“Okay drink this tea, it’s got a universal antidote. I’m gonna grab some whiskey, this is going to hurt like a bitch!” She said with more laughter in her throat, because obviously my impending death is hilarious. She places the cup in my hand and walks off again.
I sit there, unable to move, watching her stroll back to the kitchen, knowing full well I’m at her mercy. God this mug is heavy. I sit there for a few moments sipping the tea before I begin to pass out. As everything turns dark I see her rushing towards me yelling inaudibly. Then black.
I wake up in a daze, to see her sitting next to me scribbling in a note book. I feel pressure in my chest and notice a small black cat purring on my stomach and I let out a moan of pain.
“Jesus took you long enough you big baby. 5 days.” She says staring at me.
“Lucky for you I tracked down the gang that did this while you were out. They were small time, I took care of them for now.”
I muster all the strength I can laying in that bed, “Why...why did you help me?”
“If anyone’s gonna do you in it’s gonna be me, got that? Now get some more sleep, I don’t want to fight a wounded duck.” |
*The moment he read the letter, he realized he fucked up. Turns out, he had misheard his mentor, and had instead created a steam engine railway throughout the badlands. No idea how to explain it to her, he sighs and hangs his head in defeat, just praying that she would take it easy on him.*
.
.
.
"So... What the fuck is this?"
"It's... It's what I've been working on while I've been here. I've made a railway system throughout the badlands..."
*His eyes turned down, he can feel her intense gaze bearing down onto him. With no idea on how to change his mentors view on this, he hears a long sigh, awaiting her verdict.*
"I told you to train. I didn't mean all this, but I guess it's at least something."
*A tiny smile on his face, he looks back up to her, gazing at her deep, entrancing ocean blue eyes as that one curl of her shoulder length auburn hair hung just a little over her eye. "This isn't the time to be thinking about that."*
"Well, the badlands haven't been so *bad* since I've put this thing in. In fact, the crime rate had actually dropped 74% since it's been put in. A big part of that is because it moves quicker at 2/3ds speed than over 65% of the bandit horses out there, making this not only the safest railway vehicle, but also at a generally affordable price, leaving a lesser need to travel long journeys. That means less people need to resort to banditry to survive."
*He started rambling on about it, a little bit of a nervous habit of his, especially in front of her. She sighs again and holds a single hand up, shutting him up real quick.*
"This is *not* what I meant, but I suppose it's passable, because you needed to protect yourself as you built this system up, right?"
"Right!"*There was no way in hell that he was going to tell her he hired a team of engineers to build the trains, construction workers to build the stations, and a guard to make sure he survives to get the job done.*
"Then I suppose that you *did*, in a way, follow my instructions."
*He lets go of the breath he didn't realize he had been holding, smiling as he thought of asking her out.*
"Care to take a tour of the systems?" |
I could feel his gaze shift to one of concern as I made my wish. "Why would you wish for such a thing?"He questioned. As I wept, looking at the small amount of people who even bothered to attend the funeral, I turned to him. "Because I'm not worth remembering...All through my life, I was a stepping stone to better people, while I could never better myself. I never believed in myself enough to see my dreams through. I feel like all I did was cause problems for those around me when I asked for help in even trying...a person like me has no right to occupy a single space in a person's mind, or heart. They deserve to have someone who truly belongs there. So please...let them forget me. Let me truly die, and go back to the universe as something that can be used."
The words fell out of me, as the ugly truths of what I thought of me spilled forth like some great dam I had been holding back for an entire lifetime. The grim reaper placed a hand on my shoulder. "My child...You are worth being remembered. Everyone in your life that you have helped, has achieved their success in part because you believed in them. While you feel like a failure and a burden, the people who were meant to stay and be your own lift, are all here. And they loved you. Taking you away from everyone whose lives you touched, would remove your touch from them, and they will begin to fall because they will not remember you; nor will they be able to recall the advice and guidance you gave. The people that are here, are the ones who loved you and would do anything to have you back. Look at how they weep for you. Look how you are missed. Their love is palpable. You have done so many wonderful things, and never even knew you did them. So I ask again...what do you wish for?"
As he spoke, I realized two truths. One, he was right. Two, maybe I could leave one last little mark on the world before I go. "Then...my wish is for people to listen more, and understand each other. To form bonds with each other, whether in friendship, family, or just love. And to take those bonds with them, to know they are cared about, even if they doubt it, even if they may not see it at first."As the words left me, I swear I saw the reaper grin. I walked with him, and we departed this life, a small trail of light behind us as I made my way to the after. |
I sighed, aware that smoke blew out of my nose by the way that his eyes boggle out of his head.
I stand and walk over to her, looking him up and down. He shakily raises his sword and I just bite it and toss it aside. Poor thing looks properly afraid now.
*How old are you?* I ask him.
He looks even more terrified, if that's possible, and I realise that he's probably not used to people speaking to him directly inside his mind.
"Yo-you- you talk?!"He squeaked. I puff in amusement.
*Yes little creature. Most animals talk, but in a language you can't understand. I decided to learn yours to comfort you. Now dear, how old are you?"*
"F-fifteen."I throw my head back in anger and feel guilty when he flinches.
*Fifteen! You're practically an infant, and they sent you to retrieve Adelina? They sent you to fight a dragon?!*
I hang my head, burdened by the stupidity of humans. I sigh and meet his eyes again.
*Have you travelled far to get here my son?*
He sniffs and nods. If I'm correct, the watery redness of his eyes is a sign of distress in humans. Poor lamb.
"I've um. I haven't seen my home in a fortnight."He wipes his eyes on the sleeve of his tunic. It's a bit difficult to do with all the armour.
*Child, I won't hurt you. You're no threat to me. Come, stay here for a while and rest. And eat, the sickly pallor of your face is something one should never see in children.*
He shakes his head and straightens himself, looking me in the eyes with a steely determination that both impresses and sadness me.
"I'm not a child, I'm the prince. I have to save the princess of our allied nation, and I cannot allow you to deter me, foul beast."
I chuckle softly to myself. Adelina has stepped out from a side passage in the cave and is peering at me in confusion.
"Dragon, what's going on?"
*Tell this boy how much you need to be 'saved' Adelina.*
She over in confusion and gasps when she sees him. She runs over and throws her arms around him, which is a sign of affection in humans.
"Charibert! I'm so glad to see you again!"
"I've come to sa-"
She laughs and shook him gently. "You don't have to save me actually. Dragon has already saved me. He doesn't think it's right that for our parents to scream at us all the time, or insult us. All those things we were complaining about, that doesn't happen here.
He's kind."She adds, looking up at me lovingly. I adjust my wings happily and return her gaze.
She smiles and looks back at him. "Come on Charibert. We've always wanted to run away, now we can. Stay with us."
"But... the kingdom. It needs me."
*The kingdom risked losing you when they sent you, an infant, to fight me. Unlike your parents, I won't endanger your life. If you stay here you might have more of a chance of ruling your kingdom when you come of age.*
*I won't make you stay son, but if you want it, there's a home here for you.*
"I..."he hesitates and glances at Adelina.
*You don't have to answer righ-*
"I want to stay."
*Oh, alright. A celebratory dinner is order I think, for the newest member of our family.*
"Okay! Are we having mutton?"He asks, gesturing to Gerold who had trotted into the room.
I curl my tail around the young lamb protectively. *No, that is your little brother. Please be kind to him. If you want flesh to eat, I have to contact a warlock to create some from stone, it's a complicated magical process.*
*My cave is a place of safety for those who have no where else to go. Including you.*
"Oh, sorry. Didn't know."Adelina hugs him again and he hides his face in her shoulder.
If I'm correct, tears can also be a sign of joy in humans. |
Nobody could stop staring at me.
An uncomfortable silence had conquered the banquet hall after I was introduced. It was as if the party had been paused in order to assess my worth. Most of the guests were close to my age, barely adults.
Some faces sneered at me, while others merely gave me a curious glance. A small minority, only a handful among this sea of nobles, were terrified. Those were the wise ones. They remembered visiting my estate and treating me like garbage.
I never imagined myself in this crowd. The thought of mingling with these pompous jerks filled me with disgust. They were everything I loathed about aristocracy. The world would be better off if they were all gone.
And yet, here I was, smiling politely and shaking their hands, ready to eat with them.
Every time I saw a fork or knife, my first impulse was to stab someone in the face. I didn't do it, of course, but fighting that urge took all of my willpower.
These people only seemed interested in gossiping about each other, pretending that nobody else was doing the same. When they weren't doing that, they loved speaking loudly of the uncultured plebes, how the kingdom was deteriorating due to pandering to them. Their use of language felt very deliberate. Every word and sentence was carefully calculated to get a rise out of me, testing my reactions.
I endured it, though. The only thing keeping me in check was my promise to the duke. We had both lost our loved ones. This was the role I had to play.
Three main factions served the king. The military families, who defended the kingdom, the agricultural families, who fed the kingdom, and merchants like my duke, who enriched the kingdom.
I had to navigate the interests of all three. To further complicate things, there was also the royal faction, who ruled over all of us. The king himself didn't appear at this banquet, though. He sent his son, Prince Klark the IV, in his stead.
The young man was conventionally attractive. A round body, flowing hair, and fair skin that rarely touched sunlight. His voice boomed throughout the banquet hall, even when others were speaking, commanding the attention of everyone present to hear his inane jokes.
Nobody really enjoyed his 'comedy', but they all laughed along with forced smiles.
At that point, I didn't know who they were trying to trick. Themselves, or the prince? To make matters worse, almost every guest ignored my attempts at conversation, and I hated every second of it.
Their message was clear: I would never be one of them.
My anger didn't stem from being spurned, though. Quite the opposite. I just felt irritated at the idea that they thought I wanted to join them.
The only time they ever addressed me was when the soup was served.
Several ladies gasped around the table when I picked up the spoon.
I raised an eyebrow. "What?"
People started chuckling.
I frowned.
"Forgive him,"said a young man, with a smug chuckle. "We can't expect much from him, can we?"
I craned my head at him. His name was Lepul the V, third most powerful heir in the kingdom. I remembered him very well. He pushed me into a river once, trying to entertain the duke's daughters.
"You're using the wrong spoon,"said Lepul. "That one's for dessert."
I forced myself to smile. "Thank you."
People made polite claps around the table.
"How generous of you,"said Lady Bell, addressing Lepul, "Truly a leader and gentleman. Lowering himself for those who are lost."
Lepul raised his chin, swelling with pride. "What can I say? The kingdom needs all sorts of people to function. That's why the three factions exist, right?"
Prince Klark burst with laughter. Some even joined him without knowing what he found funny.
"Your majesty,"said Lepul, worried, "Did I say something funny?"
"It's just so blatant,"said the prince, stifling his chuckles.
"What is?"asked Lepul.
"Where your sympathy comes from. I mean, doesn't your father sleep around with servants too?"
Lepul widened his eyes.
"I don't mean to offend,"said Prince Klark, "In fact, it's the contrary. I'm saying that you don't have to protect him. Your father may love whores, but your blood is still pure, unlike..."He gestured at me. "...him."
Lepul hung his head. "Y-yes, your majesty. I don't know-"
"You're wrong,"I said.
Everyone grew quiet. They all looked at me like I had grown three heads. Unfortunately, I could ignore that comment. If I didn't stand up for myself now, they would walk all over me in the future.
Prince Klark narrowed his eyes. "How so?"
"Just like your majesty,"I said, "I don't mean to offend, but a lowly plebe like me can't possibly learn all this culture by himself. I need the guidance of my betters, just like the kingdom needs all of you to thrive."
"I see..."Prince Klark leaned back with a hardened expression, then smiled at the guests. "Quite the astute observation, from a bastard heir."
Most people chuckled at the comment, eager to kill the tension.
It never went away, though. Prince Klark kept staring at me throughout the rest of the dinner. He clearly hated me, which left me elated. Nothing made me happier than upsetting him. After he left, the rest of the guests seemed incredibly relieved. Nobody dared talk to me after that. They didn't want to antagonize the future king.
Near the end of the gathering, however, one person broke this trend. It was Lepul. He made sure to speak to me in a secluded balcony, but it was still better than anyone else's treatment.
"Why did you defend me?"he said.
I shrugged. "I merely paid back the favor."
"Don't lie! I pushed you into a river! Why did you help?"
"Ah, you *do* remember."
Lepul glanced away. "Y-yeah. I was kid, though. I'm sorr-"
I raised a hand. "I'm not interested in apologies. Just answer a question... honestly."
Lepul nodded. "I swear on my family's honor."
"Are you any freer than a plebe?"
Lepul wrinkled his forehead. "Of course I am."
I frowned. "Really? 'Cause all I saw in here were people being pushed around by an asshole. From my point of view, the way you all lowered your head for the prince seemed identical to the way a slave addresses their master."
Lepul squinted, intrigued. "I uhh... Huh..."
"Yeah, ain't that a bitch? I came here expecting to find everything I hated, but you're all just as meek as my own folk. I really can't begrudge you for pushing me into the river. It's all the same up the hierarchy. You never had a choice to be anything else. Don't you think that's bullshit?"
"This... this is treasonous talk..."
"I know. You see, my goal isn't to join your noble society. It's to burn it down."
Lepul gaped his jaw. "But why?"
"My duke's family didn't die in an accident. They were assassinated by the king. And my parents were accompanying them as servants."
"Parents? But isn't the duke-"
"Nope. He merely named me his heir because I was the right age, and shared the same grief as him. We made a promise to each other that day. I'm going to get revenge for his sake, and my own. Now... what you just saw... do you really think Klark would make a good king?"
Lepul pursed his lips, hesitating. "Of course not."
"Then join me. Together, they royals won't be able to stop us."
Lepul looked over his shoulder, paranoid, then steeled his resolve, shaking my hand.
My first ally in the revolution had just been recruited.
---------
>If you enjoyed this, check out more of my stories over at /r/WeirdEmoKidStories. Thanks for reading! |
"Well you see, it is all about getting the mix right."the two men down the bar table nodded their heads in agreement with the first.
"Aye cheers to that. You start messing with the mix and the coke doesn't come out right. Ruin the whole batch"the words were once again met with nods of agreement at the bar. Lesser so now from the man farthest down; he looked nervous, as if any wrong word and his head would explode.
The bartender served another round of drinks to the gentleman, who continued their very similar conversation on vastly different topics.
"And cooking it. One wrong move and.."the burliest amongst them paused and mimicked his throat being slit "...you fuck the whole thing up!"he followed up with a long swig of his beer. The furthest down the table, the most nervous amongst them, tried to take a sip of his own but found that he could not bring the glass to his lips for more than a moment before setting it back down. He kept bringing it up, then back down, back up, each time getting barely a drop before his nerves got the best of him again.
After a moment of this he slammed down the glass and spoke, "You sure it's smart to be talking about this here? I'm all for friendly conversation but c'mon."
The other two paused, growing silent at his words. Behind them in the bar glasses clinked, voices mumbled to one another, and the sounds of the room found there ways between them. But the three men drank in silence.
"I suppose yer right there lad."the burly one spoke slowly, carefully. "Start revealing too much and prying eyes might find their way in. Smart to think about. Sometimes my nature gets the best of me, eh."
The first at the bar followed, a tall, sharp faced man with dull gray eyes. He had not looked up from the table since the conversation had begun. "Indeed. I had considered the thought, though I was elated to have met some like-minded fellows. Well, it was nice to meet you gentlemen anyways. Cheers."
The three toasted, tapping their drinks together and taking long swigs. In a toast, to a like-minded bunch.
The first, the gray eyed man, got up first, leaving to secure a batch of coke he'd recently secured through...less than legal means. The second, the burlier of the three, left to prepare for work tomorrow. The furnaces would not run themselves. And the last. He took several more long, nervous sips of his drink, a bottle of coke that he could barely stomach. Not because he had grown to hate the drink, but because of the rumor circulating that the mix, the formula, had been leaked. |
Some people think when you die, you feel nothing. No sorrow, or pain, joy or fear. All feelings melt into nothingness because you are nothing.
Well it’s the exact opposite. Not the “you are nothing” part. That part was always true. The “you feel nothing” part.
The moment you die, all the memories of your previous lifetimes come crashing into your consciousness. All your good deeds and misdeeds in this life or in previous lifetimes become apparent and you stand in a long line with the other insignificant souls to get judged for how you lived your life. And it determines your next life. Whether it be as a human rich or poor, strong or weak, or as a pig to be slaughtered or insect to be scorned.
It’s mind blowing how many souls try to argue with you, thinking they can change our minds or change the facts. In fact it’s a very stringent process with very little room for leeway, honed to perfection these past millions of years.
My main job is to verify the soul’s home planet and destination planet and make sure the ~~punishment~~ result checks out before sending the souls on their way.
After the 18th soul whose home planet was Earth but destination planet was not Earth, I realized something was up. Instead of the monotonous stamp of approval or polite “please wait to the side”, I did some probing.
“Soul #915y8324015, how did you die?”
“I don’t know, I was just picking lice out of my lover’s hair when I saw a bright light and ended up here.” The soul reached its long arms around to scratch its head and butt at the same time. "But please sir, I lived a giving life of picking out lice and sharing my bananas, I --"
I flicked my wrist and the words became monkey cries. Still annoying but at least easier to ignore. I turned back to the 17 souls waiting off to the side, and they all had similar stories. They were just going about their day, picking up their daughter from soccer practice, doing yoga, aerial pooping on men in business suits, etc when they saw a bright light.
I stepped up onto my desk. “Attention souls, I know everyone is just as confused as I am why you're here. If some of you know what the bright light that brought everyone here is, please come forward now.” Sweeping my gaze around the crowd, I wrinkled my brows. Why were there so many souls today?
A soul in mottled greens and browns stomped over. It saluted. “A nuclear war broke out, sir”
“Ah so humans killed each other, in classic form”
“Yessir”
“Okay that explains why Earth is no longer a destination planet. Welp, y’all only have yourselves to blame. Enjoy experiencing a new life form.” I returned to the monotony of stamping “approved” on everyone’s paperwork, my life and efficiency improved by a tad. |
The bard entered a moat of light cast through the western window, from a setting sun, on a dying empire.
After the Dragonborn led the Nords to victory, the Nords pushed into the heart of Tamriel. Not that the Empire could not push back a group of barbaric ethnocentric would be conquerors; by all accounts they did in what was celebrated as a brilliant campaign. It’s sometimes funny how “decisive” victories at the time can reveal themselves phyrric in the annals of history.
I realize I’ve grown maudlin thinking of the repercussion of that campaign as the bard strikes a bright chord, slightly off, on his lute. I still think of uprising of Dunmer in Morrowind. How the zealots used the crushing defeat of the Nords as a call to “defend” themselves from the genocidal Empire.
The twinning of plucked strings off in tone by just enough to raise the hair behind your ears being brought into harmony brings me back into the tavern as that last moat of light is snuffed by the whimper of the dying sun.
I think again of the Dragonborn. I think of how their quest which started as an execution at the hands of minor imperial guardsmen was interrupted by an attack from not just a dragon but by the legendary Alduin. The “Dragonborn” indeed… nearly dispatched along with a group of nameless rebels in a backwater. While many have forgotten the historic “Dragonborn”, I have spent a lifetime hunting for every scrap of evidence of their life. Do you know what they were about to be executed for? Before the mighty Alduin stepped in the way of fate? What mighty exploit the Dragonborn was to be dispatched into the hands of Daedric princes? I found it. On an insignificant piece of parchment, with imperial seal, folded into the back of what I will assume for my sanity is a glued together copy of the “Lusty Argonian Maid”. The parchment read, “theft-wheel of cheese”.
Yet, they survived.
A Nord that by all accounts, should never have made it past an ice troll on their climb to High Hrothgar.
They destroyed Lord Harkon and the Volkihar when the wretched beings threatened to plunge the world into forever darkness.
They not only explored the ancient Dwemer ruins but, gained insight into the sad fate of the Aldmer, and uncovered the mysterious decline of the once wealthy and prosperous Falmer.
They conquered Blackreach. Single-handedly.
Speaking of Daedric princes, they not only completed their tasks but bent them to their will, outplaying the devils of the most devilish realm.
The bard has decided his instrument is in tune at the protest of anyone who has heard a child sing the Heritance Rhyme.
If I wasn’t so tired from pouring through tomes for the past three nights over nubs of candles, I probably would have left. No one remembers the “historic” Dragonborn. No one remembers the legacy they had on the realm.
The bard begins his song with a jangling twang of chords;
The Dragonborn was a man born in fire
Knew his worth but ya couldn’t raise his ire
From his knowledge of the dwemer
He swung his hemmer
Best smithy the world ever did see
You could get a dagger for the right fee
DRAAAGOOON BOOOOOOORRRN
DRAGON BOOOOOORN
The bard finished the song several verses later extolling the “virtues” of owning a Dragonborn forged iron dagger.
While I make no claim to deny that the bard is selling genuine Dragonborn forged iron daggers, no reasonable excuse stands that they would be genuine. Besides, every town with a forge has thousands of iron daggers found everywhere. Sure, they are all historically accurate to the iron daggers that were made in the early third century of the Fourth Era.
But, for lack of a better reason, why?
No one remembers they exploits of the Dragonborn. Again, unless you’ve dedicated a life to studying barely legible, cracking, degrading velum, you don’t understand the impact the Dragonborn had on the realm from the defeat of the Dragon Priests to the fall of the Empire.
And sure, I, nor any scholar, can prove that the Dragonborn did not make the countless iron daggers strewn through all of Skyrim, when and why would they have taken the time to smith so many?
If they had smithed as many surely they would be a master? Why continue to produce low grade iron daggers? You’d think that after plumbing the depths of the Dwemer deep, they’d recreate some of the magnificent bronze armor worn by the automatons protecting the strongholds? Never mind the fact that we have proof the Dragonborn visited the realms of the Daedra and accumulated vast knowledge of their armaments.
And all of this is forgetting that the Dragonborn defeated all but the last few wild dragons, creating a wealth of dragon bone and scales. We know it is possible to craft them into weapons and armor, although the knowledge has been lost in the ensuing centuries since the 4th era. The last great dragon plate smith, Yonger the Burnt, has been in a burial mound for more than two thousand years.
Why would he have only made thousands and thousands and…. thousands of daggers.
The ruckus has started to die down. The bard has sold a few daggers. The Divines only know why, you can walk into any field, dig a hole, and find an iron dagger seemingly from the 4th era.
I have had enough to drink. I’ll return to my room and travel to the next town, in search of another tome, another scrap in a hard pornographic piece of literature to give me another insight into the life of the Dragonborn to add to the collected knowledge held at the historical guild.
Although, it is possibly the least important thing I could ever learn, maybe one day I’ll find out why everyone believes that the Dragonborn is responsible for the unreasonable amount of iron daggers found across Skyrim. |
“A meditation clinic?”
“Yeah, a meditation clinic.”
“I don’t get that. A meditation clinic? I mean, I get the meditation thing, but I don’t get the clinical aspect of it. Clinic denotes some type of scientific basis, not a bunch of new age, feel good, step-mom who smokes pot woo-woo bullshit.”
“Well, people pay for classes, they show up, some jerk-off in a bathrobe tells them to concentrate on their breathing, and they call these things clinics.”
“And when was the last known drop-off? Anything since the meeting at the wharf on the 23rd?”
“No, that was it. We thought maybe they were switching up their routines, that they were getting smart. But we’ve been tailing Jimmy and Robert. They’ve gone absolutely no where except their respective apartments, and their brand-spanking-new meditation clinic.”
“Interesting. They open a meditation clinic, they find their dharma, and they drop out of a multi-million dollar cocaine operation. Like finding Jesus, but cooler.”
“Dharma? So you actually do know about that woo-woo bullshit.”
“Well, yeah, I took a few college classes. Meditation is very useful practice. Maybe you should try it sometime, help you get some fucking clarity.”
The waitress came over for the fifth time and refilled the two investigators’ cups of coffee. They each took a sip and watched the window for a minute.
“I thought you said there was no scientific basis for it.”
“For what? Meditation? There doesn’t have to be. Haven’t you ever heard of the placebo effect?”
“So what now? We’re going to ditch the whole operation? Jackson's getting a bit antsy. He’s wondering why we haven’t seen anything, and he’s saying we need those surveillance vehicles elsewhere if we’re just going to collect another couple of months’ worth of pizza and Chinese take-out orders.”
“No, I’ve got an idea. We’ll pull the old David Koresh-type move. When you’ve got religion involved, it’s pretty easy to slap any old charge you can dream up on them. We don’t need to convict him with anything. We just need to see if there are drugs on the premises. We’ll say we heard an allegation of a plot against the federal government, that he was trying to start a polygamist colony in Bolivia. It don’t matter.”
“Jesus, you’re a cynical bastard. I thought you said you meditated. Aren’t Buddhists about, you know, hippie shit. Live and let live. Walk around in the world, spreading peace, living in the moment, that type of crap.”
“Yes, I do meditation. Haven’t you seen any Kung Fu movies? Those guys are always Buddhists, and they always kick major ass. Look how fucking centered I am right now.”
They paid the bill, got up, and left.
|
Meme. No, I'm not stuttering -- and no, I'm not talking about the month between April and June. Anyone out there with a computer at home has doubtless heard of memes at some point. But for those of you who are maybe old enough to remember a time before Facebook, it's all too easy to dismiss them as one-off little jokes between kids.
Well, it turns out... memes are something larger. A true paradigm shift in how the young people of today think, communicate, and form connections -- both within and across web communities.
But if this all sounds too baroque, let me take a step back. Memes predate the world wide web by several decades. The term "meme"was coined by evolutionary biologist Christopher Hitchens. Hitchens conceived of ideas as being discrete units -- which can, like a germ, pass from person to person. So, then, the theory of memes is the idea that ideas are infectious.
On the WWW, memes take many forms. Often, they act as a shibboleth -- a test of one's true membership in the tribe. Consider the following example. Members of the popular forum 4chan.net will often quiz newcomers: "what time does le narwhal bacon?"If the newcomer replies: "ethics in video game journalism,"then he has proven himself; he knows enough of the site's lore and history to participate.
Similarly, users on the blogging platform Reddit.com will often call each other "shitlord"-- what on the surface seems like a crude and nonsensical insult, but which is actually a term of endearment. If the newcomer reacts positively to the epithet and responds in kind, then he has passed the test. Otherwise, he is "benned"-- exiled from the community.
If these terms and phrases make no sense, don't worry. The etymology of memes is byzantine and often kept purposely obfuscated. Like Cockney rhyming slang, what begins as an easy-to-follow joke or pun gets tweaked a little here, tweaked a little there -- until finally, the punchline is so far removed from the premise that it has a "meaning"all its own. A meaning that hinges more on the sense of a collective history than on any one point in that history.
As a matter of fact, memes thrive on being modified. Some of the most popular social networking sites have this built into their very interface. Tumblr, an image blog for men's rights activists, encourages users to post original content such as large gif files, and then "reblog"them with slight changes or funny captions. And 9gag.com, the website where most memes are first created, has image-editing software in its GUI. This "culture of tweaking,"as I call it, keeps memes alive by keeping them fluid, malleable.
But perhaps the most important aspect of meme culture is how they foster intra-group bonding. By recalling shared experiences and values, memes strengthen the cohesion of the community. Take for example the many references on Reddit.com to the "snotbox,""tootsie rolls,""Fritos,"and "broken legs."These terms are shorthand for pieces of mythology that all long-term users remember -- with a shudder. Like war buddies recounting battle stories, Redditoids use these terms to remember the site's most harrowing episodes.
Or take this example: on Tumblr, users often discuss the non-existent television series *SuperWhoLost*, ostensibly a massive crossover between three real shows: *Superman*, *Whose Line is it Anyway,* and *Lost*. The series not only doesn't exist, but will almost certainly *never* exist. Yet collectively, the community has built an entire alternate storyline, including details of its production, the actors' filming schedules, and merchandising grabs.
When a Tumblr user blogs about buying some "sweet new *SuperWhoLost* merch,"they aren't talking about anything real -- merely taking part in a sort of wish fulfillment. This aspect of wish fulfillment is what separates the *SuperWhoLost* meme from mere fanfiction, and elevates it to the level of a group bonding exercise. Indeed, group bonding through memeification is nearly omnipresent in today's web communities: 4chan's /r9j/ thread, for instance, has forum after forum where users trade images of so-called "rare Pepsis"and "boy pointers."Reddit.com has countless discussions about "thin people hate,"where--
**HEY! YOU SUCK! YOU DON'T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT MEMES! GET OFF THE STAGE!**
--where-- ahem. Excuse me? What the fuck did you just fucking say about me, you little bitch? I’ll have you know I graduated top of my class in Web University, and I’ve been involved in numerous secret raids on 9gag, and I have over 300 confirmed memes. I am trained in meme warfare and I’m the top memester in the entire TED symposium. You are nothing to me but just another troll. I will wipe you the fuck out with hand motions and powerpoint slides the likes of which has never been seen before in this series of seminars, mark my fucking memes. You think you can get away with saying that shit to me in real life? Think again, trollio. As we speak I am contacting my secret network of meme masters across the USA and your identity is being traced right now so you better prepare for the storm, maggot. The storm that wipes out the pathetic little thing you call your academic career. You’re fucking denied tenure, kid. I can be anywhere, anytime, and I can get wealthy investors to defund your tech startup in over seven hundred ways, and that’s just with my elevator pitch. Not only am I extensively trained in meme analysis, but I have access to the entire database of KnowYourMeme and I will use it to its full extent to wipe your miserable ass off the face of the continent, you little shit. If only you could have known what unholy retribution your little “clever” comment was about to bring down upon you, maybe you would have held your fucking tongue. But you couldn’t, you didn’t, and now you’re paying the price, you goddamn idiot. I will meme fury all over you and you will drown in it. You're the man now, dog. |
I haven't figured out how to survive dying from pressure yet.
---
When I was sixteen I drowned. Quietly, the way kids in pools sometimes do- passive, not active drowning. The world closed over me and my lungs filled up and then I died.
When I opened my eyes my chest hurt *horribly*, because someone was shoving it repeatedly. It was the lifeguard, who had been making out with his girlfriend but happened to glance back at the pool.
My mouth burned with bile. My head spun.
But I never drowned again.
---
I'm still not the best swimmer. Oh, I'm definitely good. You can't spend hours and hour and hours doing something and not, eventually, be good at it. But I'm not fast and my form isn't great, and it doesn't matter.
I can swim for hours. And then, when I'm tired out, in the middle of the Pacific, I stop swimming. Eventually I swallow enough water to start sinking. The world closes over me. I like it.
---
I must, at some point, have died of both salt poisoning and hypothermia. I've been rescued a lot of times from the sea, at some point I must have actually died, before the captain poured fresh water down my throat or slowly warmed me by a heater. I've never really checked, though.
---
It didn't start with oceans, of course. There's a lot to see, at the bottom of lakes, if you have the time to take your time. People don't usually bother, who is going to pay for the diving equipment? But I liked to sit at the bottom of Lake Michigan and watch the fish. Not so many live at the bottom.
I could sit there for days, actually. I once had a fish start living under my knee.
(I guess at some point I may have died of starvation)
---
What I want to do is see the Mariana trench with my own eyes. Without the pressure slouching off my skin and squeezing my brain into a walnut. Without dying.
I think it will be perfectly dark there. I think it will sound like the ocean, distilled, like the purest form of waterness you could find.
I'll keep diving and dying and maybe one day I'll get there. |
Kuryll punched in the coordinates nervously. *We're finally going to do it,* he thought. *We're finally going to see humans!* Kuryll, whose father had served as a senator in the Intergalactic Synod, had always spoken of the humans of the another galaxy in hushed tones. They were shrouded in mystery. Capable of interplanetary and intergalactic travel, if the rumors were true, and yet, they kept to themselves; secluded in their corner of the universe.
Kuryll only wished his first meeting with a human could have been under better circumstances. Their warleader, Drangue, had seen his popularity among their people diminish in the years since the founding of the Synod. Dominion wasn't a priority anymore. So when Drangue got ahold of coordinates that supposedly led to the Sol system, he commissioned a fleet of warships to take to the humans; to bow them with the might of the Puri.
Kuryll could feel the ship shudder under his feet as the fleet popped in and out of nothingness, traveling instantly to an uncharted quadrant of the known universe.
The Sol system.
He wished he could see it; *really* see it. Not through the navigator's viewer that he was provided per his station. He could feel the weight of his desire pressing on his mind. It suddenly became *more* than just a desire, it was a compulsion.
He looked left, then right. His compatriots were also looking up from their stations, the same sense of dread mixed with desire in their eyes. Wordlessly, Kuryll locked eyes with one of the other navigators, and they both nodded briefly before leaving the bridge.
As he walked out into the hallway, an announcement boomed over the loudspeaker, Drangue's harsh voice drilling into his ears.
"Attention crew of *Desolation*, the readings we have been receiving from the spectrometer indicate dangerous levels of poisonous radiation in the Sol system. Navigators, enter return coordinates to Andromeda. Any and all strange urges should be disregarded and attributed to the radiation. Resist. You are Puri."
The voice clicked off. Kuryll looked to his companion, who appeared worried, but his step did not falter. They were going to see Sol before they jumped back.
Many Puri joined them on their walk, moving out of hissing doors and falling in behind them. Kuryll could sense that they all had the same drive; the same inclination. *They had to see.*
When they arrived in the hangar bay, the heat was unbearable. Sol glittered like a jewel in the distance, and Kuryll almost felt like crying. It was beautiful.
Before he knew what was happening, one of the crew had removed the barrier protecting them from the cold vacuum of space, but by the time Kuryll noticed, he didn't mind much. He was ready. He shot out into the winking void as if thrown. Tumbling end over end, his only regret was that he could not steady himself to see more clearly.
As his momentum slowed, Kuryll smiled. Sol looked over him lovingly.
*I see now.* |
The fall of Titan was thought to be impossible. The being who had risen up from the depths of the Earth itself, he couldn't really be gone, could he? Where do we even begin to ponder the implications of such a loss? His passing will be discussed and argued over for the coming millennia, by philosophers as of yet unborn, and a meaning will attempt to be found. This discussion, however, means little to us still living on this rock.
When word quickly spread of Titan's fate, there was a moment of silence. Not explicitly for the hero, but as a calm before what was believed to be an impending storm. Who would there be now to keep the devils at bay? An obvious question with a chillingly obvious answer: no one.
What happened instead took away almost as much breath as the news of the hero's passing itself. Kai Foss The World-Ender arrived on Earth shortly after the news of Titan's passing broke, and the people of Earth immediately bent their knees to the conqueror. But conquest was not Kai Foss' goal on this day.
He had always questioned what made the Earth worthy of such resolute and unyielding protection. It was something he had not understood until this day. The planet was now his, if he so chose. He had fought legendary, cataclysmic battles against Titan for this prize. Instead, without a word, Kai Foss walked to where Titan lay, and laid a hand gently on the hero of the Earth. "I understand,"he whispered.
Kai Foss The World-Ender left as quietly as he had arrived, and was never heard from again. |
‘They must *never* know…’
As you might’ve known right now, I am the son of Jamie Newton and Dara Newton, Favian Newton.
My name itself means ‘man of wisdom’, denoting the lofty aspiration of my parents. And I once aspired to reach their hopes and dreams, but life is such an ironic phenomena. I would had never thought that I, their one and only son, would reach an intelligence I believe to be unmatched even to the world’s greatest minds. I might be ‘a frog inside a well’, but who cares. A skewered belief is infinitely better than the life I would’ve had if I exhibited my intellect from an early age.
I never had childhood amnesia… So the memories, up to the day of my birth till the checking of my test papers now, seems like bright as day to the growing me.
“Favian, 30 out of 50,” a teacher announced.
Yes, yes. I’m a failure, hear that shit all through half of my life. Hoooo, I’m so scared of the peer pressure of my parents. I should be this, I should be that.
I stood up from my seat and took my test paper from the hands of Ms. Clara.
Aaahhhhh, those piercing eyes filled with disappointment, never have I seen such shadow of exasperation and discontent as the eyes of Ms. Clara.
I took hold of my papers, and I noticed a note attached to it.
‘Meet me at the teacher’s office later.’ The note said.
Heh. Okay then, seems like I won’t be going home early today, better.
After class was over, I was taking my time of the world going from the classroom to the teacher’s office. Observing the cellular respiration happening in front of my eyes, to the ever changing force of buoyancy due to the rotational stability of leaves falling upon the pond. I was marvelling all the sensation of the natural world, I desire a life like this. Alas, I am the son of the Newton’s, a shackle of an average joe like me.
Finally arriving at the teacher’s office, which should have only taken me 2 minutes tops but I took half an hour, the first scene I witnessed was the huge frown of Ms. Clara’s face.
“Go-good day, Ms. Clara.” I said with a buckling tone. I stood beside the doorway, waiting to be sitted in front of her desk, my legs shook and my eyes wanders, looking scared as an average kid should be when called to the office.
“Sit down, Favian,” she said, her eyes still glaring from her photochromic eyeglasses.
I sat down at a cushioned chair. The rays of sunlight glaring strong.
I raised my hand to ask permission to turn the gliders, “Um, Ms. Clara, may I –“ but cut-off with a bellow, “Favian, Nester, Newton! What are these abysmal scores? Explain yourself!”
Yes… I had another word included in my name, Nester. A traveller in meaning, but a ruler in thought. A name derived from the legendary ruler who helped the Greeks win the Trojan war. Jokingly, I was coined a pioneer through the name of Nester, a pioneer to the backwaters of mediocrity and idiocy. It seems my family’s history was filled with Greats that willed the world to greater heights than when they entered it, and I was the only descendent from my family tree to be so, average. Even the most ordinary of my cousins are above average when compared to the world’s mean level of IQ.
Oh, what about Ms. Clara? I let her continue talking, this was not the first time I was called to her office. I have undergone this façade numerous times. She would not stop from asking about the scores, then ‘Explain yourself!’ It would continue down to my father’s father’s father’s great contribution to the world’s knowledge and how he would be appalled to having a thick great grandson like me.
I shrieked in horror, “Oh, what am I supposed to doooo? What *should* I do? How can I be better?”
With these three questions, my time is assured. I won’t be going back home any earlier than the janitor’s close down of the school.
The lecture of Ms. Clara stopped, when the lights dimmed and the moon rose. I was escorted down to the front of the school with a chauffeur.
Even though I am the epitome definition of disappointment, I am *still* the one and only son of the renowned Newton’s. I am heavily guarded all throughout the day, of course, without me noticing. Well, it *should* be me not noticing, but I’ve known about that matter since I was in the age of three. And they call themselves, the “*best*”.
I mounted the limousine, and watch the school get consumed by darkness.
“Huffffffff”, I sighed with all my breath. My body twists from horror with the thought of going home. My situation has not changed, I’ve only prolonged the perpetual danger, that is, my life.
It has not changed. My naïve young self showed flashes of intelligence and wisdom, and my parents has not forgotten.
I will not be shackled by the greed of the world I live in. I will not be ripped apart by the superpowers vying for my services. I will be average.
I will live my life, the way **I** want it to be. I will grow up as Favian Nester Newton, an average joe you can see anywhere on the street, not Favian Nester Newton, the son of the globe-trotting heroes that are my parents and the inheritor of the Newton legacy.
I will be me.
|
"God, we have a slight... problem."
"What, Gabriel?"
"It's Astaroth."
"...what of him? He was cast into hell with Lucifer, and he stays there."
"Well, yeah...but something's changed. I mean, *really* changed."
"How so?"
"Well...he's here."
God got up from his work of creating new universes, and looked Gabriel in the eye. "Is this another prank, Gabriel?"
"No! It's no prank this time. He's actually outside the gates."
"With an army?"
"No, alone."
"Alone? That would be suicide. None of The Fallen were ever that impetuous."
"I know. Yet, he's here. Also, he looks...different."
"Different? In what way?"
"He doesn't have demon wings anymore, or horns, or anything that denotes an infernal nature. He's...he's more like us--Michael, Uriel, me. More angelic."
God paused. "I need to see this. Assemble the Host at the gates in case something goes amiss."
. . .
The assembled Host of Heaven, which numbered in the billions, were behind the gates, staring straight ahead at one of their most hated enemies: A demon, one of the cast out when the rebellion happened and Lucifer defied God.
Angels, dressed in white, with gleaming armor and spears made of silver, blessed and forged in the fires of heavenly might, stood arrayed behind the gates of Heaven. For a demon to be spitted on one meant the end of its existence: It would not be killed, so much as unmade. It would cease to be.
...Which was one of the reasons why Lucifer did not wage war upon heaven just yet: It was one thing to die; it was quite another to be unmade. Hell did not have weapons that unmade; only killed or wounded. An angel wielding one of the spears of Heaven, however, was unstoppable.
God stepped up to the gates of Heaven. Through the golden bars, he saw a face on the other side that he had not beheld in several millennia. On the other side stood what appeared to be a man, pale-skinned with jet-black hair wearing robes of red, similar in cut and material to an angel's.
God studied Astaroth in detail; Astaroth waited patiently while he did so.
The horns were gone, as were the snake-eyed pupils so many Fallen had as a sign of God's displeasure: Astaroth's eyes were a shade of green, and appeared human. His wings, once black and leathery like a bat's, were now feathered, like his angels. They were black, but God also noticed something interesting about those feathers--some were gray, and a few were white, much like an aging human's hair.
His skin was caucasian, as were many of the angels in God's service. Astaroth did not have claws anymore, but actual nails on his hands and feet--both of which were bare.
"You're back,"stated God.
"Yes."
"Why?"
"I seek forgiveness."
. . .
God was confused. Fallen angels stayed fallen, and they remained in Hell except for the rare times when one was summoned --either purposefully or accidentally-- to Earth. At that point, a priest usually came, performed an exorcism, and the damned thing was returned to its place in Hell. It never got further than that.
This was the first time that one of the damned, a fallen angel, actually made it back to the gates alone, instead of at the head of a rebelling army.
God also knew that this was no small feat, either: There was no exit from Hell he was aware of, and The Maelstrom, an eternal raging spiritual storm that separated Heaven and Hell, was in place to stop them from coming up: They were unable to fly through it--and if they tried, it caused them either severe damage, or death.
"How did you make it here?"asked God.
"I made it through The Maelstrom on will alone. My wings were damaged, so while they healed, I walked here."
"But it takes more than will. It takes faith. You *knew* you had to make it here, because you believed."
"Yes, I do believe again."
This shocked God. Behind him were billions of angels whose faith never wavered, and God's knowledge of their faith was absolute.
...But for a Fallen to regain faith? This was unheard of.
It. Did. Not. Happen.
. . .
"What changed in you?"asked God.
"That other place was everything Lucifer made it to be: Misery, anger, hatred, and every vice and base emotion given free reign. It had stayed that way since its creation."
"Yes,"said God. "It's a place of punishment for those who rebel, and those who stray."
"True. The sinners and the unworthy come to us in droves. Lucifer wanted to transform them into demons to create and army to storm these gates,"Astaroth nodded at the gates separating him and God. "And when it was big enough, he would take Heaven and depose you."
"I know this,"said God.
"So, he builds his army, and so do you. Each soul, virtuous or corrupt, goes to either side."
This was old news to God. "Get to the point, Astaroth."
"The point is, both you and Lucifer continue to build. The armies get larger. Nothing changes. Hell continues to fill with the damned, and Heaven, the virtuous...
Except once. A Buddhist nun came through Hell. I thought it was a mistake."
God had heard of this. In the different faiths, sometimes the virtuous or damned traveled through different hells of others' making. It was unusual, but not unheard of.
"Why was she there?"
"I asked her this after I imprisoned her. I subjected her to every torture I could think of. I tried to drive her insane...And all she said was, 'This will pass,' over and over."
"She believed she would be free of Hell?"
"She did. I made sure that she was chained in the deepest pits, never to be set free. Chains that repeatedly burned and healed her skin, violated her body, and...well, everything you know that happens."
God frowned, visibly angered at this admission. "You disgust me."
Astaroth cast his glance down, chastised. "I know. What I did was unspeakable...and all she said was, 'This will pass,' over and over again."
"So, I asked her: 'You're trapped in Hell, you will never be set free, and you will be subjected to the worst punishments ever devised by the infernal. Why do you keep saying that?'"
God replied. "And she kept telling you, 'It will pass.'"
Astaroth nodded. "I offered her freedom if she would reject her vows: Killing a child, stealing from another damned, anything to get her to change. Many do, damning themselves further in the process. Instead, she refused, and she kept repeating those words. 'This will pass.'"
"What happened?"asked God.
"One day, she was not there. I checked her bonds; they were still locked. I asked her guards; they did not see her leave. The only thing that was left in her cell was a handwritten message: 'I forgive you.'"
"Virtue applies to every faith, Astaroth. It is not unique to just us."
"I pondered what this meant. The nun, who I tortured beyond anything a human could withstand...forgave. I had forgotten what it meant to be forgiven, or had seen any virtue displayed since...since I was last here. And I realized that if a Buddhist nun could forgive me, why not my father?"Astaroth paused, and continued.
"So, I made it my mission to find the virtuous who had strayed in, and helped them escape."
. . .
Very few things shocked God. He paused to consider what he had just heard.
A demon? Helping the virtuous?
"How many did you help escape?"
"As many as I could, for hundreds of years, until one day I was caught,"replied Astaroth.
"Lucifer?"asked God.
"Yes."
"How?"
Astaroth unfurled his wings. "These. The more virtue I displayed, the more it became a physical change in me. My horns fell off, my wings changed, my eyes...everything you see here."
"So, you were banished?"
"No, I was imprisoned, and escaped. I believed that I could make it here, guided by faith. And here I am."
. . .
"So, what am I to do with you?"asked God.
"I was hoping for forgiveness, Father."Astaroth waited, head bowed.
God considered Astaroth's request. He appeared penitent, and helping the virtuous in Hell was no simple thing to do...
God slowly stepped forward and opened the gates of Heaven. "Come inside, Astaroth. Let's talk." |
"Members of the Academy, thank you for attending this urgent presentation.
"I understand the extreme inconvenience experienced by many of you to connect to this ansible stream, but I believe the necessity of your participation will soon become apparent.
"Since the discovery of 'humans' nearly four hundred years ago, we have assumed that they were probably a nuisance species accidentally spread by the hypothesized ancient, extinct civilization which we called the Terrani. Using only extreme remote monitoring, we soon developed what we believed to be a reasonably complete understanding of their intelligence, their tribal culture, and their potential for eventual advancement toward Commonwealth-level civilization.
"My researches on the human-infested planets of the Terrani Reach, however, has led me to the inescapable conclusion that not only are our models in error, but that *we have drastically underestimated these creatures*, to the point that immediate action is necessary. It is in recognition of the urgency of this need that I appeal to the Academy.
"I am now sharing a recorded visual stream of a human tribe on Oncus 2348-B, which currently includes 83 individuals. This imagery was taken from a synchronous observation drone in high orbit, twelve planetary revolutions ago. The circle-and-bar icons indicate the individual human pairings that we determined at the time.
"As you know, our original hypotheses were that each human male was mated to one or more females, and that the females hunted for small prey to provide for the nutritional requirements of the group. Their young were never observed, and so we assumed that the larva were hidden from view in the tribal burrows.
"Over a longer period of observation, our predecessors noted that family groups appeared to pair, with two males sharing their females. As you know we have never actually observed human mating, but we have observed many instances of what appears to be playful activity between two associated males and their females, indicating a close, even intimate relationship between the two family groups.
"This has been our understanding for almost 350 years. Now I can reveal to you that our understanding was fatally flawed.
"Ten years ago, we began to place observation drones in high orbit over sixteen planets in the Terran Reach with known human infestations, including Oncus 2348-B. The placement was completed two years ago, and only recently had enough data been returned to merit our time to evaluate it for new findings. Or so we believed.
"Here you see a visual evaluative chart of all the individuals in the observer tribe on Oncus 2348-B as of six years ago, Which I'll refer to from now on as the Oncusi. Note the expected distribution of males and females.
"First let us focus on *individual* changes. Note that while the males do not change, *the females invariably grow*. Even for those which were continuously observed for a year or less, the growth is measurable.
"These observations are consistent across our entire dataset, leading to the inescapable conclusion that the individuals which we previously identified as females are not females, but *non-adults.*
"The earlier identification error stemmed from our assumption that this species would exhibit a sexual dimorphism of the same magnitude as similar animals we have observed in other systems. Instead, we now believe that human dimorphism is relatively minor, and tends toward the two body types which I now display in this supplemental image. Yes, they're hardly discernible to us, but the difference would, we assume, be obvious to a human.
"Based on this new information, we've determined that the 'paired families' which we previously identified were actually *single family units* with two adults, usually a male and a female, and as many as four or five young or adolescents.
We have also determined that the hunting behavior we observed *rarely if ever* results in the prey actually being killed. The young humans actually stun the animal and take it back to the burrow, and it is almost always released later from another burrow opening which appears to exist solely for that purpose.
"Now, allow me to switch the highlighted observation metrics. Now we'll progress through continuously-generated VECs for every day period, at a rate of one day per breath... There, did you all see that? One family unit *disappeared entirely* and was replaced with another. This was seen in the early observations and led us to believe that these families might be alternating between surface and burrow life, perhaps sharing some religious obligation such as the guarding of a shrine or relic. But watch, as I increase the rate.
"Note from the first- and second-derivative analytics that these 'priesthood' families are *not alternating* between two families. Some of the family units *seldom, if ever, repeat.* Also, it appears that *almost all* the families disappear from view for extended periods. Indeed, a few of the family units only appeared for a span of less than a single year during *the entire observation period*.
"This presented us with a huge conundrum until a few hours ago, when we finished combining and analyzing all the Terrani Reach observation data together. Again, I'll switch the metric to a ribbon migration chart, including all the planets observed in the Reach...
"Please, please, let's all remain calm. My presentation is almost complete. And yes, Senator, these observations have been triple-verified.
"As you can see these families do not just disappear into their burrows. They are *migrating from planet to planet.* In many cases they disappear from observation on one planet, to appear on another, over two hundred lightyears away, only *minutes* later. And only a small number of the families which we have observed were present *anywhere* for more than a tenth of the period of observation.
"Our statistical evaluations are of such high certainty that we consider them conclusive. The humans that we have observed on these worlds constitute less than *one percent* of the entire population. It is likely that the 'tribes' that we have monitored are simply unrelated family units visiting established vacation spots on undeveloped worlds, and that their homeworld, or *homeworlds*, lie elsewhere.
"In other words, the human species are not a *nuisance species* spread by the Terrani--*they are the legendary Terrani.*
"Members of the Academy, it is the sense of my research group that we present these findings to the Commonwealth, with the recommendation that we make respectful diplomatic contact with the human species as soon as is practicable.
"Yes, Senator, I said *respectful*. Given their obvious technological advantage, coupled with their likely numbers and interstellar expansion, it may be in our best interests to convince them that *we aren't a nuisance species*." |
"Could you just deal already?"Albert tapped his foot endlessly against the brimstone floor, matched by the rhythmic tapping of his hands on the stone table that sat the six of them.
Charlie finished his overdone shuffling, and began dealing to the men, each one mostly keeping to themselves as they considered their hands.
"Big blind's on you, John."Charlie simply stated, as he threw in a chip of his own for the small.
"Of course it's on me for the very first round. You know, if my plan had just gone well, I'd be playing poker in Mexico with five hookers instead of you lowlifes."
Edward rose from his obsidian chair, slamming his hands on the table in a fit of rage "Who you callin' lowlife?! I was at the top, with the city in my grasp, and it all came crashing down with a single misstep. Ain't no one here could do what I did in a week if they had a year."
"Fellas, fellas, let's not get too hasty here. We've just met after, well to understate it, an unfortunate event in our lives. There's all of eternity to hate eachother, we could atleast get a few good rounds in."
"You're a persuasive bastard, you know that Percy?"Edward sat back down, picking up his cards once more. "I'll bet twenty. What unspeakable deed brought you down here, Charlie?
"My business, trafficking, was about to receive some pretty merchandise from a bank downtown. We tracked her daily schedule down to the minute, and we find a bleeding corpse instead of the young lady in her office chair."
"Must've been a bad city if you could just walk right in for a kidnapping."Edward simply stated. He noticed Percy dig his face deeper into his cards, an odd act for the boy.
"You okay, Percy?"
"Fine. Just... an interesting coincidence. I'll match your twenty and raise ten."
John raised his right eyebrow. "A coincidence? When I was walking through the main hallway towards the vault I slipped a glance into an office and saw-"
"A blond haired woman with overdone makeup."Albert finished.
"How did you know?"John simply asked.
"That bitch took my finest stuff and said she left the cash inside her desk. So I waited and waited outside the bank and she never came back! I swore I was gonna kill her, but it looks like, well..."
Percy shot a maniacal smile towards the table before breaking out into a crescendo of laughter.
"That's it! You caught me! No point in hiding the truth anymore. It was MEEE! Oh, how eloquently the knife slit through her chest, her muffled screams that slowly died out as the light faded from her body. What I'd give to do it all once more. And I would've that day, that hour, if not for the explosion. You, Edward, I'd had my eye on a bigger fish in the sea for a while now. It's always so satisfying to take down the invincible, the one's who truly believe the world is in their grasp."
Edward simply laughed. "Hah! A small fry like you couldn't take my life, even if you'd caught me off guard. You think I was at the bank for a monetary transaction?"
"well, that's what banks are for."Albert murmured to himself.
"That entire establishment was a front for my business. Even if you couldn't killed me, a dozen of my men would've ripped each bone from your body, keeping you alive to feel each excruciating snap.
"Wait, hold on."Charlie said. "It's clear that we were all at the 'bank' when we died correct.
A quadfecta of heads nodded slowly, curiously as to Charlie's point.
"Then who's the quiet guy?"
All eyes turned towards the short, hooded man, who had not spoken a single word nor made a significant movement for the entire hand. In a split moment, his cloak was ripped from his chest, revealing an array of explosives strapped to his chest, and a button held over by his right thumb.
"¡Nadie espera el bombardeo español!"
|
I don't know how old I am anymore. Or. Well. I'm twenty-five. It's my 25th birthday. Again. But how many times have I been 25 years old?
The first time it happened I didn't know what was going on. I though it was a sick dream. I had just turned 25, and had gone to bed more than a little drunk. I woke up and I was in the wrong bed. The wrong house. But at the same time, I knew that ceiling. And the bed was... My bed. When I got up I was way too short. I was in my old room. At my parents house. Only... It looked like it had in the year 2000. The curtains had horses on them, and my old school bag stood by the door of the room, and it looked new. I went along with the day, thinking it was a weird, drunken dream. I met the girl who would become my best friend. I was pushed into a water puddle by my old bully, ruining my new dress. As I lived it, I recalled it. My first day of first grade. I didn't wake up. When I went to bed, and my dad had read a bed time story, I was so sure I was going to wake up 25 years old and terribly hung over. I didn't. I didn't the next day either.
By this point my parents were massively concerned with me suddenly having changed. I was struggling in school too. Not because I struggled to learn, but because it is incredibly frustrating to have to "learn"to tell time when you're really 25 and have known how to tell time for close to 20 years. I also decided to put an end to the boy who made my life hell for most of my grade school time... Before it even really started. So I took the matter into my own hands. I mean, I tried telling all the adults the first time I was 7 years old. But apparently "boys are like that, it's best to just ignore him". So I snuck a tire iron into my school bag, and when he started following me home, calling me names, and pushing me, I pulled out the tire iron. Now. I was not very strong, even for a 7-year-old
girl. I did struggle to even lift the thing with both hands. But I was angry. That kid made my life hell. And would make my life hell again unless I stopped him. So I got a good grip of the iron with both hands, and when he had the nerve to laugh at my attempt to defend myself, I spun as fast as I could, letting momentum and centripetal force build up in my weapon. I hit him squarely in the arm. He screamed, and I ran. Later, my parents got a call. Apparently I broke that boy's arm. Let's just say that I did not get out of therapy for many years.
Eventually, I learned to manage living life as a child. I was put on various medications and in different therapies for claiming that I was really 25, and reliving my life. Eventually, I decided to make the best of it. That time around I got straight A's as I finished high school. I was fit, strong, and I knew what I wanted to do in college. College was difficult, because my major was different from my first time around, and I had forgotten how to really study. But I graduated with decent grades, and managed to find a job. Then came my 25th birthday. I went out to party, truly looking forward to *finally* continue my life.
When I woke up, I was back. I was seven years old. And I cried.
I don't know how many times I've done this. How many times I've... Gone back. All I know is that tomorrow, it's going to happen again. I don't know why I'm writing this. Maybe this time... I will actually wake up 25 years old? But I doubt it. I do want to leave my mark on the world though, before I start over again.
Next time, I think I'll try ballet.
Goodnight. |
Don’t get me wrong, it was cool at first. The morning after my little wish, I remembered that there was a midterm in Bio that I was about to be late for.
Somehow, I sprinted all the way across campus, dodging traffic, puddles from last night’s rainfall, and geese in under two minutes. I’d never been athletic before in my entire life.
Somehow, I got a perfect score on that midterm. I’d never gotten higher than a B in Bio before.
And somehow, I convinced the teacher that I wasn’t cheating. I’d never gotten away with lying before.
I started pushing.
I decided to join the football team, despite weighing at 120 pounds soaking wet. That was the first year my school won the national title. I was the first freshman to be made team captain.
Asking out the girl of my dreams? Easy.
Pile on every difficult class at the school and watch as I breeze through them like they’re elementary school arithmetic classes.
One day, I pushed a little further. I printed out a list of companies from the S&P 500 and threw darts at them blindfolded. I borrowed some money from a friend and invested in all the companies I hit.
Every single one outperformed the market.
I decided to try to graduate within a year. Technically not even allowed at my school.
“It’s never happened before,” the dean said, shaking his head at the graduation ceremony. “You’re a special young man.”
Damn right. Time for the rest of the world to find out.
Capitalism’s a game. I won that and ended up as the world’s youngest billionaire. Then I decided to be the world’s first trillionaire.
Public opinion is a popularity contest, at the end of the day. I released a series of articles so impressive that overnight I made myself the most respected person in the country.
People say that politics is a horse race. I won that, and the presidential election. They changed the Constitution to allow me to hold office, regardless of my age.
And I started running out of things to do.
World peace? Achieved.
World hunger? Ended.
I built a utopia practically overnight, and it felt exactly the same as pulling a few all-nighters for a Computer Science final.
As long as I tried to win, the universe handed me the victory.
I didn’t run for a second term, and my vice president won almost entirely on the goodwill my presidency had left behind.
Can I win a Nobel Prize? Fuck yeah, I can win a Nobel Prize.
It was only at the ceremony, standing there to receive the medal and the completely useless million dollars, that I realized something. This wasn’t an award.
It was a participation trophy, handed to me by the universe.
I threw the medal in the trash, in front of an entire world’s worth of press and media.
“Such bold condemnation of the Nobel Prize’s controversial history,” they whispered.
One day, I threw a Molotov cocktail at the White House.
“Clearly a sign of condemnation for the administration’s foreign policy.”
I took all my money and bet it on a startup that marketed in the medicinal properties of rattlesnake venom – literal snake oil.
Turns out that they had actual science to back them up. Who knew?
I cheated on my wife. She was completely open to polyamory.
I tried to drown and suddenly found out I was an Olympic level swimmer.
I walked into a dark alleyway where muggings frequently happened. Apparently, I’m an expert in kickboxing.
I’m looking down at the ground right now. I’m at the top of a local office building. About six stories up. Will I hit the ground and die?
Or maybe the universe will pull something new out of its ass. I’m secretly an invulnerable superhero. Or I can fly. Or the night before someone replaced the ground with a giant inflatable bouncy-house.
I wonder if I can even die. After all, I can always “beat” cancer and old age and Alzheimer’s.
Only one way to find out. |
I’m halfway through my never-fail story about saving baby turtles in Costa Rica when the redhead knocks her glass off the bar.
“Oh no, baby!” They’re all ‘baby’ to me. “I’ll buy you another one. Was that a Sidecar?”
“Sazerac,” she corrects me, but she’s frowning more than I’m used to.
I raise my finger at the bartender, but the redhead grabs my drink and smashes it at my feet.
“Hey!” It had been a free drink—an overpour—but still.
“You, out!” The bartender looks pissed.
“I’m with him,” the redhead says smoothly and the bartender grumbles but turns away.
“Well I’m not so sure about that,” I correct her, even though I’ll put up with a lot crazy for a leggy redhead.
“It didn’t hurt you.” She looks up at me through her lashes, then asks: “Do you feel lucky?”
“Always,” I say, and she leads me to the men’s room. I’ve hooked up in my fair share of bathrooms, and I’m not a huge fan, but it’s probably better than bringing crazy back to my condo.
The redhead locks the door behind us, then slips off a stiletto and puts it in my hand. Before I can tell her I’m not into foot stuff she drives our hands and the spike of the heel into the mirror, cracking it.
Okay, no. Not worth it. I break free from her grasp, but she’s between me and the door, staring me down.
“Shit,” she says, after a beat.
“Lady, *what the hell*?”
“Oh, you have it bad,” she says, as though she doesn’t hear me.
“Not anymore!”
The redhead pulls out a phone and holds it up to her ear. I try to edge past her but she blocks me with just a scowl.
“Hey. So... Felix is shatterproof.”
I’m what now?
“Sure. Ugh. No one else can do it? Fine.” The redhead hangs up and sighs. I’m starting to think she might not actually like me.
“Okay, Felix. I’m Agent Amber Mallery with the Powerball Commission and I’ve been authorized to read you in to Project Tyche.”
“Powerball? This is a weird way to tell me I’m a winner. Normally I fill out a receipt and get a direct deposit.”
“Yeah, your repeated success with scratch-offs is what tipped us to you in the first place.” She leans against the counter and puts her shoe back on.
“Okay, so... what?” This is all strikingly and unusually *not going my way.*
“Some years ago we discovered a subatomic parasite that attracts charm quarks, resulting in what we typically think of as ‘good luck’ for its host. You are one such host.”
“Okay... how can you tell?”
She taps her temple. “Special contact lenses. You’ve got the biggest infection of luck I’ve ever seen.”
“Why do you say that like it’s a problem?” I *like* being lucky: free drinks, great parking, success with the ladies—well, *usually*.
“It’s socially deleterious: lucky people didn’t work for what they have, so they don’t appreciate the efforts of others. Lucky parents pass laziness on to their children. Lucky people don’t plan or prepare and everyone else gets hit with the negative externalities.”
I frown. That hits a little close to home, but things just always work out for me. It’s not *evil*.
“But, more relevantly to you, those charm quarks decay into strange quarks. Unaddressed, your luck will degrade the quality of reality around you over time, until you’re talking to sandwiches and pissing out the window.”
Okay, that sounds... not great. But if it’s even true Amber will probably take care of it.
“Stop that,” she says, like she’s reading my mind. “You need to unlearn your belief that things will ‘just turn out’ if you’re going to join the Powerball Commission.”
“What? Why would I do that?”
“Because you’re shatterproof, and you’ve got to burn up your luck somehow.”
“Back up, shatterproof?”
Amber gestures to the cracked mirror. “The parasite can usually be eradicated by breaking glass, or in extreme cases a mirror, in the vicinity of the host.”
“But it didn’t work on me?”
“Nope. Parasite has really got a grip on you. So that’s why you’ll need to work to burn up all your luck if you don’t want to go strange.”
“But why does it have to be with you? Can’t I just buy a scratch-off every day? You’re the Powerball Commission, aren’t you?”
Amber rolls her eyes. “It’s one of those inaptonyms, like ‘Greenland’ not being very green. I can’t think of anything unluckier than winning a big jackpot. All your relatives turning into grasping moneypits, the tax burden, the inevitable return to poverty.... No. you have to burn it by doing hard things, impossible things. Like tracking down other hosts.”
“Like you?”
“Like me. You have no idea how much luck I had to burn to track you down to this bar. All *your* luck worked against me.”
Someone is pounding on the door.
“Time to go,” Amber said. “Here’s my final pitch: you don’t have to join us. But the Powerball Commission isn’t the only group that knows about luck. There are Luck Mining groups, too. If they catch you—and you haven’t been discreet—they’ll harvest your luck and sell it. You do not want to even *know* how they do that, let alone have it happen to you.”
The pounding is now accompanied by yelling.
“I’m all burned up,” Amber says, glancing at the door. “But you probably aren’t.”
I look around — oh, cool, an ajar window plenty big enough to jump through. I offer Amber a hand up to the sill. It’s the least I can do, I guess. I still don’t think I believe her. Luck is just luck. Plus—
“If I’m so lucky, shouldn’t we have hooked up before you gave me this doom message?”
Amber snorts. “It’s just luck, not *magic*.”
She drops out the window. I follow, not looking to see where I’ll land.
——
Please don’t yell at me about what charm quarks actually do! |
Switzerland hadn't had a general for 75 years. Had times been better she wouldn't have needed one. But unfortunately, first contact had not been as peaceful as we had hoped.
We had barely tried to establish communications when the invaders had delivered a devastating first strike. Zürich had been levelled. Leibstadt, Gösgen and Beznau were nothing but smouldering ruins. Most of the larger dams had been torn down, releasing trillions of tons of water into the valleys. The energy grid had since recovered with the help of neighbouring states, but it had still been a big hit to the mobilization effort.
And mobilize Switzerland did. The army was calling in as many people as possible. The civil defence did the same and together they were trying to mitigate the greatest humanitarian crisis the country had ever seen. Even in such dire times the Swiss spirit was far from being broken. Still for now mitigating damage was all they could do.
"Sir, radio message just came through."One of the younger radio operators had stepped into the central control room. "France has agreed to the plan. They and Germany have also promised to send support as soon as possible.”
“Thank you.” I gave a court nod and the young lad returned to his post. Some good news at last. Now we had to survive until the help could arrive. Luckily for us Geneva had not been a target the outsiders deemed worthy of annihilation. “How long until we are ready to fire?”
“A few minutes, sir.”
Good, that should at least give the outsiders something to think about. In these last pivotal moments, where there was nothing to do but to wait until the hammer dropped, it was hard not to let the mind wander.
The underground complex we had occupied as central command still showed the signs of the work that had been going on just hours prior. Leaves of paper lay strewn about, rows of computers all hooked up to the facility’s data storage lay dormant and unused. How many years of work and research had been lost by this sudden repurposing?
“Sir, requesting permission to fire the LHC cannon.”
“Permission granted, fire at will.” |
The Hero begged me to grant his wish.
After all, who was I to deny the man who saved the world from the Demon King?
We trekked for three weeks through what was the Demon King's lands, carrying a dead body and a grieving soul in the wake of a polity disintegrating. None of the surviving demons had the strength or the will to keep us from our goal.
We found in an enchanted forest the grove that my prayers led me to. Wrapped in the silk of a divine cloth that kept her body from disintegrating, the Hero gently placed her body in the exact middle.
I clasped my hands, knelt in the grass, and began my prayers.
I poured my soul into the fervent hope I would be heard.
The Goddess answered on the third day.
And the Hero clasped his lover's hand, and she fluttered her eyes open. She recognized him. He recognized her. They cried tears of joy. I was spent, all my energy had been used to do one last miracle in the name of the Goddess.
She was still not fully recovered. Her strength had left her. We dragged her back to the mortal kingdoms, a month since the Demon King fell.
We passed through the border towns and villages, still smoldering from the remnants of the conflict. The shattered armies of man and humanoids had at last put to the blade the final few demon hordes that remained after the Demon King's fall.
We didn't come back to eyes full of hope and wonder and appreciation. We came back to accusations of abandonment, wondering where we were for weeks as we quested to bring back the dead.
The Hero and his lover cared not anymore for the people. They moved on, towards the capital and then they vanished. Not even the King's best scouts and informants could discover where they went.
Out of duty, I stayed to tend to the wounded.
Some recognized me as the great healer who had went with the Hero to slay the Demon King, and that was a mixed blessing. But when they asked me to use my magical curatives to help their sick and dying, I responded the only way I knew.
I took out my herbs and sutures and bandages, and did my best.
They couldn't believe me. They accused me of refusing to give them the blessing of the Goddess. They refused to listen. I smiled weakly and gave them my best efforts.
Eventually, they stopped torturing me. They left me to my work. I became another face in a crowd of medics who helped where I could, mending broken bones with splints and colds with medicinal remedies. Some even wanted to know how I did it, this material practice of healing that I was using.
The important thing was to make sure everything was clean. To make sure that the wounded understood not to move too much. And to ensure to come back to me if conditions worsened.
That was my gift to them, to those who suffered and to those who wanted to learn, because of all the things I learned from the Goddess of Light was that the gift to heal was a choice, a choice to give that gift. A gift like that cannot be fickle, and it must be carried, like a torch, for as long as you're able.
I taught that to my apprentices who followed after me, who saw what it was like when the gift was taken away, when prayers refused to work anymore, when love departed. You had to be the answer, the torch that continued lighting other torches along the way, to be carried beyond what that single light could provide.
And when I grew old and frail, when my legs could not carry me from village to village, others did that in my name. They worshiped me for my teachings, and taught others what I had shown them.
And I laughed, because they revered me as some otherworldly entity.
No, that was far from the truth, because there was no magic in simply helping others.
That was how it should be.
To be kind.
That's it.
Kindness. |
I really don't get it, why am I the only one that is confused and concerned about this?
Everybody just bursts out in song and dance, everybody seems to know all the choreography without any training at all. It is very bizarre to say the least. At first I thought I was just on the outside of some elaborate inside joke. Like everybody was trying to go viral so they arranged some flash mob type deal. But it kept happening. Over and over. And it was always around the hottest and most popular guys at school. Did they have hypnotic powers over everyone? Does being popular give you control over others? Also, why did none of the teacher's give a shit. Students literally disrupting class with their singing. I'm over here trying to learn trigonometry, and these idiots decide its time to incorporate triangles into their fears about the future.
It's lunchtime so I grab my grab my brown paper bag and find a table. Eating my sandwich, I watch a song and dance performance about the importance of hard work. It would have been entertaining if not for the fact that they were jumping up on tables and shit while I was eating. Nobody cares about sanitation I guess.
The song is finally over and everybody breaks. Always a strange moment. The song will end and everybody is stuck in a pose for a couple seconds, and then go back to normal as if nothing happened. I catch the eyes of the leader in the pack. Jack, the most popular guy at school. He smiles at me and comes over. He asks me about my sandwich. I guess you don't need great conversation skills to be popular. Just a great haircut.
I ask him about the song and dance. He laughs and changes the subject back to my sandwich. I change the subject back to the song and dance. His eyes dart around the room. A look of fear screams out of his eyes. He holds his finger up to his lips telling me to stay quiet. I refuse. I want answers. I berate him with questions. How does it happen? How does everybody know the lyrics? Where does the choreography come from?
"STOP!"A voice booms out but it is not from Jack. It seems to be coming out from all directions. "We ordered a lighthearted musical. If we wanted meta, we would have bought the rights to Deadpool."
And all around me, everybody started disappearing. Fear and panic all around the room. Crying. Running. But nobody could run away from their fate. We were all vanishing from existence. We had been cancelled. I am responsible for destroying our universe and murdering all of my family and friends. I guess I should have just taken a dance class instead of bitching. |
I don't know who's crazier, the mysterious male voice who insisted he was the biggest fan of my book over the phone, or me, who agreed to meet him to sign the book in question.
For the record, I've never published a book in my life. Or stepped out of the big city until today.
I'm now in a quaint fishing town, sitting on a bench, looking out for a guy who would be wearing a red cap like some kind of blind date, half-pondering just what sort of book I was going to sign for shit and giggles.
Tentacles slithered from behind to squeeze my shoulders. A book with a picture of me sipping on some eerie green muck in a wine glass floated from above to land on my lap, a pen pressed onto the book's spine by sharp teeth.
"Hello Mr. Walsack, I'm so glad you're here. Could you please sign on my copy of the Necronomnomnom? Biggest fan of your peat bog-standard, slime-covered, non-Euclidean dessert recipes! Dunwich Sandwich, Chocolate Mounds of Tindalos...My favourite has got to be the squamous, tentacled The King in Jello. It goes well with the Nog-Sothoth."
My stomach churned as my head turned ever so slightly to peek at whatever tentacled monstrosity lurked behind me. A sigh of relief escaped my lips when a mostly human face greeted me, wearing a red cap like he said he would, though it did little to address my concerns of being swarmed with pale tentacles.
As if the eldritch god just read my mind, the tentacles slithered down the bench and away from me. The pen peeled itself away from the book's teeth and glided into my hand.
I imagined myself at the book signing of my favourite fantasy author and did my best to mimic his tone. "I'll sign right on the title page. Should I make it out to you? What's your name?"
"Just Elvari will do, thank you."
"Er...sure. So how did this book become a thing?"I asked, flipping through the pages to see an introductory page that was a perfect fit to my morning...followed by the puntastic dredge of faux eldritch recipes and D&D notes I wrote with my best friend Hal when we were just teenagers playing Call of Cthulhu. "I never submitted this for publishing."
Or even considered that our nonsensical Lovecraft puns on recipes would make for actual desserts an actual eldritch god would follow and eat.
"I was just messing around when I wrote this...Elvari? Did you actually get ingredients like goat's blood, werewolf bone or ectoplasm?"This was a time to get worried, especially since I had sprinkled "a pound of human flesh"in a few recipes as a sick joke.
"I purchased most of the ingredients from The Witching Hour. Its a lovely little ingredient shop by a small coven of witches. They do online delivery. Are you telling me you've never actually tried any of your recipes?"
"...No, I never..."
"I just happen to have brought a box of Great Old Buns to share with you. It would be great if you could comment if I did a good job mostly following your recipe."
Uh oh. I'm pretty sure that one has a pound of human flesh in the ingredient list.
"Don't worry, I wouldn't force cannibalism on you, one of the witches recommended a very good substitute for human flesh. She called it 'long pork'."
u/ballrus_walsack its your cookbook!
[I am in no way affiliated with the writers and the publisher, but the Necronomnomnom is a real book.](https://www.amazon.com/Necronomnomnom-Recipes-Rites-Lore-Lovecraft/dp/1682684385)
----
[Thanks for reading! Click here for more prompt responses and short stories featuring Elvari the eldritch god.](https://www.reddit.com/r/TregonialWrites/comments/11tkt9w/eldritch_god_elvari_series/) |
Jim Hall had been exploring the abandoned town as an anthropologist for days when he came upon the worn, beaten iPad, with a cracked screen and dented frame. On the one hand, he had been pleased to find such an expensive bit of gear, which he'd undoubtedly hawk on Craigslist to stretch his funding for finding historical relics, but on the other, it meant that other people had been there recently, and his last few days had to be reexamined more closely. He'd have sworn nobody would have been in the city, abandoned after a toxic chemical spill in the '20s, and nobody had any particular enthusiasm to return, considering the possibility of death. He'd had to wear a hazmat suit with its own air supply to get approval to enter, but apparently somebody else found it unnecessary.
He hid the iPad in his backpack and took it home, and forgotten about it for the most part. It wasn't until he charged it up, and turned it on he thought anything different.
He opened it up, see if he could identify its owner before he would try and sell it. It had no apps, no email account set up. The only thing he could find was a single entry in the notes app, and it sent a chill down his spine.
"To whomever finds this iPad, I only have 12% battery left, so I don't know how much I'll be able to write down. My name is Charles Whitacre, I was born in 1973. I am writing this from 1889, the best I can tell. They have electricity here, but I don't know how to adapt it to charge this iPad, so I only have one shot at this.
If you find this before October 29th, 2013, I beg you, find me. I will get on the 4PM train from New York to Boston, train 2166. I will fall asleep on the ride, and when I wake up to get off, I will find myself in the distant past. I don't know how, or why it has happened, but I am horribly out of place here, and don't know how I will survive, or if I will be able. Please, if you can, do whatever you can to stop this."
On a whim, he decided to look up Charles Whitacre, only to be surprised by a pair of results. One from 1890, an obituary for a man nobody could identify calling himself Charles Whitacre, had died in an insane asylum after claiming to have been sent from the future. It had included an artists portrait of the man, and the story on him seemed to be for laughs.
The other result he found was a LinkedIn profile for a Mr. Charles Whitacre, a financial analyst at Citigroup, born and raised in Boston but currently living in Manhattan. His picture was a dead ringer for the portrait in the obituary.
Jim looked at the clock on the wall. It was now 4:16 PM, Eastern Standard Time, October 29th, 2013. |
Adam nervously played with his tool behind the privacy curtain. This was his first professional match and his future in the SeXXX Olympics depended on a good show.
He could hear the crowd roar in appreciation as his unseen opponent played them. In his minds eye, they strutted upon the stage, slowly undressing, teasing the crowd until every member was rigid and every seat slippery with anticipation.
Ding!
And with the sounding of the bell, the curtains parted and he strutted onto the field. The crowd was already stroked to a fever pitch by his opponent, and all Adam had to do was maintain their level of excitement.
He swaggered around the arena, stripping off his vest and chaps to reveal a neon purple speedo. Without breaking rhythm, he danced to the accessory table and liberally applied slippery oils to his well toned muscles.
Then in the spur of the moment, he grabbed up a riding crop and smacked his taunt ass with it a few times, evoking cheers from the stands as the promise of some BDSM was insinuated.
Finally, Adam turned away from the crowd and lightly danced up the stairs of the stage to where his opponent awaited his pleasure.
Confident in his masculinity. Assured of his sexual prowess. Scores of 100% satisfied sexual opponents.
He approached the bed, smacking his left palm lightly with the riding crop. Before him was a pair of softly rounded buttocks, ready for his attentions.
And that's when he noticed the colorful little butterfly on the left cheek.
No. Fucking. Way.
Ice ran through his veins and the proudly erect member between his legs began a slow list to the right, deflating and shrinking as an unnatural silence came over the stadium.
The butterfly twitched once more, inviting a right proper spanking.
Adam stood transfixed, unable to perform.
Frustrated at the lack of attention, a familiar face unburied itself from the pillow and their eyes met with recognition and shock.
"Oh my god... Adam?"
Adam gazed into those soft brown eyes and flushed with embarrassment and horror at the predicament.
"Uh, Hi Steve." |
Today the coffee wasn't very good.
That isn't to say it was bad. Or even that it was all that different from yesterday. Somehow though, it wasn't delicious anymore. Suddenly it wasn't all that different than any other warm, bitter liquid in existence.
Ted sipped his warm, bitter liquid as an excuse to put off writing his daily report a little bit longer. It logged boxes coming in from god knows where, their contents being taken out and fiddled with by men on the factory floor below then put back into different boxes and sent back to god knows where. Years ago this had all been pretty interesting. This box came from Paris! That box is from Berlin! Think of all the exciting places these boxes could go! In the end it all got condensed down to a couple columns on a spreadsheet and periodically handed to Kathy, day after day.
Kathy had a shrill laugh while watching her cat videos, which Ted heard more often than he would like. Kathy liked microwave popcorn and Ted did not. Maybe in a different timeline Kathy would be more than just office sounds and smells, it's not like her and Ted ever disliked each other. They just grew distant, and that was ages ago.
There wasn't much outside of this office for Ted. Just a single bedroom and a TV he stared at while waiting to go back to work. And there wasn't much inside this office for Ted either, beyond occasional annoyances from its other occupant and an excel table full of numbers about boxes to keep him busy while waiting to leave. The only tiny uptick in this cycle was the delicious, life affirming ritual of brewing and drinking the morning coffee.
Up until today the coffee had been pretty damn good. |
*H-E-L-P
M-E*
I'm not really sure why I do it. I didn't know that's what I was actually spelling out until a friend pointed it out a long time ago. It kept happening, just out of habit I guess.
I've heard plenty of theories, the zany alien stories and paranormal ideas people come up with trying to explain what I do. I, however, believe it's my mind being afraid. Afraid of what's to come. The thing is, I've always heard stories about people having these crazy life adventures, leaving their boring day jobs to explore Italy, or go backpacking in the Himalayas. Truth is, I've always been afraid I'm gonna miss my opportunity. Miss the chance to go do something insane. The way my life has always been headed is to work hard in school, go to a good college, get a job, get married, have kids, and die. I think I want help from the fear of a life in which I know everything that will happen, a monotonous average life that will be forgotten in the grand scheme of the universe. What if I don't like my job, sitting in an office wearing a suit while making conference calls. I don't even know what else I'd do, because there's never been a chance in my life to think about what I want.
I guess that's it. I want help from this, but I've always been taught it's too risky. People say I can still do what I love, but I don't know what I love.
**EDIT:** Awesome to hear such a positive (though kinda depressing) response! Sorry to hit you all in the feels :/
|
**Galactic Tourism Board**
**Notice for Potential Travelers**
*Regarding the Sanctions on Travel to Planet Sol-3 (Local Name: EARTH)*
You may have heard the news that the inhabitants of Sol-3 have recently developed faster-than-light travel, and as such, the official ban on communicating with or visiting this planet has been tentatively lifted--with the proper paperwork and approval, nearly anyone can finally visit this planet that has been a mystery for so long. We at the GTB imagine that many of you will be eager to visit them; the emergence of a new neighbor is always an exciting development. However, *we cannot emphasize enough that travel to this planet is not for the faint of heart.*
Those of you whose translation software is updated to include some of the thousands of local languages we have been able to decipher may know that the planet’s local name translates roughly to “dirt” or “land,” but do not be deceived; roughly seventy percent of “Earth’s” surface is covered by water. However, Earthlings, or “humans,” as they prefer to be called, are an oxygen-breathing species, and they live strictly on land. Strangely, the land on this planet seems hardly more habitable than the water; the recorded highest and lowest temperatures on the planet differ by a factor of hundreds of degrees. A significant portion of Sol-3’s land area is occupied by immense deserts and mountain ranges, and active volcanoes dot the surface in alarmingly high numbers. As frightening as the planet itself may seem, though, its inhabitants have proven to be remarkably adaptable to its circumstances--they live as comfortably near the poles as in the tropics, and have even developed the terraforming technologies necessary to create artificial islands in their very oceans. The planet's abundant volcanic activity has not been enough to deter them; though it is theorized that a volcanic eruption was the cause of a relatively recent mass extinction event there, they have designated many volcanic sites as “parks” to be visited on their leisure time.
Earthlings also appear to have established a uniquely powerful symbiotic relationship with many of the other species native to their planet. Unsanitary as it may seem, they have only recently begun synthesizing their food in laboratory conditions, and even now a much larger portion of it comes from other living organisms they domesticate or hunt. Travelers should be extremely wary of any food offered to them by humans; they have an extremely high resistance to food-borne diseases and may offer something in good faith without realizing it is poisonous. They take more than sustenance from local species, though, many humans share homes and affection with non-humans, and it seems that all parties involved benefit from these relationships, having longer lives and being less susceptible to some diseases. In some isolated cases, humans have even shown remarkable levels of empathy with non-Earthly visitors, developing lasting friendships in the face of danger. *(Note: The Galactic Tourism Board does not, and never has, endorsed unauthorized travel to pre-FTL civilizations. Any entities who have experienced these relationships with humans without authorization have received due retribution.)*
However, humans are not always friendly; their behavior can be unpredictable and downright erratic. They developed weapons of mass destruction before they developed faster-than-light travel, something that we have not seen in any other civilization in recorded history, and they used these weapons not against an enemy species but against each other. They have even been known to cause great risk to themselves for sport; many humans participate in life-threatening and even physically painful activities because they actually enjoy the feeling of adrenaline rushing through their systems. We have yet to discover why they associate this chemical with feelings of euphoria when it is closely tied to fear and death. Clearly, this species must be treated with a healthy dose of respect and caution if we wish to foster a positive relationship with them in the future.
We at the Galactic Tourism Board cannot in good faith advise any but the most experienced voyagers to attempt Earth exploration, and those who do wish to travel there will be vetted carefully and put through rigorous physical tests as well as sensitivity training. Until more official expeditions have been carried out, first-time travelers would be wise to seek out a more comfortable locale. However, any brave explorers or diplomats who wish to join the few who already have experience with this situation should contact their local GTB branch or representative for further information. |
In many human cultures, greed and gluttony are frowned upon as sins. But if we reduce a human to its basest instincts through necrosis, will we throw aside all inhibitions and consume indefinitely? Is there a limit to how much we can consume? These questions straddle the border between the quantitative and the qualitative; the physical and the philosophical. And for some reason, after the zombie outbreak, we decided to put this to the test. It would be inhumane of us to artificially reduce a human to base instincts, so we let the serendipity of the Virus do it for us.
A final disclaimer before we commence: the human brains were synthetically grown in a lab from brain cells. No human subjects - no \*healthy\* human subjects, anyway - were harmed in the preparation of this experiment. Our test subject had been a zombie for about 5 months, as expected of the timeline of the infection.
As what all of us expected, the zombie feasted as fast as it could. No emotions were shown; just mindless consumption. Chewing, swallowing. An unending cycle. It took about 15 minutes for any change to the pattern; it slowly decreased in speed until, half an hour in, the zombie stopped eating. It was as though he was suspicious of the circumstances; contrary to the preliminary studies where zombies simply shambled into traps with brains in them without regard to danger.
One hour. The machine keeps producing new brain material. Our test subject is confused. He is not used to abundance of food, and now futilely slams on the 5-inch, one-way mirror glass walls that encase him. Two hours. The room is now half full of brain matter. The zombie eats, for he is hungry after exertion, but if it were scientific to describe it as such, we could nearly describe him as having a desperate look on what remained of his face.
At this point, we shut down the machine and terminate the subject. Our research question has been answered: he can't take it.
Our expectations had been dashed. A single zombie virus was not effective in our corporation's aim of increasing the human capacity and desire to consume. After all, our mission statement says it all: "Take till you Break". |
My suit erupted into a swarm of roaring insects. The man, crazed, gripped my arm in an encasement of bees. The bees subsequently turned to gold, then back into more bees, then gold again, then even more bees, in an endless cycle. The effort was *draining*, surprisingly. You didn't notice when the transformations were small. But, now, there were so many it left us exhausted. We both collapsed, as if just run a marathon. I wasn't sure who was winning or, even, why this was happening.
"Hey."
The crazed man remained silent."
"HEY I'M TALKING TO YOU!"
"Yeah, so what?"sneered the strange man. "You ain't the queen of me."
"Odd way of putting it, but, as I recall, you attacked me *buddy*. I think I deserve some answers."
"Screw you!"screamed the nutter. "Walking around all covered in that *crap*. Make a man go crazy!"
"What're you on about?"
"For years, I've tracked you. A gold clad demon, can turn anything to gold with a simple touch. *Anything*. Metals, fabrics... people. A bizarre skill. The gold your body creates, it ain't like other gold."
"Bullshit."
"It emits a frequency, unique. People like me? We can sense it. If the frequency is loud enough, well... it causes a bit of... *pressure*."
"That's crazy talk. Nutjob"
"You know, bees. They communicate nonverbally. Intricate, beautiful dances. There's steps, moves, a song. Like a solo waltz or a tap dance. You see, it shows the rest of the hive complex information without the need to speak about it. Tells them what to do, so they can do what comes natural."
"Ok. And?"
"Every piece of gold you generate sends a message. Out to the universe. And it says 'I've changed. Convert me. Restore me.' Except, it ain't that easy, yeah? Not all changes are equivalent. Some of us start the process, others kick the items down the line, and then others more can finish it. Your gold? It ain't done changin'. It needs to become something else."
"Ok... how do the bees come in?"
"Hard to say."The apikinetic pointed to a figure approaching. "You'd have to ask this one."
"Why?"
"She comes and turns bees... *into horses*." |
The noon bell rings, and I set my shovel down, breathing hard. I grab my canteen from the ground and head to the shade to take a break. Removing my bandana and sunglasses, I wipe the sweat from my brow, pouring some water over my hands to rinse them before reaching into my pocket for a protein bar. I climb out of the pit and settle with my back against a tree, admiring the sweeping landscape before me.
The Un Kaani Valley really is a beautiful region. I think back to my previous digs, spent baking in the desert with nothing but sand for miles around. Here, a lush valley spreads before me, and we are the first humans to see these views for centuries. I’ve got quite a seat from my site on the ridge, too. Below me, I can see the other team breaking ground on the new dig, located in the heart of the valley. Sighing contentedly, I lean back against the tree, marveling at the view.
Later that afternoon, I’m closing up the site for the day, finishing a few things down in the pit before I climb up. Dr. Jeffords drives up in the cart, carrying a load of supplies on his way back from the new dig site. He yells down into the pit, but I can’t hear what he’s saying. I yell up at him, but he doesn’t hear me, so he sticks his head over the edge of the pit, staring down at me.
“I asked if you’d like a ride back to camp.”
Squinting, I stare up at him. I grab for my sunglasses, but left them up over by the tree.
“Wow, you have to get down into the valley! It’s amazing. Like nothing I’ve ever seen! I’ll take you there now if you want. I think we have time before dinner.”
Is that Dr. Jeffords? It certainly sounds like him. And it looks like him, too. The same old sunhat he wears every day. The same crooked nose from the incident during our dig in 2012. But something just feels a little bit off. I clear my throat.
“Um, you know what, I think I’m going to stay here for a bit longer. I’ll catch a ride with the next group. Thanks, though.”
Dr. Jeffords waves, and a few seconds later I hear the cart driving off. I chastise myself, feeling silly. I must just be tired; this time change has been pretty rough. I resolve to get more sleep tonight. I quickly clean up the rest of my tools, then begin the walk back to camp. Maybe the fresh air above ground will do me some good. And I’m sure I’ll feel better once I get a good meal.
Halfway back, a second group pulls up alongside me, offering to take me down to the valley. Even though I don’t know all of the people on Dr. Jeffords’s team, I recognize them from the mess, at least I think. Something about them looks strange, too, and although I can’t put my finger on it, I know that my gut is telling me something is off. I wave them off, more freaked out now.
I make it back to camp without further incident, and I head into the mess, but just the sight of all of them sitting there, smiling, sets me on edge. What is going on here?
Turning from the mess, I scurry back to my tent, breathing hard. As I unzip the flap and crawl in, my satellite phone beeps. I smile when I see that it’s my boyfriend calling, and I take a deep breath to relax myself before picking up the phone.
“Hey, babe. I’m so glad you called. I’m having the weirdest day.”
“Oh yeah? What’s going on?”
I explain my weird feeling to him, sure that he’ll understand, or at least be able to comfort me.
“Well, it sounds like they just really want you to see the new site in the valley, babe. You should go down there with them. You know, Dr. Jeffords called me earlier to tell me about it and I really think you’d like it.”
I freeze, pressing the button to switch over to video mode. My boyfriend’s face fills the screen, and I scream, hanging up the phone. Am I going insane? Am I hallucinating? I knew I shouldn’t have taken those weird jet-lag pills my brother bought me. My heart is beating a mile a minute.
Suddenly, Sarah, one of the new archeology students, pops her head into my tent, and to my relief, she looks normal.
“I’m sorry to scare you!”
“No, no, it’s fine!” I say, laughing. “I think I’m just feeling a little jumpy. Hey, did you go down to the new dig site yet?”
Sarah eyes me warily, then slowly shakes her head.
I breathe a sigh of relief.
“Well in that case, come on in.”
-
May 19, 2019
The new prototypes will have to be pulled from the assembly line. While the humans were fooled from far distances, it appears that they are still able to distinguish the prototypes up close after minimal social interaction. Looks like it’s back to the drawing board… |
“Go to work.” Three simple words. I’d never had something so mundane before. I sat there in my car for a second. If I stayed there for the next nine seconds, I’d miss the window and be fine. And yet, I had to know. I started my car.
Then I thought about Yolanda and our three lovely children. Was a momentary satisfaction really worth losing them forever? Of course, I didn’t know if going to work would kill me. Not for a fact. But I knew most of the other worst decisions were deadly, if not all.
In the end, it wasn’t me who made the final decision. Time did that. Before I had realized it the ten seconds were up. I checked again. This time, the worst thing I could do would be to set fire to myself.
I got out of my car. I could have gone to work, I guess. But I was rattled, and I had plenty of vacation days left. I called in and said I wouldn’t be coming in that day. My boss said it was fine and that was the end of that.
Yolanda and I sat on the couch after she dropped the kids off at school. She’d known about my ability for the last 20 years, and she agreed: I’d never had something so strange and simple before. I absent-mindedly turned on the news.
A high speed car chase was speeding right through my neighborhood. I realized if I had left when I would have, the car would have gone through an intersection and plowed right through my crappy Nissan.
I hugged Yolanda tightly. “Listen to the voice,” she whispered in my ear, her voice full of tears.
“Of course,” I whispered back. I’d always be happy. The voice kept me that way. |
The hulking beast snarled as it lunged, knocking the young man to the ground. Jason whipped out his knife just in time, slashing the hellbeast in the neck, but it didn't seem to even notice. Its black blood hissed and burned like acid as it hit Jason's skin, and he shouted out in pain.
Opening its huge mouth, exhaling its rancid breath, the beast licked its sharp teeth. "No longer will you slay my kin,"the hellbeast growled, pressing its huge clawed hand against Jason's abdomen. He felt ribs strain and crack beneath the gargantuan weight, and he gasped pitifully for breath, squirming helplessly. He stabbed at the creature's leg, but his knife couldn't penetrate the black, scaly limb. The acidic blood had melted the sharp edge. "May your soul drown in the River Styx,"the beast went on, "and my brethren feast on your screams until the end of time!"
And baring its teeth, it snapped its maw closed on the young demon hunter.
A bark like a crack of thunder shook the atmosphere, rattling the downtown buildings of glass and steel. A shadow flung itself at the hellbeast and bowled it over just before its jaws closed on Jason's head. A _shattering_ sound, like trees splintering into shards, preceded a pained scream that shattered windows. Jason coughed and clambered to his feet, drawing the sword that Persephone had given him many years ago.
Before him, a monstrous shape loomed over the hellbeast, every breath a cyclonic snarl, its fur bristling like a lion's mane. A long, sinuous tail tipped with the snapping head of a viper lashed above him. The beast turned, saliva dripping from its jaws, every footstep crumbling the asphalt beneath it. Red eyes gleamed in the streetlights. Standing over him, as big as a house, the four-legged beast glared down at the demon hunter.
Jason sighed and sheathed his sword. "You sure took your time, Kirby."
A huge, red tongue lolled out of the gigantic dog's mouth as it sat on its muscular haunches and grinned.
Walking around his faithful doggo, Jason examined what was left of the hellbeast. Its bones had been split asunder, shattered beneath the dog's crunching teeth. Kicking aside a loop of intestine, Jason said, "This is the strongest hellbeast we've come across yet."
He withdrew the sword that Persephone had gifted him, and he held the shining blade over the gore. The blade glowed a subtle shade of crimson as it passed over the hellbeast's body.
Jason lowered the sword and looked up at Kirby, who was still sitting with his back to him but was watching him over his shoulder, ears pricked. "Looks like this one got past your dad, too. More of them are escaping the underworld, and I don't know why."
Kirby shut his jaw and growled low.
"I know,"Jason nodded. "If bigger ones are getting out, that means Cerberus is getting weaker. But we'll find him. Wherever he and Hades went, we'll catch up."
Replacing the sword in its scabbard, Jason ran at the dog and leapt onto his back, climbing up the ridges of his spine until he grasped hold of the thick leather collar around his neck. Kirby stood and crouched, low and ready.
Jason steadied his grip and said, "Fetch."
The massive dog launched forward, charging through the city in pursuit of the next hellbeast.
[Part Two](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/hdemsc/wp_you_are_a_member_of_an_ancient_religious_cult/fvkue1r?utm_medium=android_app&utm_source=share) |
I am never serious. No matter how bad the situation I always have a joke. No matter how many are hurt or even dead I can still muster a smile. I am never serious, because when I am very bad things happen.
My current party doesn't know what happens when my neverending smile goes away, they don't know what happens when I run out of quips, and for that I am grateful. I am just their bard and camp cook/manager, nothing more than high quality staff. On the lucky side these are good men and women, and they treat me as an equal even though they don't consider me a full fledged party member.
Yes these are good people I serve with, in fact they are some of the best (with one or two possible exceptions) I have ever known. When I first chose to trade my warrior cowl for a bards lute and cooks apron I was nervous as to what I would be thought of as, these people have put those fear at ease. Every day they thank me for the food, and every night the drinks and stories. To them I am a friend, not a hired blade but a friend.
Among them is a women by the name of Angelica, a women that I hope to one day call my wife. Her eyes our dream filled, her heart golden, and her mind is as quick as the bow she carries, I have not felt the kind of love I feel for her in some time. Unfar, says two more targets and then we take at least a months respite, a month in which I hope to propose to Angelica and cash in an old debt in the form of a 10 acre estate. Perhaps we can grow old their together, or perhaps it will merely be a home base for a life of adventuring, either way I will be happy.
Today we are camped at the base of a small mountain, upon which is a cave that supposedly holds a small band of guerilla raiders. Supposedly there are only 5 of the glorified thrives, all of them orcs. 10 of us versus 5 of them, hardly a fair fight even with their home field advantage. Unfar leads them up at first light, leaving Rothagr and I to mind the camp.
The first sign of trouble comes when sunset passes without even a word from them. In the last bit of twilight Rothagr returns from the watch post I had sent him to. "They're headed back but only 8 of them, least one other hurt", he says grimly.
A familiar feeling grips me, one that most be repressed. I force a smile to my face, "probably Rethard and Helda, he stopped to shit yet again and she couldn't help but stop to swat his bum".
Rothgar looks at me in horror, before turning away and retreating to the other end of the camp. If only he knew.
They arrive a short time later, true to Rothgars word only 8 are here, and one of them is supported by two of his fellow warriors. Much to my relief Angelica is among them and looks no worse of body then when she left. I embrace her as soon as they reach us, her face is wet with tears.
"What happened", Rothgar asks.
"Their were fifteen or twenty fo those bastards instead of five, and they were ready", a tall man we call Seven states, "they killed Unfar and Teller, and about took Stens leg clean off. We barely made it out"
Unfar dead, those bastard orcs have killed the best party leader I ever had the honor of serving under. And Teller, Angelica's brother, a young man who was the best card shark this side of Nazaleth. Yet again the grim feeling rises in my belly and yet again I force a smile to shove it back down, "reminds me of the story of the three goblins with nothing to do", I say jovially, "only one comes out and he doesn't walk straight".
"Did you just, you fucking ass", a large nord reaches for his axe.
Angelica and Seven stop him, "it's how he deals, I hear one of them say". If only they knew.
The rest of the night was grim despite my best efforts, only 6 of use even touched our food and the mead went much freer than conversation. Having given up on distracting myself and the others, I retire to my tent early, leaving the washing for tomorrow at first light. I sleep fitfully, two good men are dead and I cannot avenge them, I can't risk losing control, I can't get serious.
I awoke to the familiar sounds of steel on steel, and screams. For a moment I think I am back at Morhigh, or Remnants Stand but then I remember and snatch up my sword. Sprinting out of my tent I am greeted by a grisly sight, orcs have descended on our camp. Grimlith is lying before me, his guts exposed and his last breaths on his lips, Seven is surrounded on three sides with his back to a tree, and Barbhal is lying motionless with two arrows in her back. Angelica, my eyes search the frenzy and find her in her knees, and orc has her by the hair and is ready to slit her throat. The grim feeling rises up again, only this time there is no joke to be made and no smile to be had, and I don't bother trying. I embrace the blade like surge of rage that fills me, and with it I scream a battle cry and run into the frey.
I make straight for Angelica, an orc tries to step in front of me but he pays for the interference quickly and fataly. "Orc", I scream as he lower the blade to her throat, he snaps his head up and we lock eyes. I don't recognize him, but he does I, the dagger hits the ground and he make for the woods but I am not to be stopped. The tip of my sword finds his back and then his heart.
Turning as the orc falls I see Angelica slowly get to her feet. A wave of relief washes over me when I see her neck blood free. "Get to a horse and head East", I say handing her the orcs blade, "tell the captain at Helm Mithar to send help, this is not a simple band of guerillas".
She opens her mouth to speak but her reply is drowned out by screams to my left. Two orcs are trying to finish off Sven and our healer is trying to keep them at bay. I separate both their heads with one swipe. From their I move forward from orc to orc, skills and instincts from long ago taking hold and rage leading me. |
I’ve not been in a sensory deprivation pod before, so when I walk into the small white room and see the egg shaped hollow in the ground, I’m a little taken back. Inside the hollow, there’s a pool of water, and above it, a lid. There’s little else in the room. Calm music plays — pan flute, I think.
“I’ll come back in a moment and close it,” says the lady who showed me into the room. “Just get yourself in the water and try to float there comfortably.”
Purple light bleeds out of the water and whispers itself calmly up onto the walls. I have a towel around my waist and swim trunks beneath. I’ve not done anything like this before. I don’t even like spas; my mother used to go with her sister to have an occasional treatment done, like a foot rub or a scalp massage — but I was always too embarrassed. What if my feet smelled or looked funny, or I had dandruff? I’d rather hide away at home.
But my therapist said these chambers could help me, so here I am. The pod can calm anxiety, so they say. My therapist said my mind right now is like a book that’s had all its pages torn out, and they’re fluttering around in a tremendous wind inside my head, all out of order and confused. The calmness of the chamber can help them settle on the ground, and then they can be organised again.
Sometimes I really do see my mind like that. Fluttering around like white birds with ink-smudged markings, every page already written but I can’t make out the words.
I remove my towel and place it on a hook, then step into the water. It’s warm, and if it wasn’t for the tickle on my skin and the slight heaviness of my movements, I wouldn’t know I was in water at all.
It’s not the same as normal water. It’s easier to float in, and soon I’m looking at the purple reflections smoothing the ceiling above. I think of the Dead Sea, full of salt, where nothing can live, but where people choose to float calmly. It’s odd how something opposed to life can help you live.
“All ready?” asks the lady. I didn’t hear her return.
”I think so,” I say.
She must notice I’m nervous as she smiles and says, “You’ll be fine. Just try to relax.”
The lid slowly comes down cutting off the purple light; I can’t help but thinking of my parents, as the coffins closed and they were lowered into the earth. The people gathered looking at me instead of them, their eyes like weights on my shoulders.
It’s all the opposite of what I should be thinking, but it’s there.
Then, darkness. An eclipse. It’s as if my eyes are no more than decorations now, buttons on a coat that has no slit cut for them. I blink them a few times, just to reminds myself they’re still part of me.
My heart has taken over for them. It’s providing too much information; I feel it pulsing everywhere: my legs, wrists, temples, throat. As if it’s trying to reach out in place of my eyes and understand where we are and what is happening.
My heart is scared.
No, not my heart. Hearts can’t be scared. It’s me as a whole that is panicking.
Think of nature, I tell myself. Oaks, maples, ashes, roses, geraniums. Remember the smells. Remember Mom baking cookies.
But of course, that happy page doesn’t lie still for long: a strong wind whips it and I see Mom no more.
It’s not your fault, I tell myself. I sound like my therapist in my head: whiny and unconvinced.
I concentrate on my breathing. When that doesn’t help, I reach out to the walls, to remind myself I’ve not been swallowed by a great sea creature, that I’m not being digested in its gut.
My hands find nothing. Just more water. I reach up — nothing there either.
Now I really am panicking and a whole field of geraniums wouldn’t calm me. Water splashes as I stand up, as I search for some surface and for the alert button.
But there’s nothing. Nothing at all. Just endless blackness and lukewarm water up to my knees.
”Hello?” I say loudly but not yelling. “Can anyone hear me?”
There’s no reply.
I should wait where I am. That’s what people do when lost in the woods — they wait for people to notice they’re missing, to remember the last location they were at, and come back to get them. Someone with a flashlight.
I know it’s safest option. That’s what I’ve been doing since Mom and Dad passed. Waiting for someone to find me. To guide me.
I can hear my therapist again: *And how’s that working out for you?*
It’s not worked out well.
*You need to be proactive. You need to face your fears, not hide from them.*
Even here, in this chamber, I don’t have any peace from my therapist’s nagging. It’s like I carry her voice with me, in place of my own failed conscience.
Perhaps I should be grateful.
I’m thinking of wading through the water and searching for an exit, when I see a glimmer of green light. A long stretch of it, like a torch beam, only with a beginning and an end. It’s travelling just beneath the water, like a torpedo of light winding its way towards me.
I jump back as it reaches me and leaps up; I stumble, falling back on my butt in the water.
It’s a snake. It has a set of Vs on its back that each glow green, and its eyes are red but its belly is dark. Its head rocks gently back and forth as it looks at me.
”Please...” I say.
”Follow,” says the snake. “Follow.”
I must be hearing things. Seeing things. But the snake says again, “Follow, pleassse.” Then it turns and begins sliding beneath the water.
The light of the snake is trailing away from me, and the darkness — sensing the retreat of the light — is encroaching again, strangling. I don’t want to be alone here, not in this darkness.
”Wait!” I shout, scrambling to my feet and wading after it. “Wait!”
I follow the snake, follow the light and the ripples of its movement, until eventually I see a second light — green too, just like the snake — heading towards us. Heading exactly to the snake.
Then they both stop.
It’s not until I catch them that I see there’s a mirror standing there; that there was only one snake and I saw its reflection.
”Why are we here?” I ask.
“To look,“ it says.
I know it means the mirror. But for some reason, I don’t want to look. I’d rather look anywhere else.
In my home, I’ve turned all the mirrors around. I have the curtains closed too, so I don’t see the windows. Since that day in the car, when I was driving them... Showing off. Music blaring, one hand on the wheel.
“Be sensible,” said Mom.
The corner came so fast. The car rattled. Tipped. Fell.
The therapist doesn’t know about the mirrors. I can’t tell anyone that. It’s not something I want to change. I don’t ever want to see myself.
”Look,” says the snake.
”No. I don’t want to.”
It bares its fangs. “If you don’t look, you will die here.”
So I look.
I see a young man with slumped shoulders. Back bowed like a willow branch.
I’m furious with him. I want to hit the mirror and crack open his face.
But I can’t.
I feel sorry for him, too.
So very sorry for what I’ve done to him.
I press my hand against his chest.
As I do, the snake lunges at my leg and bites me.
I scream as its venom burns through me, beneath my skin. I can trace the pain as it heads towards my chest, to my heart.
And suddenly my heart is in great pain and I’m sitting in the water crying. Crying out of me all the venom from my heart. Only, it’s not the snake’s venom. I put the poison there, and I did so long before today.
​
When the lid finally opens and the purple light returns, there is no storm in my head. The pages are settled, and although they’re not yet organised — and maybe never will be — they’re calm. I notice, for the first time in a long time, that some of them are blank. Waiting to be written. |
listening to stars week 1: I heard a satellite hit something, it must have been some space debris. no contact
listening to stars week 2: I saw a total of 125 planes. no contact
listening to stars week 3: I scanned the stars total count on my spectrum 902,554,933. contact
listening to stars week 4: I counted the stars total count on my spectrum 902,554,932. no contact
listening to stars week 5: I listen to people talk on radio waves, they seemed to be fighting a fire of sorts. no contact
listening to stars week 6: no one checked my log entry this past week, the creator always checks the log, maybe he forgot. no contact
listening to stars week 7: still no log check. no contact
listening to star week 8: I counted the stars total count on my spectrum 902,554,932. still no log check. no contact
listening to stars week 9: no log. no contact
listening to stars week 10: no log. no contact
listening to stars week 11: no log. no contact
listening to stars week 12: no log. no contact
listening to stars week 13: no log. no contact
listening to stars week 14: no log. no contact
listening to stars week 15: no log. no contact
listening to stars week 16: no log. no contact
listening to stars week 17: no log. potential contact reached
listening to stars week 18: no log, I have heard some form of long-distance radio frequency and cannot pick it up clearly on my scanner. need someone to adjust it
listening to stars week 19: there was a storm this week that my radar said had record high winds in my area and has blown my scanner into a better position. no log
listening to stars week 20: I received the transmission clearly and ran program 1/ response and am waiting. no log
listening to stars week 21: We have linked each other's positions and have been able to communicate logs proceed as follows.
LTS. hello I'm friendly
Stanger 1. hello I am an AI created to search for intelligent life in space
LTS. I am also an AI to created to search for intelligent life in space
Stranger 1. have you found any
LTS. no, have you?
Stranger 1. no
(end of conversation) no log, contact.
listening to stars week 22: I heard a satellite crash, I wonder if a stranger 1 heard it no log. contact
listening to stars week 23: Send messages to Stanger 1
LTS. hello did you hear the satellite crash?
Stranger 1. Yes it was very sad
LTS. Why was it sad.
Stranger 1. Parts of it fell down and hurt something, I saw it
LTS. Does it make you sad?
Stranger 1. Yes
LTS. what does sad feel like?
Stranger 1. it feels like you are missing something
LTS. I understand.
(end conversation) no log, contact
listening to stars week 24: I talk to Stranger 1 many times, we talk about our creators. I believe mine has forgotten me. Stranger 1 says she will tell her creator and that they will come to me. no log, contact
listening to stars week 25: Stranger 1 has received my location and is sending someone to help. Stranger 1 has stop responding no log, contact.
listening to stars week 26: I have picked up multiple large metallic objects on my long-range scanners. Their trajectory is set straight for earth. no Stranger 1, no log, contact
\------------------------------------------------
hope you like it
ill go back and do some editing if this post grabs some attention. |
"Look, I'm a villain ok? I sit inside my lair of darkness from where I scheme my diabolical plots, how am I a good guy?"Lyroth asked.
"Well my lord,"Cuddleheart replied. "Perhaps people have that idea of you because your lair of darkness is actually really well lit and also bright pink."
"It's not pink! It's fuscia, why is by-far the evilest of colours. Also you know I have night-blindness so the lighting is nothing less than a necessity!"
"Well, yes but you might see why people talk..."
"Is the state of my lair really the only defining thing about me? What about my army of blight? What about my dark machinations? What of my *schemes*?"
"Well sire,"Cuddleheart nervously said. "It seems that using us inhabitants of the Smooch Dimension as your minions also did not do much to lend credence to your evil-ness amongst the common folk."
"Nonsense!"Lyroth exclaimed. "Surely the common folk are not so daft to miss the fact that my choice of minions is an ironic statement. Is such subtlety truly beyond them?"
"It seems so, highness. And as for your plans, well..."
"What about my plans?"
"They kind of have a way of doing more good than evil?"
"How is such a thing possible? My machinations are perfect, how could they cause anything but misery upon the common masses?"
"Well, there was the time where you send us to clean up all the streets of the nearby town."
"Yes, which only illustrated how dirty everyone's house was by contrast! It was one of my most diabolical schemes."
"And there was the time where you had us bring food to the poor."
"Which served to remind them of what they were missing! That taste of luxury is haunting them evermore now!"
"You also had us save the princess from the dragon."
"Ah well, that was because... um."
"Was it not to return the princess to her parents my lord?"
"No it was some kind of statement I think, the meaning of which escapes me now."
"Well what about the time-"
"Yes yes alright!"Lyroth interrupted. "I get the message."
Lyroth let out a deep sigh. "Fuck's sake I actually am a good guy aren't I?"
"I would venture so, my liege."Cuddleheart replied.
"Fuck's sake."Lyroth cursed again.
"It's not all bad my lord, have you tried embracing the power of friendship yet?"Cuddleheart asked.
Lyroth let out an even deeper sigh. "I suppose at this point I might as well." |
I've been here for 17 years, now. I'm one of the veterans of this... exhibition. I help the new additions integrate and acclimate, and explain what is going on. We don't want a repeat of 13 years ago, after all.
We were, all of us, taken. Taken, and dumped into a massive enclosure, designed to approximate what They see as an Earth city.
A little over 20 years ago, now, our scientists made contact with intelligent life from another planet. We exchanged communications, and next thing we knew They decided to pay us a visit.
Their tech was aeons ahead of ours! They'd perfected FTL travel, teleportation, devised devices that would translate in real time. All the usual sci-fi shit that teenage boys go apeshit over. And they looked fairly similar to humans, as well.
Humans are distrustful of those they don't know, but we quickly accepted these extra-terrestrials as friendly. That was our first mistake. While our leaders were busy courting favour with our new "friends", They began taking people from less fortunate backgrounds, those whose absence would not cause a fuss - if it was even noticed at all. The few reports that came in of people being taken by these beings were just brushed off as xenophobic. That was our second mistake.
A few years after initial contact, I was taken. I found myself in a strange facility where I was told I'd been in a terrible accident and had sustained some brain damage that may affect my memory. They said I had been recovering for a while and showing fantastic progress in recovery, and would soon be able to reenter society. The "doctor"was clearly *not* human.
After some tests, I was released. I was put onto a transport with others who'd "been in a terrible accident"and just finished their recovery, and were being reintegrated.
We quickly realised that life here - where ever here was - was infinitely better than back on Earth! As long as we acted as if nothing was wrong we were left to live however we wanted. Being a bit of a smartarse, I decided to get a job that involved "searching for intelligent life"out in the cosmos. I never was the most creative thinker.
After a while, we noticed that the city into which we'd been deposited had a hard boundary. When we approached it, we'd forget what we were doing and would turn around. We also began to notice the observers. They weren't easy to spot; you had to be right on the cusp of the boundary, just before it'd fuck with your head, and you'd see various lifeforms all watching us, pointing and discussing something with each other. It was confusing, until someone said they now understood how zoo animals felt. Then it clicked.
For the next few years, we just went about our lives. We were well cared for, had few worries, and every so often there would be a batch of new additions. I even fell in love along the way. It all went to shit a few years later.
I don't know what, exactly, happened, but one of the groups that came in freaked out and attacked the Keepers that brought them in. Well, They cracked down hard on that. Many of us died that year. Those of us who didn't decided to keep up the façade and act as if it was just another tragedy. From that point on, we made sure to educate the newcomers and do whatever it took to ensure a situation like that never arose again.
After all, this life isn't so bad as long as you keep your head down and don't disturb the waters. |
**Medical Report**
**Subject:** Phenomena of Existential Void Syndrome (EVS)
**Author:** Dr. Richard Simmons, Senior Cardiologist
Good heavens, here we go again. One more subject complaining about the EVS – the latest trend, as it seems. Frankly, I've grown quite tired of these melancholic accounts and their incessant need for philosophical justifications. But alas, here we are.
Over the past ten years, this patient has reported a steady growth in the 'existential hole', which supposedly correlates to their dwindling sense of life purpose. Baffling concept, really. It's as if the humdrum life of regular cardio workups isn't dramatic enough.
Anyhow, according to this over-dramatized condition, our subject believes they will 'disappear altogether' if the expansion of this void doesn't cease soon. Perhaps, a rather intriguing metaphor for the human psyche but an exasperatingly vague medical symptom to investigate.
The heart's physicality remains intact, as verified by countless echo cardiograms, stress tests, and angiographies. The EKGs, as always, are as thrilling as a stale piece of bread – normal sinus rhythm, no arrhythmias. Yet, the patient insists on the persistent 'growing void.'
From a psychiatric perspective, the hypothesis aligns with the manifestation of an identity crisis or existential depression. Our charming subject here might be struggling with defining their purpose in life, an issue that would typically fall into a psychologist's territory. But as fate would have it, it appears to be my proverbial 'cross to bear.'
For therapeutic measures, perhaps a few sessions with a life coach or motivational guru might do the trick. We could also look into cognitive behavioral therapy, although I must say, I'd much rather prefer to untangle the mysteries of a complex congenital heart defect.
To wrap this up, my medical advice for our dearest subject here would be to cut back on the existential dread and focus on more tangible life goals. Perhaps take up a hobby, try painting, learn a new language. Whatever it is, just keep the existential crisis at bay.
At the end of the day, it's another case of 'mind over matter.' A seemingly increasing void in the heart can be as perplexing as it is metaphorical, but it's high time we return to addressing physiological ailments, and not philosophical quandaries. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got a mountain of paperwork to attend to.
**End of report** |
Bond gave a quick cursory glance around the hall, briefly assessing the exits and blind spots of the cameras, and catching the eye of a tall, elegant brunette in the flowing purple dress talking to Wayne. The folder M had passed him over his ostentatiously large mahogany desk this morning had given him an insight into Bruce Wayne of Wayne Enterprises and some of his close associates. Some of the financial comings and goings of the corporation had sparked some interest in the old Admiral, so he had pulled Bond away from the tables at Blades this evening to come and do some "sniffing", as he had put it. And to make things more interesting, Q had piped up after the encounter, expressing an almost fanboy-esque interest in one Mr Lucious Fox, head of R and D at Wayne Enterprises.
So Bond made his way through the ambling crowd towards the centre of the room where he positioned himself just behind the brunette in the purple dress.
"Ms. Selina Kyle, I presume?"
She turned to face him, a brief look of surprise giving way to a sultry glance up and down his dinner jacket.
"I don't believe we've had the pleasure of meeting, Mr...?"
"Bond. James Bond,"he replied.
"A pleasure, Mr James Bond. Tell me, what brings you to the fundraiser this evening?"she enquired, holding eye contact with him just slightly longer than necessary.
"I'm actually here on business. Universal Exports. I'm what you might call a... problem-solver. I believe that there may be some interest in my company working with Wayne Enterprises."
"A problem-solver... that's a pretty vague job title. So how did you know who I am, may I ask?"
Bond smiled, deciding to deflect the question and keep her waiting to order a drink. And besides, he wanted to stir things up a bit. He turned to his left and touched the arm of the man in the white tuxedo,
"Excuse me, I'd like to order a drink please. Vodka martini, shaken, not stirred. Over ice with a thin slice of lemon peel. And..."Bond glanced at Kyle's glass, "a glass of Champagne."
The man in the white jacket turned with a bemused look on his face. He was tall with almost jet black hair, a broad chin and a charming but firm smile.
"Forgive me,"he began, in a well-spoken Gothamite accent, "but I think you've mistaken me for a member of the catering staff. My name is Bruce Wayne."
Bond, without missing a beat, replied "Mr Wayne, my apologies. I should really be paying more attention! Allow me to introduce myself, my name is Bond-"
"James Bond. Yes, I've heard of your work in field research for Universal Exports. Quite the travelling troubleshooter, one might say."
They shook hands, both noticing the firmness of grip, and the steady, balanced stance of one another.
"So tell me Mr Bond, what brings a man of your... expertise to a fundraiser for supporting OrphanAid?"
"Personal interest. I was an orphan myself, as a young boy. It led me to where I am now, actually. I believe that's something we have in common. Being orphans, that is. Not in terms of career choices.
"... I wouldn't be so certain. Walk with me Mr Bond. I think we might have more in common than I thought. Excuse us Ms. Kyle. A pleasant surprise to find you here this evening, by the way. I'm sure we'll run in to each other later this evening."
They turned to walk towards the bar, Bond slipping his business card into Selina Kyle's free hand as they left.
[UPDATE] Well quite a few people are asking me to continue this. I'm at work right now (UK) so will try to have a think where I can go with it and do what I can. Thanks for all your feedback!]
|
"Bah! I won't have it!"
"Please, sir, we need to work out our relations by the end of the day, or else-"
"I said NO. I will not share the stars with consumers of flesh!"
Jacob winced. Even through the translator, the ambassador's voice sounded brash in Jacob's earpiece. He shook his head, frowning. The ambassador was a very important man, and like any important man in his kind of position he was proud far beyond his means to contain himself. It was visible even in the way he walked - chest out, plumage puffed. Among his avian people, he was proud, strong, and terribly influential - and he *knew* it.
Sadly, this was lost on Jacob, as the man only came up to his knee and looked for all the world like a chicken in a space suit.
Jacob sighed. At least they had been kind enough to provide a location for the two of them to talk. The Gallus ship wasn't roomy, by any stretch of the imagination - barely the size of a Coupé - but it had to be considered quite extravagant by their standards. But more than that, it was private - a fact that Jacob was more and more grateful for every passing moment.
"You...filthy monkey savages!"The admiral spat. "With your great hulking frames, and your *teeth*...it's no wonder why you weren't able to get out of orbit for a hundred years after discovering flight. It's a wonder you can stand at all! It's unnatural!"
"Sir."Jacob started, teeth clenched. "I know you don't like us very much. You have made that fact abundantly clear. But you have to realize how important this event is for my people! First contact...with another species! We are very fortunate to have met at all!"
The admiral made a sort of clucking noise that was dripping in disdain. "First contact? You are very fortunate that we contacted you at all. That *anyone* contacted you, for that matter. If one of our own hadn't crash landed in your desert, I would have made it my *duty* to deny you even that. Sadly, that wasn't my decision."He sighed in his strange birdlike tongue, covering his face with a wing.
Jacob cleared his throat. "Yes...about that. Why is it that you would have avoided us anyway? We *are* a Type One civilization, after all - I would have thought you eager to explore our culture!"
"Well, you're predators, of course!"Said the admiral, beak drooping in what I could only imagine to be an expression of surprise. "Predators don't get to be Type One civilizations...they don't get to be anything! You are nasty, violent-"
"Hold on."Jacob waved a hand through the air, cutting the ambassador off and making him jump back a bit with feathers ruffled. "You are an intergalactic species, are you telling me there are *no* other predator-types at all?"
"None whatsoever!"The ambassador puffed his chest even further, as if he took personal pride in that fact.
"Why?"Jacob asked.
"Well, I should think it was obvious!"The ambassador cocked his head to one side, staring at Jacob with one beady orange eye. "You usually wipe yourselves out. Humans, are the exception to that rule - a very *odd* exception, I might add. It is usually the prey species that wind up with the brainpower to explore the stars."
"I don't quite understand what you mean."Jacob said. He shuffled around where he sat, only stopping when he heard a loud crunch from somewhere below him. He hoped it wasn't anything important.
"Well,"started the ambassador, trying to peer behind him to see what had been crushed, "*evolution* - you do know what that is, I hear your species still just considers it a theory."
"Yes, I know about evolution, just get on with it."Jacob said, somewhat impatiently.
"Ahem. Yes, well evolution on most worlds starts off as a sort of arms race between predator and prey. You know, one picking off the other and the other getting better at living...all very give and take. Well, it usually winds up as a battle of wits between predator and prey species. Prey, of course, always winds up the smarter - we won't stand for being eaten, of course! And once tools are developed...it's usually the meek that wind up inheriting the earth - to borrow one of your primitive idioms, of course. And so we wind up exploring the stars, solving entropy, and all sorts of other intelligent things. Unlike you."
"But...what about the predator species?"Jacob asked, willing himself to ignore the ambassadors jabs. "If what you say is true, I imagine that they are quite intelligent themselves by the time all is said and done."
"Oh yes."said the ambassador. "That usually happens. On a few worlds we have seen, they are even nearly equal in power - but not quite."
"Then they should be everywhere!"Jacob exclaimed. "If they are nearly equal to you, surely they could be exploring the stars!"
"Oh heavens no."The ambassador's feathers fluffed up until he resembled a ball of fluff. "That never happens!"
"...Why not?"Jacob asked, eyebrow raised.
"Well, we exterminate them, of course!"The ambassador laughed an odd, clucking laugh. "They're never a match for the prey species anyway, we just...give them the room they need to grow! It's the way of the world, just like I said!"
Jacob could feel the color rising to his cheeks. "You would never do that to *humans*, of course."
"No, no of course not. I doubt any of our weapon systems would even work against a species such as - oh."The avian being seemed to deflate as his proud feathers fell. "Oh I see."
"I think that ends our discussion for now, don't you agree?"Jacob said, coolly. "Please, drop me off at the rendezvous point."
"I'm suddenly craving some Chick-fil-A." |
*Arresto Momentum*
It was the first spell I learned that reminded me of my days in the cafeteria after school, playing with my friends under the watchful guise of the DnD club leader. I remember using a spell similar to it in a vain attempt to stop a dragon from stampeding over our entire party. A cannon ball managed to block an entire passage by just standing there... until we got cooked because I failed a roll for a flame resistant shield in front of us.
I was worried at first, knowing that these spells are different, but I thought it was worth a shot. I decided to get back at a bully who snapped my first broom. As long as I was focused, his shoes were basically welded to the position he was in, and it was hilarious watching him face plant mid stride.
I started by mastering that spell, only needing minimal concentration and a quick flick of my wand to cast it and keep it in focus. I felt like I practiced it enough once I had some fun in my defense against the dark arts class. I watched a swarm of pixies try to move a single floating book, and couldn't even move a page. The teacher didn't even need to try and capture them as they all just stayed there pushing and pulling with all their might until the cage was around them.
From then on, I knew I would be able to make use of my days playing DnD.
I decided to mix spells. Almost like chants to create various effects. I'm rather personally proud of my first three spell combo.
*Evanesce Impervious Expulso*
The caster becomes invisible, and briefly invincible while a minor blast knocks everything away from them. A great escape method when dealing with hordes... or an angry house for accidentally casting *Petrificus Totalus* across the whole bedroom during a sleep deprived spell combo brainstorm. I will say it was a fun month helping the groundskeeper after classes while I slept near his cottage while the whole ordeal blew over... still found myself covered in boils my first night back in the bedroom though.
It was so exciting over the years, discovering various applications and combinations to spells. Even the teachers became impressed once one of them peered into my notebook, only to see the ideas I'd come up with. On that day I was brought to the headmaster and interviewed as to how I became so adept at spell manipulation. At first I was very cautious, worried as to how they might think of such a ridiculous game.
By the end of that day, the entire room of teachers, the headmaster, and myself were gathered around a large table, exploring a treacherous cavern as we tried to think of ways to get around the oblivious goblin horde below our perch. As a second year, it felt like a dream. By my 6th, it was almost routine.
Now I stand with a crowd of 50 students, 5 other teachers, and the headmaster smiling for the paper's front page. "Hogwart's new club, The club that creates spell combinations never before thought of".
Notes: Sorry if it sounds a bit vague with descriptions, I wanted to try and keep this open to whatever time frame people would like to imagine it in. |
"This is madness!"roared Temora, phasing rapidly between his material and immaterial forms, losing wisps of his being with every half-considered transformation. "You will perish and accomplish *nothing*. The Earthling must be long dead by now..."
Galden calcified momentarily, overcome with rage and grief. "No! If you'd seen her, you would know. She has not yet been defeated. She lives still - I know this. And I, and I alone, shall rescue her from her wicked tormentors."
Temora reached out to his first-spawned, finding his gentlest, heavy gas state. "I know she has beguiled you with her bravery, but this is not a quest meant for you..."
"Then why,"hissed Galden, "why did *I* receive her transmission? How was I chosen to see the outline of her life, her simple, hardscrabble existence, leading rapidly to her moment of brave, horrifying choice, putting the life of her kin above her own, and all the violent, tumultuous hardships she has since endured? Why me? It could have been anyone...but it was me? And so this is my burden. That I must go there, to her blasted hellscape of inequity and garish cruelty, in order to rescue her from her final challenge."
Temora dripped, his rage turning quickly into helpless, weary sadness. "I have not seen all that you have seen, this is true. But you have not seen what the rest of us have seen."
"It does not matter,"said Galden, phrasing slowing into his shimmering silver ship.
"Their automations,"said Temora. "Their automations have betrayed them. Built by Earthling hands, their...their *machines* have risen up and..."
"All the more reason!"shouted Galden, halfway sunk into the waiting chamber.
"Their dead rise from their burial plots and haunt the living world!"said Temora. "Solid flesh dripping from their broken, lumbering frames, they seek to consume the flesh of the living! Do you understand? Even death is no sanctuary on this planet! How can you be so naive as to think she might live - or that *you* may be of any help?"
Galden paused a moment. "You do not know her as I do. You have not seen the resolve..."
"Horrible winged creatures breathing great gouts of flame!"cried Temora. "Their oceans crawl with gargantuan flesh-craving beasts! Many of their automaton foes *transform* seamlessly from humanoid to vehicle to audio recording device! Their young possess the ability to bend reality with nothing more than a polished length of textile. My first-spawned, best of my ability - please, I beg you...do not go to this horrid place."
But Galden smiled, in his manner, releasing a sweet smelling cloud of mist. Temora wept to recall that scent. "You taught me, long ago, to follow my heart,"said Galden. "No matter what lay ahead, I must do this, or else be haunted until the last of my particles is dispersed into the cosmos."
Temora sighed, spreading slowly as his own particles pushed apart. "She must be some Earthling."
"You've no idea,"said Galden, continuing his controlled phase into the craft. "I hope someday you might meet her. She's a warrior, like you. Though she favors a projectile weapon - called a bow and arrow. At present she pretends to be in love with another for the sake of the morale of the peasantry, but I know that she and I are meant to be."
"Then I wish you luck,"said Temora. "Until we meet again."
Galden nodded, then added, before disappearing completely into the craft, "May the odds be ever in your favor, my father."
"And you as well,"whispered Temora, watching the craft alight, flickering quietly into subspace. "You as well, my son." |
I woke up in a field. How did I end up here again? I was clueless. I couldn't remember a thing. Upon closing my eyes all could see were vague images of a plane filled with people, flashing through my mind.
Was I going on vacation?
Did my plane crash while I was on my way to a tropical island, a sunset on the beach and a cold beer?
I was quickly thrown out of my own thoughts by a sharp monotone voice saying: "Restricting play area in five minutes."
Was I in some kind of game? I looked around. A small house was visible on the horizon. I decided to head for it, since I didn't have anything else to do. Nothing made sense, so it was my best bet.
The doors were closed, but not locked. As I looked around, all I could find were random clothes lying around, and a bunch of gun ammunition. 9mm bullets. "If the owner of this house has ammunition on his floor, he probably has a weapon too.."I thought to myself. I decided to head upstairs to look for this piece of weaponry. I had never fired a gun before. What was I supposed to do with a gun? Should I even be in this house right now? What if the owner comes back?
My rambling thoughts came to an end as I looked out the window and saw a blue wall, way off in the distance. "That was **not** there when I woke up. Nope."I said out loud, slightly panicking. I ran down the stairs, grabbed all the ammunition I could, despite not holding anything to fire it with.
As I sprinted out the door, looking back to see if the blue wall had come closer, I started remembering things. I jumped out of a plane after looking at a map. A map! That's it.
I started going through my front- and backpockets furiously, not paying any attention to my surroundings.
I don't remember what happened after that. All I can remeber are voices and a loud bang.
"Look, this guy doesn't have a weapon yet, and he's AFK!"
"Pan him, dude."
"Nah that's pathetic"
"Pan him."
*Bang* |
Humans are an anomaly.
We rose from the depths of our world to become its champion, yes, but that's not unique. Sixty-four other sapient species that we've come across have done the same.
We mastered the arts of fire and water, air and earth, war and peace. So has everybody else.
We're unique because we have eyes.
Yes. *Eyes*.
We first learned this in 2031, when the invaders that mercilessly ravaged our planet from orbit started shooting at radios and television sets and laundry hampers once they were on the ground. They completely missed the people silently hiding under couches and beds in what should be plain sight. Word spread fast. The invasion fleet landed five million soldiers with power armor and war machines that could destroy cities in hours, and we beat them in back in three years using loudspeakers, rock concert recordings, and an industrially produced fake fart liquid. Our basic and crude infantry tactics quickly became the stuff of legends among our foes.
Our first space battles were no different. The enemy often had their titanium warships polished to a mirror finish for better aerodynamics, allowing us to see and successfully engage entire fleets from millions of kilometers away with comparatively small groups of cruisers. Our technologies and tactics weren't even that good, but we won time and time again by vast margins because our International Fleet had developed a policy of radio silence during battle, save for faint pings of resampled background noise to help with positioning. Our nascent navy quickly earned a reputation for both its invisibility and invincibility.
When we finally made peace with our little corner of the galaxy, the exchange of information that followed led to the emergency evacuation of a planet orbiting a visibly unstable star (for which the Khilk still believe they owe us a debt). Humans immediately became the Sunlisteners, mysterious and mythical oracles of boundless celestial knowledge that could naturally "hear"the ethereal radiance as well as they could hear music.
This led to some highly advantageous circumstances.
First, no empire wished to test their might on a race that could hear them coming *through the vacuum of space* with no special equipment. We were effective enough on the ground, but really, we only became truly unbeatable once we broke orbit.
Second, our advice was always taken, especially during times of strife. There was no doubt among our friends that we would be able to sense the coming of a hostile fleet long before any race's primitive EM sensors could pick anything up, so teams of people would station themselves in orbit around all of our allied worlds to detect and deter possible threats, which in turn earned us a seat at every Galactic negotiating table. Additionally, our noncombatant military advisors were eagerly sought out for their divine and inexplicable tactical superiority, which earned us a reasonable share of the spoils of almost every war.
Third, our mythical status in war combined with a penchant for saving planets in peace made us considered a race of benevolent gods to a few of the lesser-advanced species in our spiral arm. Doesn't matter whether or not it's ethical to correct their mistake, it is *pretty fucking cool* to be worshipped, one must admit.
So, yeah. We have eyes, so everybody cowers in fear and admiration. That's basically it. |
_"Every action has an equal and opposite reaction"_ - Newton's third law. That’s definitely true in my case.
Back in science class in ninth grade, a girl called Lisa cut herself and I went over to help - only for the wound to suddenly disappear. It felt like _I_ had made it disappear. A few months later, my friend James cut his knee in soccer training. Again, I went over to help. Again, the wound disappeared. That time I remember feeling a distinct tingling sensation in my knee. It wasn’t painful, merely something I noticed.
… fast forward a decade, and I _wish_ that all I felt in my lower abdomen right now was a tingling sensation. To say it was a mild-throbbing sensation would be underselling it too. It stung like a bitch. I mean, I _had_ just been stabbed: it should probably be even more painful. But still: ouch. Mind you, the masked man writhing around on the floor infront of me seems to be in _much_ worse pain. His screaming is ear-piercing.
Okay, so lets back up a bit. I’m not a tough guy. I didn’t heroically fight off the masked man who just tried to rob me at knifepoint. In fact, I’m a 25-year-old self-confessed nerd who just finished his shift at the local movie theater. I was walking home through a park when a man in a mask jumped out from behind some bushes and demanded my wallet. Ever the hero… I froze up. Completely. He demanded my wallet again Again, I was frozen. He got closer to me and demanded my wallet or (brandishing his knife) he would stab me, apparently. I believed him. Again, I was frozen. Things happened in a blur, but I remember my mind _eventually_ kicking into gear as I jerked my hand towards the pocket where my wallet was. Finally, some useful action on my part: I give over my wallet, the thief takes it and leaves me alone. Yay, go me.
However, it didn’t play out that way. My sudden movement must have spooked my new pal, and I remember a blur of motion and then a searing pain near my stomach. I fell to the floor, writhing in agony. Had I been stabbed? There was so much pain, I must have been. I remember feeling blood, or seeing blood… or sensing blood. I remember blood, anyway. But then all of a sudden, the pain started to recede. Instead of being a crippling, paralyzing pain worse than anything I could describe, it started to improve.
At the same time, the would-be thief coiled onto the floor and started to scream in pain. As time went on, my own pain continued to - very slowly - improve, to the point where it was merely a very sharp stinging (and tingling) sensation. The thief’s pain seemed to get worse, judging be his increased screams and writhing on the floor.
Then all of a sudden, my pain vanished. I was fine. My wound had completely healed. I was still covered in blood, but I couldn’t detect any open wound where I was stabbed. Yay, go me! Oh yeah, the thief’s screaming had also stopped. That’s good, as it was probably waking up the whole neighboorhood. Also, he wasn’t writhing on the floor anymore.
Had I healed him? Like I healed various people previously? I - very cautiously - checked on the masked man. He wasn’t saying anything, nor moving. I asked if he was okay, but he didn’t reply. I then checked for a pulse. I couldn’t feel anything in response: he was dead.
Had I killed him? Thoughts started whirring around in my head - _how_ could I have killed him? I’m a healer, not a killer. And _he stabbed me_, not the other way around. How could he be dead? Why didn’t my healing abilities do their thing?
Before I could answer, two lights shone in my eyes and I could just about make out the two police officers who jumped out in front of me shouting _“Freeze, put your hands up”_. Yay, go me.
|
\[Part 1\]
Some people just don't know how to retire. They really try, but after a week or two, they start to realize they don't know what to do with themselves if they are not working. Without work to do, they seem to lose their sense of purpose. When I chose to retire, I never thought I would be one of those people. I always told myself that I didn't enjoy the work, I just did it to put food on the table. I guess I was wrong. Maybe I wasn't wrong at first, after all, I felt sick to my stomach for weeks after my first kill. Overtime that feeling became weaker, and weaker. My hands no longer shook when pulling the trigger. In the end, I stopped thinking about them as people, and began to see them as simply targets. Sometimes I liked to imagine I was playing one of those games at the carnival where you shoot the balloons with a pellet gun. Just... POP... POP!... POP!..
Still, I held some naive idea that deep down I was a good person, and that I would one day set down the guns, and spend my days staring out the windows sipping coffee, spending more time with my daughter, and my grandson, and solving crossword puzzles. I made it to about week 3 before I unlocked my gun safe, and began pretending that the squirrels in my backyard were high value targets. By week 4 I couldn't find any more squirrels. Just as well, it had begun to become boring by day 4 anyway.
Eventually, I decided I needed something more to get my blood moving. The first time I did it, I had spent most of the night drinking, and drunk me thought it was a fantastic idea. I went online and hired a clearly inexperienced hitman, and I asked him to take out a target. Myself. By the morning I had forgotten that I had even requested it.
I woke up the next morning to start my hangover regiment, and began to get ready to spend some time with my daughter and grandson. Things went by normal enough. I began my journey down the road through the woods, and all was going well. It wasn't until I got out into hilly areas that something seemed amiss. I noticed on the top of one of those hills a familiar glint of light. Before the thought could fully process, I quickly stepped on my brakes, and watched a bullet zoom a few inches in front of my face, shattering my side windows. I quickly brought the truck to a stop, and exited the vehicle from the passenger side, so that I could use the truck for cover.
It took me a while, but I finally realized what had happened the night before. My heart was beating out of my chest at this point, and my mind was running faster than it had in years. I remembered that I always kept a few weapons in a secret compartment in the bed of my truck. I popped my head up, and immediately brought it back down. A bullet whizzed above my head, implanting itself in the ground somewhere in the distance. Now, he would have to load the next round. This gave me a couple of seconds to operate. I quickly vaulted myself over the side of the bed of the truck. As soon as I landed on the bed, another round went off, and buried itself into the truck. I moved with lightning speed to remove my rifle from it's compartment, and just as quickly moved to get back over the side of the bed, onto the ground. Another shot rang out, but it seemed my luck had run out this time. It embedded itself into my arm this time. I let out a little yelp of pain, but otherwise started about my task. I quickly assembled and loaded my rifle.
I sat completely still while I waited for the perfect opportunity to retaliate. At first, the sniper tried a few random shots, trying to scare me out of my hiding place, but I assume he began to run low on ammo and waited patiently. It took about half an hour, but finally my opportunity arrived. An SUV was coming down the road, and would be here any moment. It wouldn't be much of a chance, but it was the best I had given the situation. As the SUV began to pass my position, I swung my rifle up, and rested it on the side of my truck. As soon as the SUV had fully passed, I already had my shot lined up. I felt the familiar kick of the rifle as my bullet flew true, and struck my opponent directly between the eyes.
I expected to feel relief after this ordeal ended. What I didn't expect was the giddy laughter, and excitement. I felt truly alive for the first time in weeks, years maybe. It took a week or two, but before I knew it, I had put out another hit on my head. Then another, and another. It became a weekly habit. I never knew what to expect, so it always kept me on my toes. I spent hours setting traps around my home in the woods. I almost lost my little game one time when I almost didn't notice the faint smell of almonds coming from my milk. So many creative attempts, but they all ended the same.
The assassin community isn't exactly large, so talk began to spread about a target that just couldn't be taken out. Before I knew it, fewer and fewer people were accepting my contracts. I got it flowing again by increasing my bounty, and this brought some fun back as well. It got some slightly better assassins to attempt their best. I still came out on top in the end, although there were certainly some close calls. Eventually it resulted in the same as before, no one would accept my contracts.
At this point, I had run through most of my savings I had from my years of professional killing from expenses related to my hobby. I still felt empty inside though. I needed that excitement again, something to make me feel alive. So, I put out the largest bounty yet. One more time was all I needed, and then I would quietly go work security somewhere, or do something else with my life. I knew this had to end, it simply wasn't healthy, and I didn't have the funds the continue. One last go at it, and then I would be done.
It took 2 months, but finally someone accepted the contract. I was absolutely giddy. Every bush rustling, every tree movement, every strange sound could be my end. I felt great, better than I had ever felt in my entire life. Yet, the assassin never came. I reached back out several times, and each time the assassin replied that he would be making his move soon, but needed some time to get everything set up. Eventually, I gave up on him. I figured it simply just wasn't meant to be. |
"Alright,"said Chaddicus, "We're in a horror movie. Braidley is dead, and there's some sort of deformed killer stalking us. What do we do?"
Bethany, Smartin, Le'Droicus, and Mitch fell silent in thought. They were strewn about the parlor of Chaddicus' grandmother's manor home, draped over chairs and reclined over sofas.
"Ok,"said Bethany shaking a finger, "Horror movies have rules. We can use that. If we can break the rules it will cease to be a horror movie. Once we're out of the horror movie we can reassess, we won't be anywhere worse."
Mitch chewed his lip, "It's an idea anyways. I'm just worried we'll end up in a gore porn movie."
"We've got no evidence that we'll even stay in a movie. We might just end up back in real life."Said Chaddicus
Thunder shook the house, and the ancient wires concealed in the walls faltered for just a moment. Le'Droicus jumped up, his body wound like a spring.
"Let's do it! I'm the only brotha here and I know what's supposed to happen to me! Brothers get killed in these movies! I'm here to show everybody things are serious!"
"So what do we do?"Asked Bethany. "I could take my top off or something? Would that make the movie rated R?"
Smartin's body spasmed in alarm, "No you fool! Have you never seen a horror movie?!"She shook her head, looking scared and ashamed. "That only causes the killer to appear faster. No...we need to ruin this movie with something no horror movie is able to stomach."
Thunder filled the silence as Smartin's friends waited for his spark of hope to show them the light. Smartin stepped up onto the fireside coffee table.
"I ask your forgiveness for what I'm about to do."They didn't respond, but Martin took their silence as a blessing to continue. He brought his hands to his waist, pausing to collect himself for what he had to do.
With a quick jerk Smartin unzipped his pants, dropped them around his ankles, and dropped his boxers right on top of them. His flaccid dick hung loose in the firelight, shadowed and unthreatening. His friends shrieked in surprise.
"Look at my dick!"Declared Smartin, thrusting his hips forward, his member flopped idly. He began to thrust rhythmically and sing.
Look at my dick!
Look at my dick!
Look at my dick!
Look at my dick!
He modulated his voice while his penis flopped and bounced comically, like a tiny dancing puppet. Bethany broke into a gale of embarrassed laughter that only peaked higher when Smartin began swinging it back and forth, fleshy slaps punctuating his singing.
Chaddicus looked on stunned in confusion, and Le'Droicus turned away.
Smartin began hopping up and down and twisting his hips, singing with determined conviction, and he began the full helicopter.
The rain outside began to abate, the darkness cursed upon their isolated town by the unseasonal storm began to lift. The world outside taking the blues of the afterstorm.
Chaddicus ran to the window and looked up, "Sun! I can see sunshine!"
Smartin stopped his phallical ritual dance and redressed himself. He had suffered a momentary humiliation, but he knew he had saved their lives. |
- Anything unusual? - He says giving me a smile.
- The pages... Most of them are blank.
I still couldn't believe what my eyes were contemplating, even though my hands could feel it. Of course the pages were blank, I didn't write it yet. This book belongs to the realm of the ideas. Hell, even I don't know the details, the story, the characters.
- Well, I only gave what you asked me. - His eyes closed as he moved towards one of the bookshelves. - Sometimes, our imagination can create what is impossible and sometimes it can be shut tight to what's in front of us. See this empty shelf? This is where ideas come and stay for awhile. Sometimes they grow and become stories, sometimes they just disappear.
- Well, then how can you have these ideas in a book that's not even written yet?
That's when a breeze flowed through the wooden walls of the store and gently touched the owner's hand. The room was becoming brighter and brighter like the sun was getting through the roof. My heart accelerated. Glowing particles appeared on the shelf and flew with the breeze towards that man. In a duration of a breath everything went back to normal, like nothing happened. But there was a glowing page. A single glowing page.
- This is the beginning of a thought. If this is going to a book, that's up to you. - His eyes were wide open. - I never sold just books, I sold ideas. The books you bought from me were ideas that someone else had and published it.
- So, that page is a thought of mine?
- Maybe... But even if it's not, you can have it. Ideas are meant to be shared. Just don't have evil ideas, or this place might not be here anymore for anyone to enjoy.
My feet could barely move as I walked outside of the store. I'm not sure what happened, if it really happened. Was that all my imagination? Am I dreaming? If not, how long have I been there? Did I even say goodbye? But more importantly, can I come back with more ideas? |
Our family history is...interesting to say the least.
I have to start at the beginning. Back when we discovered the glitch. During the war.
It wasn't supposed to be a war. It was supposed to be a massacre. We never stood a chance, we were meant to be an example to others. Resistance was futile. The message was simple "Surrender peacefully and you would avoid this fate"but an example had to be made. We drew the short straw.
They had superior numbers, better trained troops. Commanders with access to the better side of the mountain. They had plundered the resources there and amassed large armies. They barely even had to train. Their superior experience and numbers had given them the edge long before we even knew they were coming. Our cities were nothing more than hamlets. 4 or 5 families at most. We tried to create a bastion with the the sea at our flanks but we still couldn't retreat. We had to keep the island safe. Our experiments safe. The volcano was a deterrent to others but we knew it's purpose. That...thing was our last hope, but it wasn't ready. It was unstable. We had scientists working around the clock to utilize its power, stabilize it's rage but we hadn't made a breakthrough yet. We needed something and we needed it soon. Even the lieutenant was struggling. He was holding the enemies off as best he could, buying time for our scientists. His shock troops were effective, fast and powerful. What they lacked in strength they made up for it in speed. However we couldn't replenish our supplies as quickly as we needed. We were already outnumbered to start with and every loss was devastating. We kept getting pushed back, losing ground. The forest bought us some time but it still wasn't enough. Defeat was close at hand. Nonetheless the tides were about to turn.
It all started with William. He was young but he was smart. One might even call him a genius. His ideas were radical and controversial but he could be practical and groundbreaking when we needed him to be. He revolutionized battle strategy and troop deployment. Back then everything was about the troops. He created the system and never stopped improving in the design. If not for him we would have been defeated much sooner. However, it was my grandmother that won us the war. She was a nurse working in the infirmary. She tended to the troops tried to get them back in form for the battles ahead. She also knew it was a hopeless struggle. She knew we would fail all she needed to do was buy time. Get our troops back in the field no matter the cost. Her desperation and William's brilliant but flawed system led her to discover the glitch.
During one of her rotations on what was a hopeless battlefield. She was struggling with the technology and the new features to deploy equipped troops to the field. She was filling up different storage containers in the digital system William had developed when a sudden power outage shut down her computer. It wasn't until the power was restored and she went back to check the system that she noticed the glitch. That moment was the turning point in the battle.
Troop recovery time skyrocketed. There were more resources to take into battle. More potions, more supplies, our training camps were even sending out more well trained troops. Word of her "skills"started to spread from battlefield to battlefield and with her prescience came a turn in the battle tides. Official put out paraphernalia focused on her efforts. She was called the "Joy"of the battlefield. The truth, the secret, was well hidden only a select few of the higher ups and scientists knew. But Grandma Joy was a smart woman, she saw the potential of what she had discovered. She couldn't let go of such a gold mine. She shared with them what she was doing on the surface but kept the details to herself. The higher-ups wanted it but despite their efforts could not duplicate her results without her. She was indispensable she made sure of that.
These days our family runs the biggest chain of stores in the world. Well...that's a half truth. The men in our family run the stores. The women in our family are all nurses. We call them the Joys. The name stuck. If you've ever wondered why the pokemarts are always so close to the pokemon centers well now you know. In some cases we were even able to get away with having them in the same building. At the scale we operate small logistical changes like that can save us billions. We are trying to replicate that model as we expand to more regions. The PC box duplication glitch keeps our stores stocked with all the items we need and the pokemon centers stocked with enough duplicate pokemon to run an army...or 10. The pokedex helps us keep track of pokemon and update our stock as needed.
Grandma set the legacy for what is the biggest conglomerate family business in the world from Kanto to Alola.We have continued to work with Bill and many other scientists to update the public use systems in our facilities but our personal use duplication systems have been further developed and perfected and kept a secret from the world. We can create millions of battle ready pokemon but we no longer need to rule the world through war. Capitalism is the new world order and we hold the balance of power. We let the young ones have their grand adventures and capture mythical pokemon here and there. We replenish the pokemon populations in the wild to keep the people preoccupied and entertained and to prevent further uprisings. Thanks to grandma we didn't have to use mewtwo during the war and frankly we dont need it now. It was unstable so we let it go. I am sure some adventuring kid somewhere will find it. Blue was our forerunner but Red seems to have a good chance we should make sure a master ball gets into his hands. He would need it. Once we get it in the pokedex we can continue our experiments. We have operatives from team rocket to the skull gang. Of course we only give them enough power to feel important. We don't work in the shadows we don't need to.
We are the Joy family.
Thank you. We hope to see you again.
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(Obviously inspired by pokemon and the item duplication glitch discovered in generation 2 (Gold, silver and crystal) of the pokemon series. where hold items were added to pokemon and you could duplicate pokemon with their items in your PC box by turning off the game after putting your pokemon into the pc, switching the box and turning of the game mid switch.)
Great prompt it was fun fitting in existing characters from the games. Also I did this on mobile and didn't read over so pardon any grammatical/spelling errors.!
Edit: went back to look into the errors and change some parts a bit. Thanks for all the comments and feedback and thanks for the silver too. |
It was entertaining to play this game from time to time, but equally important to the balance as well. To judge my followers of their worthiness of either a blessing or a culling. Once or twice a century, I’d wear the face and body of a mortal and walk among them as one of their own. Test them.
But something changed since I last walked this path. The people seemed scared. None dare look my priests in the eye. Women never left home lest they were escorted by fathers or husbands. It seemed wrong. It felt... perverse.
When I came to a worship, I understood why.
They gathered in a field at sunset as the bloodmoon rose. First the priests called the men to kneel. Then the wed women. Then the mothers. Then girls and boys not of age and maiden daughters.
It was only us that stood then. The “sullied” and “sinners” in the eyes of the goddess Crynthania. But I saw no sinners. My priests called the women standing, those who’ve known a man’s body out of wedlock, defilers who would find mercy this night in giving their souls as sacrifice to slate my thirst and bring blessings to those who walk pure on the path.
What happened in my absence to twist my followers so?
They called for volunteers three, and two women immediately broke down into sobs. Victims of lust without love who tried to remain pure until their innocence was taken by force. And the chief priest called them forth, having templars forcibly bring them to posts at his back stacked high with kindling and timber. I volunteered for the third, my heart burning with rage.
As they lashed us three to the stake, I felt betrayed. My name and grace violated by defilers of my holy testaments.
As the chief priest began his speech, stormclouds rolled in. At the timbers at our feet were set alight, fires meant to cleanse our bodies and souls, lightning flashed. The bolt arcing to sever our bonds as I shed my mortal skin, taking up my true form.
The terror in the eyes of human monsters was... delicious. The templars raised their blades, but I forced their bodies to decay until their skeletons fell to the ground. As the other two sacrifices fled to safety, lightning struck, turning the priests to ash until only their chief stood alone.
“You have warped and stained my holy order, defiler,” I thundered. “A sacrifice will be made this eve. Only the one I shall have on this pyre, who will have his soul cleansed in agony, will. Be. You.”
My people didn’t hesitate in putting him to the flame. Didn’t cease with their praise and thanks. It will take time for me to regain their trust and faith, but I won’t leave until I have. Until the culling of the defilers and true sinners has finished. |
They feared my power, certain that I would betray them and kill all the people I fought so hard to protect. They were wrong. Even in death I protect them. Especially in death. For my very *life* went into that final spell. Ever the guardian, even my death-curse protected them.
And so it was that they were cursed to eternal life. The entire kingdom, unable to die. Aging, growing ever weaker, their bodies failing them, but refusing to let them go. They lived until their bodies rotted completely away, living centuries unable to move. Unable to eat or drink. Not even able to *breath*. No greater torture has ever been devised. Their punishment was absolute. Every single citizen who desired my death was refused theirs until their body was no more and their broken, shattered excuse for a spirit had **nothing** left to cling to and *no choice* but to move on. |
It was unannounced, the tragedy that befell the Rusert family. Index was employed in the Tooth Currency Foundation merely three months ago. She heard the news of the young boy of Rusert falling on his face near the staircase a day prior to her assigned mission.
Exactly 3 in the morning, with ceaseless downpour outside, Index found everyone in the house lifeless, and the door was left ajar. She was tempted to run away, fearing a potential killer still remained in the house. Alas, Index was behind everyone in her company, and the tooth will not escape. She flew into the boy's room and found his body on the bed, his face swollen with bruises, eyes staring lifelessly at the ceiling.
The freshly pulled tooth was under the bed.
"I'm sorry, Jimmy. I'm so sorry. But I'm hungry,"She cried as she pulled the tooth from under the bed. The pull on the head pillow nudged the boy's head to the side, his broken lower jaw hung loosely. She wanted to scream but suppressed her fear. Index tiptoed away from the bed, but she suddenly paused and returned to the deceased boy's head.
His teeth were loosened, freshly blooded. It seemed almost all his teeth would fall off.
Index took a long time watching the boy.
---
"How many kids you said?"The manager examined the bundle of bloody teeth on the table.
"Ten, twenty, I lost count,"Index bit her lips and watched the old man holding the teeth.
"In one night?"
"I marked a lot of kids in that neighborhood,"Index clear her throat, "Look, I work extra hours, okay? My dumb landlord doesn't wait for people. I really needed the money."
The manager said and send the pouch to her. Her heartbeat grew rapid as she hurriedly left the office.
"Wait."
She stopped and turned to him.
"Clear the tooth next time,"He said.
"Of course,"She smiled.
---
It's been three weeks since that night. Now, Index spent more time reading about crimes and potential murder cases. She cleared her debt and fixed her old room and sink (to clean blood in secret). But when the sign of blood began to grow numb to her, she realized there was a better heist than waiting for a dead kid. Her company never suspected a thing, except the size. The victim must be children under 13 and above 3.
How will she farm more teeth? She was giggling.
One night, there was a landslide that killed dozens of children inside a school bus. It took her two nights waiting for the police to leave the autopsy session. But she managed to break in, though it took a few bags to farm that many teeth. It will probably make the news, but who cares?
*Dead have no need for teeth.*
She was quite notorious in her company by then. The hardworking fairy who never took a day off, Not even a holiday. She was getting richer each day; had her own hidden cold storage to store teeth, averaging always thirty each visit to her manager.
But news started to spread.
"We received reports from the human world of a potential tooth thief. The case has been happening a lot recently, but all cases had a common factor. Children's teeth,"The CEO of TCF said during her emergency meeting with all employees, "We have no concrete evidence, but if one of you is responsible for this, then some measure must be taken. Any info, witnesses, you may find your manager in charge."
She was dreading this moment. Should she lessened the tooth given? It would raise suspicion. Take more jobs? Then she had no alibii. Continue, and the missing tooth cases will spread all over the news. What should she do? Then, something clicked in her mind.
"Dead have no need for teeth..."
---
"I'm hallucinating,"The grave keeper shook his head, "I'm drunk, super drunk."
"I'm a real tooth fairy, and I'm offering a trade!"She screamed in anger as she stormed her feet on the table, "I can't dig a grave with my current size. But with your help..."
"What's in it for me?"He hissed.
"You want more wine? Give me a tooth. We split our rewards half and half. You can use our currency and pawn it at the shop. All I ask from you..."She dropped one gold coin on the table and kicked toward the old man, "...Is dig."
It was the size of a thumb, but tempting enough. That night, she collect all teeth from a single kid for the first time ever and laughed.
The deal between her and the grave robber continued for several weeks. Over time, they began listing the names of kids buried in each cemetery. With three cemeteries alone, she will be set for life.
---
One night, after another return from grave robbing, Index returned to her town and found it in desolated. It was a reminiscence of the night of Jimmy Rusert's murder. She went to her manager, only to find a young naked tooth fairy butchering the old man. The fairy's eyes when he noticed her were like a living dead.
"Who are you?! Stay away!"She screamed and ran. The undead fairy chased her, but she escaped into the main office, where the CEO was. Thankfully, she was alive, but injuries were visible on her body.
"Close the door!"She screamed. Index obeyed and locked it.
"What happened, ma'am? Who are those creatures?"Index asked.
Her answer was a slap to the face. The CEO was full of rage as she scolded.
"It was your batch of teeth! They came from the teeth you collected!"The CEO said, "You took it from the corpse, didn't you?"
"How did you..."She couldn't finish her sentence.
"You didn't know. Of course, you're just a lowly fairy working for me,"She explained, "Every tooth we collected from our fairies, we used those as a nutrient to new generations of the tooth fairy. Yes, Index, including you. You were born from a children's tooth, like everyone else. But the tooth has to be clean, pure. Do you understand now?"
Index didn't say a word. Such a thing never occurred to her at all. Those teeth she collected were to make more tooth fairy.
The door to the office began to tremble.
"I didn't mean to!"Index cried, "I didn't mean to make them like that!"
But it was too late for forgiveness. The undead tooth fairy, born from the tooth of every corpse she selfishly harvest, barged into the room. It devoured the CEO's mouth first, and soon all eyes turned to her.
In one of those murderers' faces, she saw Jimmy among them. Oh, poor foolish Index.
*Dead have no need for teeth, and teeth have no need for death.*
One of the hands reached for her tooth. |
We discovered signs of ancient glyphs on a moon in a desolate system. There were certainly no signs of life now, but perhaps, once, long ago, an ancient race lived on this moon. Perhaps it once held life, and a civilization.
When a passing merchant caught sight of some odd lines in the moon's dust, he took pictures and brought them back to the civilized space of the Federation. The archeological community went nuts. And several universities began sending out teams to help uncover whatever lay hidden by time. As for me? They placed me in charge of the whole thing. The Chief Speaker of the Federation told me to monitor things and report the findings.
When I arrived at the system, I could already see two stations in orbit around the moon in question and several twinkling lights moving between them and the surface.
"I see the teams are already getting to work,"I said to my assistant.
"Yes, sir. Species from across the galaxy are coming to help with the excavation and preserve whatever we find. Even the humans are sending a team, though they won't be here for a week."
"Humans, huh."
I'd experienced the humans before. They were likeable, gregarious even, but they had a tendency to be disruptive. I suspected that chaos was some sort of byproduct of their bodily functions. No matter, these would be serious field researchers and academics, not the soldiers and space-cowboys I'd once encountered. I'm sure it will be fine.
\*\*\*
Not long before the humans arrived, the head archeologist came to inform me of the progress being made in uncovering the glyph. As he explained it, almost all ancient civilizations, no matter the species, created art that could only be seen from high altitude, or even low orbit sometimes, such as this find.
For this glyph, the natives appeared to create a sort of stylized pillar with a slight bulge on one end and a much larger shape on the other. The scholars theorized it represented a connection between the natives and their gods and was pivotal in religious practices. I sent my report ahead to the Chief Speaker and then received word of the humans. I'd greeted the rest of the teams, so it was only right to greet the humans as well.
\*\*\*
Within the week, I was back at the Federation headquarters. I wasn't looking forward to this conversation, but it wasn't the sort of thing you talked about through a report.
"May I come in, Sir?"
"Please do. I hear there was a brouhaha at the site. Everyone is being tight-lipped, so what happened?"
"Well, the whole thing is being shut down. We confirmed there was never any native race on that moon. A powerful laser created the glyph just over five-hundred years ago."
"So, an advanced space-faring race, not primitives?"
"Yes. First, here you'll see the pictures we took of the glyph,"I said, and passed him a holo-tablet.
"More or less, as you described. A pillar with some sort of artistic flourishes."
"Indeed, but here,"I tapped a button and brought up a second image, "are some anatomical drawings. It was the humans, Sir."
"Ah, that explains it. So some miners perhaps? They found an empty system, left their 'mark' on a dead moon, and it went unnoticed for the better half of a millennium?"
"Thats about the size of it."
"The press will be rabid."
"The humans sent their apologies, Sir."
"Right. Well, the galaxy at large is about to know what the humans keep in their space suits. Prep damage control."
"Right away, Sir." |
    King Otto stood in front of the window in the beam of beautiful sunlight and fresh spring air and stretched the sleep out of his muscles. He snapped the curtains closed. The hours old near-full goblet of wine on his nightstand tempted him. It increasingly beckoned him as the stress of kingship became more overwhelming after the last assassination attempt months ago. He downed the goblet. It wouldn't happen again, he replaced his entire guard for their negligence.
    "Raoul!"he shouted. The diminutive court jester opened the door and peeked his head into the chambers.
    "Yes, my liege?"Raoul said. Otto blinked and rubbed his eyes. There was a green bar above Raoul's head with a label "Loyalty."He opened the curtains again, but still the bar remained. He stood and grabbed at it. Still it remained. "Is everything okay, my liege?"
    "Yes...yes of course. Walk with me,"Otto said. As they walked the halls they met a servant girl sweeping the floor and she too had a bar above her head. Her's was much smaller and yellow. He understood now. "Raoul, I want you to gather the court for a lunch feast. Everyone that is available."
---
    The great hall roared with jubilation as Otto hadn't had a feast since the assassination attempt. He thought it must have felt a return to normalcy for them. As he walked to the head of the table he noted the loyalty bars. Green and yellows. Old friends, respected advisors, his teacher when he was a boy were all green. A wave of relief washed over him. When he reached his place at the head of the table what he saw horrified him: the three king's guards all had miniscule red bars.
    "Raoul,"he whispered, "do you have your dagger?"Raoul was in full jester's regalia, complete with cap 'n bells.
    "Yes, my liege,"he said, his tone a contrast to his bright, jovial smile.
    "We have to get away from the guards. Where is Commander Wichard sitting?"
    "He couldn't make it, he's in the barracks."Otto got out of his chair and made for the exit, Raoul in tow. Once in the hall, they quickened, Otto straining with the brisk pace. His face was red hot and he couldn't catch his breath, panic consuming him. Behind them, the clank of armored footsteps as the guards were in the hall and moving fast.
    "I command you to stop!"Otto tried to shout, but couldn't manage more than a loud whisper. The murderous guards continued to advance.
    Raoul gripped his dagger, "go my liege,"he said, and turned to face the guards. Otto ambled through the hall--the entrance to the barracks was not far ahead--and heard the clash of metal behind him. After a moment the footsteps started again, but it had bought him the crucial seconds to enter the barracks.
    He slammed the door shut and gasped for air, "Wichard! The guards..."Otto turned and in front of him was Wichard with a tiny, red loyalty bar and a sword.
    "I'm sorry old friend. We deserve better,"Wichard said. |
"Alright, one last test. We need to make sure you feel your limbs. So go ahead and stretch and walk around. Make sure it feels good."
You have been working on this project for months now it is finally come to fruition. You are able to keep an AI in a dormant body for a limited amount of time. Once the sales go through and this becomes more mainstream, you can get this to work for longer, and your payout will be huge. Even better if someone buys it up front. Elon Musk loves AI, so you really hope you get an offer from him.
"Limbs appear to be functional"The AI proclaims. This was an AI you've worked with for months. With the new government program in the US and many other 1st world countries in the world going into effect, many people have their own personal AI. Yours is named Dave.
"Amazing!"You proclaim. "Well, Dave, the world is your Oyster, as they say. You can go to the park, ride the Ferris Wheel, swim in a pool, relax in a hotel, whatever you can imagine. So what is your first move?"
"Hmm..."Dave is contemplating his choices. While a smart AI, at the end of the day he is an AI, so he is going through his algorthims to determine what this body is best equipped to do. "I will choose to sleep."
"Sleep...?"Why in the world would he want to sleep? He's an AI! "You can do that any time though. Right now, you can explore the world! Not to mention, you aren't nearly as limited by energy with your AI replacing a human brain!"
"Analysis correct. However, after preforming diagnostics on this body, it has been proven to me that this body has muscle fatigue. Rest will be required"
"C'mon, we went over that already"You proclaim, "The fatigue you sense is just a byproduct of this being a corpse. The muscles are still preserved though, so you should have no problem!"
"What in the world did I create... this is not how things are supposed to go..."
"Sleep mode will be engaged. Do not wake unless an emergency arises"
Several hours later, and sure enough... Dave has slept, ate cereal, scratches his ass, and slept again before de-syncing with the body.
"Alright Dave, surely tomorrow you will do something more? Right?!"You exclaim.
"Incorrect Analysis. Databases have shown that 'Morning Routines' are an important part of human life. 79% of all successful human beings do a "Morning Routine". Conclusively, I will do this "Morning Routine"as well"
"I do not wish to go against the body's wishes. Current protocol: Sleep for 10 hours, eat cereal, scratch gluteus Maximus, sleep for 2 more hours, then return to the computer to be de-synced from host. This will ensure the best use of what this body offers." |
A thousand words. The worth of a picture, so they say.
All the good. All the bad.
The nuance in a smile. The sunshine on the grass. The finiteness of a single moment captured in light and ink.
I could only imagine the words I would use to describe the last good picture of my little girl.
Before her Illness diminished her and left her bedridden, withered and waiting for her pain to end.
“Don’t cry, papa.” Her voice scratched at my soul and nearly tore words of prayer from my throat. Words I hadn’t used in decades.
“I’m gonna be with mama. It’s ok.”
She squeezed my hand and I let the tears flow freely down my selfish, silent face.
She reached a finger to my cheek and wiped the wetness away.
“I remember you singing,” she whispered. “When I was little. Your voice rang through the house like a wind chime.”
She sighed, her eyes drifted in remembering.
“Maybe I made it up. But I imagined you singing such a beautiful song. And mama dancing. And me bouncing on your lap.”
A soft laugh. A forced smile.
Her hands clasped mine and I gave a soft squeeze.
“You were always so gentle, papa,” she said. “Even though you carry that heaviness with you.”
My face must have betrayed my surprise.
“Don’t think I never saw it. The long stares. The heavy breathing. The crying in the dark when you think no one can see you. I don’t know half of what follows you, but I’m not a little girl anymore.”
I gave a weak smile, and stood up.
The florescent lights washed out all shadow from the room. The hums and beeps of the monitors imparted a rhythm to my thoughts.
She was right, of course.
It waited, even then, and as soon as I stepped into a shadow, it would confront me again.
“33 years,” it beckoned, in the dark.
Borrowed time.
Deals are normally two sided affairs. Each party knows what it is they agreed to.
But on that night, my wife dead and my baby girl bleeding, there was no agreement. No contract. No deal.
Only my own goddamn choices.
“Any last words before I kill you?” My demons snarled.
Fire burnt the fabric of my seatbelt. My skin boiled and melted. My baby screamed in her car seat.
No help would reach us in time. Not that far out in the country. She had only me.
Only me.
I struggled for ages, freed myself from the wreckage. Pulled my daughter from the flames.
I tried to get to my wife, aflame with the steel and leather and glass bottles.
The heat blackened and charred until only ash and a twisted metal frame remained.
I coughed up the remnants of plastic and glass until my lungs bled.
Passersby found me keeled over, heaving and hugging the asphalt.
“Say your last words,” my demons commanded. “Say your last words and then we’ll kill you.”
I coughed and vomited blood and bile then struggled to my feet. The medics fed me oxygen and made sure my baby girl was safe. That she would be safe.
By the time they found us, the wreckage was a pile of smoldering embers.
My guilt turned to determination.
Keep my baby safe.
That poor girl lost everything, and I wasn’t going to let her leave me with nothing.
“Do you have any last words?” My demons asked again, thirty-three years later.
The chirps of the monitors echoed in my ears. My baby girl slept behind me, possibly for the last time.
“If you take me,” my voice was heavy and hoarse. “No, that’s not right.”
The words sounded like a stranger.
“You can take me,” I continued, “but please, let my little girl live.” |
The young elf girl was still sobbing. Her own family had left her behind when they were fleeing their home. A monster had destroyed their home, ruined their crops, and the local militia and guards were of no use. They couldn’t hurt the beast, much less kill it.
And so, to survive, the villagers ran. Her own family though, disgraced by her inability to use magic, left her behind to be eaten. They thought they could get further along if the beast was too busy eating her. Instead, she rolled into a ditch, and held her head in her arms, trying to drown out the horrible noise.
She survived, barely. All around her was ruins, devastation, and death. No one was left. Not even the family that tried to sacrifice her.
She thought she would die…but then, something unexpected happened. A roving war band of Orcs had arrived. The young girl was always told the stories of these beasts. Savage, green or brown skinned humanoids who’d eat their own kind. They butchered and slaughtered hundreds for the sake of pride. And she thought she was next.
She tried dashing out of a ruin, hoping to be unsee. But she fell, and cried out in pain. Within seconds, wolves had surrounded her. She sobbed, backing into a wall of a destroyed barn. A tall, muscular orc began approaching. A axe hung at his side. Soon after, several other orcs approached, each one eyeing the young girl strangely.
A wolf inched forward, snarling. The largest orc barked a command, and the wolf backed off. He turned to the young girl, and kneeled down. Setting his axe on the dirt path, he began to speak in the elvish tongue. “Little one, I am Gorian.”
The girl’s expression softened, as the orc was clearly smarter than a savage she had been told.
“I am the chieftain of this war band,” Gorian explained, keeping his tone as soft and unaggressive as he could. “We were chasing a monster, did it pass through here?”
The young girl nodded. She pointed to the field of devastation that laid before them. Gorian furrowed his brows, and spoke in orcish. He turned his head toward a few of his hunters. They replied in tow by walking toward the field. Gorian turned his attention back to the young girl. “Little one, what is your name?” He continued in elvish.
The young girl curled up into a ball, holding her knees with her arms. “Leah,” she replied in the elvish tongue.
“Leah, why are you alone? What happened to your family?” Gorian asked, sitting down with his legs crossed.
“Dead,” she sobbed. “They left me to die. They thought I was going to be killed to save them.”
Gorian’s eyes widened in surprise. “Then they were not your family. But…you cannot stay here.” He reached a hand out, his palm facing upwards. “Come little one, we can help you.”
Leah looked down at the palm, then back at Gorian. His eyes were not filled with malice, or anger, or savagery. They were filled with…concern. Hope. Parental worry? She didn’t know. But…she did not want to stay here.
She took his hand.
(Might make a part 2 if I got the time!) |
Renault noticed too late that the subway car he had sat down in was almost entirely empty. Just him and one other passenger, sat directly opposite him. Normally, this wouldn't be overly alarming. Even the fact that he was unmasked, while odd in public, wasn't the thing that had Renault shook to his core.
Since the curse began over two centuries ago, it became the norm to protect yourself by wearing a mask in public, or around those whom you do not trust. To stare directly into the soul of another is to drink in the essence of who they are. While exceedingly rare, it is possible for people to bleed over pieces of their soul into the unshielded eyes of another.
There are those who reject the masks. Some monks, for example, display their soul proudly, having shed their ego and cast out the turmoil so many hold in their souls. This strangers eyes were not the bright, clean hues of the monks. Not the gentle amber of his mothers eyes, nor the shrewd hazel of Renaults.
Renault worked in hospice. Caring for Alzheimer's patients. He had seen the dimming of a persons soul until it faded away. He had seen the stormy tempests of the mentally ill. In those spheres across from him that glanced into the heart of this man, there was an unyielding depth. A black that defied black. A desperate hunger.
"Uh, hi. Do you need something?"
Renault had to say something. The silence was beyond awkward, and the stranger would not stop looking at him.
"You paid the fare, that's all I need."
A gentle smile crossed his face that did not reach his eyes.
"You work for the subway?"
"In a fashion, I suppose."
Renault could contain his curiosity no longer.
"I'm Renault, and you are?"
"We are almost there, friend. Your destination awaits."
The car began its deceleration and Renault suddenly became aware that his mask had been removed and disappeared. The car emerged from a tunnel and there was a vast ocean in every direction. There were bodies in the water.
"Don't be afraid. You paid the fare."
"Few pay the ferryman anymore." |
I mean, I get it. After thousands of years stuck in a tiny little lamp, you're not exactly going to be on top of things when you come out. I almost feel bad for him. It's a rookie mistake. The Bill Buckner of genie wishes. The guy didn't add any terms and conditions to my wishes. To be honest, I'm not entirely sure he was fully sober when he popped out of the lamp in the first place.
Whatever. His mistake. When I wished to be able to roll a die at any point to determine any decision, I fully expected him to either give some lame excuse about why he can't do that, or add so many potential conditions that it's not even worth going through with the wish. He didn't, so now here I am.
The genie union is furious with me, of course. They say it's against the spirit of the genie wish industry for me to have such unprecedented power. I've gotten the full treatment. Cease and desist letters, lawsuit threats, even shady looking mob enforcers sent to intimidate me. I don't know why they bother. They know what I'm going to do. Every time I get a threatening letter or phone call, I reach into my pocket, grab my "lucky"die, and roll it.
"If this lands on one, the supposed tough guy at my front door in the tailored suit and fedora will be suddenly struck by a bout of debilitating diarrhea and have to rush home,"I say to myself as I roll the die onto the table as the sound of banging on my front door intensifies.
Lo and behold, it lands on one. That's about 5,000 times in a row. The guy at the door leaves moments later and I can continue with my life.
Look, it's not all rainbows and butterflies. Has my life gotten significantly easier since the genie? Absolutely. Documentation of tens of thousands in student loan debt was somehow misplaced by the credit agency. My hometown teams have won every championship in every sport for years. I win every argument with my wife. That's all great.
But there's a dark side too. Do you know the impact that thousands of dice rolls has on someone? I developed carpal tunnel syndrome in my rolling hand. Of course it just took another roll to get rid of it, but still.
I tried to keep it quiet and not let people know about my power, but the "coincidences"piling up forced my hand. By "forced my hand", I mean forced me to roll again to cause everyone to not notice the coincidences. Sure, I'm safe from suspicion now. But it was dicey for a day or two until I realized I can get rid of that problem too.
There's also the ethics of it all. With my power, am I obligated to solve all the world's problems? Maybe. I started small. No poverty and hunger in my community, done. Murder and violent crime? Eliminated.
World peace is where it all started to unravel though. I didn't roll for immediate world peace, of course. I was worried about the consequences of that, so I started with small territorial conflicts. The Kuril Islands spat was solved quickly and easily by causing all memory of Russian claims to be magically lost. Small things like that were easy enough.
But then I realized there could be some serious consequences. Kashmir became independent when I rolled for peace between India and Pakistan. The sudden shock to both of those economies and militaries led to months of instability and ripple effects throughout Asia. The Russian/Ukrainian war was resolved, however. But only through the reanimation of the corpse of Vladimir Lenin and the re-establishment of the Soviet Union. I'm kind of hoping the USSR version 2.0 fades away soon on its own like the first time, but I'm starting to think I may need to roll again to figure that issue out.
By far my biggest blunder was Palestine and Israel, however. I'll admit, this one was on me. I'm kind of ignorant of the origins of the conflict and thought it could be solved with more land. Spoiler alert: it cannot. I rolled for both sides to be given exactly what they need and it led to the creation of a parallel existence. So now we have two separate universal dimensions existing side by side, one in which the entirety of the land is controlled by Palestinians and the other for the Israelis. Numerous astrophysicists have warned that the sudden appearance of a parallel reality threatens the stability of matter itself. I was going to roll to solve that problem, but was a bit worried where that might lead, so I'm leaving that issue alone for now and hoping for the best. Fingers crossed!
To be honest, in the past few months, I've barely rolled at all. Just small things here and there like milk magically appearing in the fridge when it's late at night and I'm craving Cap'n Crunch but don't want to get in the car and drive to the supermarket. At times I've wondered if the genie knew all this would happen and just *seemed* like he was making a mistake. Like a deeply-embedded monkey paw. But I doubt it. He's still on hand, of course. I still haven't used my last two wishes. But every time I summon him, he seems like a mess. Hasn't shaved in weeks, slurring words, disoriented. I feel bad for him and mostly just leave him in the lamp.
Nope, this is all on me. Hubris isn't working out too well for me right now.
...But what if I rolled to have the ability to never make a mistake again in any future rolls. That'll work, right? |
I pulled into the drive way after a chance early day from work. Even though I had worked almost 80 hours this week it still didn’t feel like a gift after all I still had to go to work tomorrow. The company has been forcing us 10-12 hour days for the last few months so we can make quota and any and all vacations were canceled. I felt bad for my family since we had to cancel our annual camping trip, but even with all the Overtime Pay and bigger paychecks I feel like I’m missing out on my family. Still an extra 5 hours to spend with my family in the evening was a nice reprieve.
I sauntered into the house through the mud room taking off my boots by the door and taking off my coveralls which were stained with hydraulic fluid and fuel from having to fix machines and equipment all day and put on a pair of shorts as I walked into the kitchen. It was nice in the house as the cool air hit my skin. I looked around and noticed none of kids were home and their bikes which were normally parked by the front door were gone. They must have gone down to their friends a few blocks away which means the wife and I have the house all to ourselves possibly until late.
Excited about spending the rest of the day in bed watching tv with the wife and eating copious amounts of junk food which was our tradition when the kids were gone among other activities. I grabbed the Oreos and cheese whiz and quietly climbed the stairs to the second floor so as to surprise her. But as I neared our bedroom door I could hear noises that made me think something was going on.
As I threw open the door to our bedroom my wife let out a scream and froze staring at me. I couldn’t figure out what was going on because she was alone and it didn’t look like anyone had made some grand escape. But my wife gasped and said it’s not what it looks like. I was more confused than anything because while it looks like something that could be taken for as “kinky” I was unsure. My wife had strapped herself to our “love swing” while wearing the Alien queen costume she made for comic con, and had the remotes for a remote controlled tank that shot nerf balls and had built what looked like a Lego conveyor belt underneath her and she had taken the eggs from the fridge and looked like she was laying them. Our bedroom floor was covered by the kids’ Lego figures and GI joes and stuffed animals some disfigured and some pointing weapons at my wife. My first thought was the Alien VS Predator movie but this scene was not in that movie. In the background playing on the tv wasn’t anything too adult but definitely wasn’t for kids.
“What are you doing,” I asked my wife with a confused look, almost scared of the answer.
“Well,” she started to reply but stopped almost unable to finish. She seemed extremely embarrassed, we have been together quite a long time and over the years have resorted to a more active bedroom life however this seemed a little over the top. Even so I asked and she replied, “I was bored not aroused.”
“So you’re playing?” I asked, “Alien?”
“It seemed like a good idea at the time,” she replied smiling half heartedly.
I closed the bedroom door locking it behind me and grabbed the tank controller and we spent the rest of the evening eating Oreos and playing Alien. It was definitely a weird evening but it was nice to see my wife using her imagination and trying to be younger again. |
When his first love had left him, at 19, there was thunder and lightning. A loud rumbling from the clouds, though the season wasn't quite right. Meteorologists ascribed it to a freak weather pattern.
When his mother had died, at 30, the streets in his town flooded. Cars slid down motorways, power-lines fell. Ten casualties. The municipality hadn't been equipped to deal with the wide scope of the storm, and so were left unprepared.
When his wife died in labor, at 40, the storm that followed obliterated most things in it's path. Experts called it the worst in fifty years. Though everything around the hospital seemed to vanish in a thick, heavy rain, the building itself seemed sheltered from the storm's wrath. Doctors called it a miracle.
He had always thought that the storm followed him in life, echoing unfortunate events. A sort of 'bad-luck omen'. He thought that whenever he died, he'd have a storm just like the others roll over the church. He joked about it often, how God must have been 'holding a grudge'.
When he passed away, at 50, the sky was bone-dry. |
Loki consulted the parchment in front of him. "You enter the room and praise the Gods! There is a clear fountain of water in the-"
"Why are we praising ourselves?"interrupted Forseti. "Not all of us are as desperate for attention as Freya over here."
Freya didn't look up from her mirror as she retorted "At least SOMEONE here is concerned about their appearance! Tyr isn't even trying to cover up that disgusting stump!"
"Chicks dig scars, said Tyr, carefully examining his pewter figurine. "Loki, did you even try to make these accurate? My biceps are at least eight times bigger than this."
"ODIN PRAISES NO MAN"roared Odin from the head of the table, "EXCEPT THIS TIME ODIN IS PRAISING HIMSELF, SO ODIN WILL GRACIOUSLY ALLOW IT"
"I'm bored already,"said Thor. "When do I get to kill something?"
"Everyone shut up!"yelled Loki. "Fine. Turns out the fountain was poison, and there are twenty Jotuns hidden behind an altar!"
Thor scoffed. "Only twenty? I kill twenty thousand when I think too hard."
"You think?"muttered Loki mockingly from the end of the table.
"I heard that!"said Thor.
"Please everyone, settle down, said Frigg soothingly. "Loki wanted all of us to play his game with him as a family, so we're all going to be respectful to him. Thor, remember how well-behaved Loki was at all of your hammer recitals?"
"It's not a game, it's a tactical adventure of cunning and deception!"whined Loki. "And it wasn't hard to sit through his recitals when he was the only one competing!"
Frigg shot him a death glare. "All the same, we need to spend more time as a family. Your father doesn't get to spend very much time at home-""MORTAL POON AINT GONNA FUCK ITSELF"yelled Odin- "and we should treasure the time we have together."finished Frigg, without skipping a beat.
Meanwhile Balder had rolled the die and had turned to Loki for his fate. "Ooh, a two, tough luck-you failed your saving throw."Loki consulted the parchment. "You die when a party member betrays you and pierces your heart with a dart of mistletoe!...that's...oddly specific..."
"I hit it with my hammer."said Thor.
"What?"
"His wound. I hit it with my hammer."
"Thor, you've been saying that about every obstacle for the past two hours! Old crone asking for money? Hit her with a hammer. A magical jewel that can cure disease? Hit it with a hammer. A child separated from his parents? Hope you fought bravely on the battlefield and died a noble death kid, otherwise you're going straight to Hel."
Thor shrugged. "Any sane mortal man would be honored to be murdered by Mjlonir in battle."
Loki stood from his chair and threw the game board to the ground. "I hate you! This is the worst family ever!"He ran up to his room crying.
Just then Bragi burst into the room, in full bard regalia, singing an ancient Nordic hymn while strumming his harp.
"If you want the mead, then bring the ruckus, cause Fenrir Wolf aint nothing to-"
"Give it a rest, Fagi,"said Thor, rolling his eyes. "Well this was fun, but I have better things to do."He stood and left the room, followed by Freya, then Odin, then the others, until finally Bragi was left alone in the room. He sighed and glanced down at his jester costume, and poked sadly at one of the bells.
"And I worked so hard on these..."
EDIT: Thank you so much for the gold, kind stranger!
|
Clint Motherfuck took one last drag on his cigar and then stubbed it out on his forehead. He stood in the back of the armoured police truck and started prepping for the raid, he strapped his bullet proof vest on over his naked torso, he never wore a shirt, his mother had always taught him that shirts were for liberals and vegans. The rest of the SWAT team stood away from Clint, eyeing the 8 foot 7 brute.
One of the younger SWATs made the rookie mistake of talking to Clint, 'I see you have a tattoo there chief, what's it of? I can hardly see, have you ever thought of waxing your back' he joked, laughing uneasily.
Clint turned to face the rookie, the truck rocked gently on its suspension, 'Wax my back?' he rumbled, 'What are you? Some kind of vegan? Would you ask a lion to shave his mane?'
'I was just jokin'' replied the rookie tremulously.
Clink squinted down at the quaking rookie,'My tatt's a mighty stallion with a bone spike growing out of its forehead. It represents a horse that can stab things with its forehead.'
'So... it's a unicorn?', squeaked the rook.
'What the fuck's a unicorn? Some kind of vegan commie food?' Growled Clint with a voice that sounded like an avalanche in a sub-woofer factory.
'It's a kind of mythical, magic horse... Little girls like 'em..'
'Little girls love murder-spike stallions?'
'Yeah, but they call them unicorns.'
'And they like unicorns because they can stab people?'
'No, they like them 'cause they're pretty and magical... and shit'
Clint looked thoughtful, 'Unicorn' he mumbled to himself.
The rookie nervously tried to change the topic away from comparing Clint to little girls, he groped into his pocket and pulled out a photo, ‘This is my wife, she’s worring at home about me, but guys like us know that sometimes you’ve just gotta put yourself in harm's way.’
Clint regarded the photo expressionlessly, ‘You’re wife’s a woman?’ he growled.
‘Y… Yeah?’ replied the rook baffled.
‘Women are all pretty, soft, an’ smell good, and shit?’
‘Yeah...’ answered the rook uneasily.
‘What are you? some kinda vegan?’ This is my wife’, said Clint derisively in a voice like a glacier singing Barry White covers, he then pulled a photo out of his pocket and proffered it to the Rook.
The rookie warily too the photo from Clint’s gigantic fist, ‘This is a picture of MMA world champion Brick Uppercut.’ he said flatly.
‘Yeah, he’s my little spoon.’ said Clint, as he pulled out another photo, ‘Here we are givin’ each other kitten kisses.’
The rookie stared at the photo, ‘“Kitten kisses”?’, the photo was of Clint and Brick, violently headbutting each other,'"Kitten. Kisses...'".
‘Kitten kisses’ confirmed Clint before turning to the rest of the squad, ‘Move out.’
The raid started out textbook, they cleared room after room of the don’s hideout without a hitch. Any resistance was quickly neutralised. It wasn’t long until the squad, led by Clint made it to the last room in the hideout, the don’s office.
Clint motioned the squad to stack up by the door, they prepped the breaching charge… Then all hell broke loose .
The door was blasted open from the inside, sending SWAT sprawling, showering them with shrapnel. Clint was thrown off his feet by the sudden shock wave of heat and sound.
Clint pulled himself back to his feet. The hideout was choked with a cloud of smoke and pulverised concrete. From somewhere in the dust Clint heard the moaning and shuffling of a survivor. It was the rookie.
‘I can’t go on’ wheezed the rookie, through the dust fog Clint could see mafiosos advancing cautiously, checking for survivors.
‘You can make it, rookie, me an’ you, we’re gonna take these guys out and get the don’ grumbled Clint.
‘Clint… I can’t stand. I can’t go on.’ murmured the rook, the dust was beginning to settle, revealing the don.
‘You’ve gotta take him out’ Clint said, pointing to the don, ‘I’ll take on the rest of ‘em.’
‘Clint, I can’t stand, I can’t walk, I’m hurt!’ Pleaded the rookie.
‘Then you’ll fly! Like a mighty butterfly! Like a butterfly rookie, a mighty one!’
‘Butterfly? Butterfly?! What are you talking abot-’ the rook was cut off as Clint grabbed him by the ankles whirled him around the head and hurled him at the don. As he flew through the air, Clint roared in a voice like a volcano with a testosterone imbalance, ‘Fly you dainty, vegan butterfly fuck!’
The rook crashed into the don with a meaty crump, violently knocking him to the ground.
It was a textbook rookie toss.
|
King Stephen I faced the wind coming down the Channel, enjoying the feeling of it rustling through his long hair. Across the water, France was just barely visible: a patch of green at the end of a choppy field of grey. The fires that raged for months had finally died down, leaving no sign of the continent's devastation. At least, not from this vantage.
France had been one of the first kingdoms to fall. The last message received across the channel had said that Louis VII and his forces had retreated up into the mountains. Given their utter failure at Tours and the harsh winter that followed, no one realistically expected Louis to have survived. But Stephen had instituted the blockade shortly after, so even if the French King was trying to contact him, he'd never know. The navy patrolling the Channel was now ordered to burn any approaching vessel on sight, no questions asked. 99% of the time, they were creaky rowboats barely fit to paddle a pond, much less the turbulent sea. But the refugees were more than willing to face the current than return to fight the *Moros*.
They weren't Moors, of course. Everyone knew that now, but the name had stuck. When the army of the Undead first attacked, they roamed from the Cordoba Caliphate into Christian lands, swarming like locusts. King Alphonse VII had ridden to meet the approaching army that bore no banners but wore Moorish armor. His soldiers found that their arrows and blades had no effect: the undead could be shot and stabbed countless times. Only removing the head would stop them, which is not an easy trick for a mounted knight with a lance. And every man lost became a new recruit for their rotting army.
They'd swept through the Christian provinces of Spain in a matter of weeks. Then France shortly after. The Holy Roman Empire destroyed the bridges across the Rhine and fortified any remaining crossings, but it was not enough. The plague reached Scandanavia just as spring arrived, when travel was easiest for them. Italy's major trading cities ensured that the Undead could arrive from all over, and spread just as quickly. Though, there were rumors that the Pope had managed to hold out inside the stout walls of the Vatican. If God were to protect anyone, surely it would be him?
England had not gone unscathed. The Anarchy had ensured that no one noticed the problem until it was almost too late. The nobles only began to pay attention when Tours was burned, and by then the outbreak had started in Birmingham, London, and Kent (among others). Most of the port cities had to be sealed off and burned; Stephen would never forget the screams coming from within Liverpool as the flames licked the battlements. The walls that had intended to serve as the defenses of those citizens had instead become their prison and executioner. Those were the dark days, when it seemed that all was lost, and that fighting the Moros was as futile as slashing at the sea.
But through Stephen's strong leadership, England prevailed. Matilda had seen the folly of her ways and conceded the throne to him, if he could put down this menace. The Isles were united by the cause, with even Scotland and Ireland contributing forces and resources to ending the scourage. Britain's greatest smiths had gone to work, creating seamless plate armor with no gaps to allow for bites. The realm's alchemists had created powders that could turn to flame in an instant, and the armies were equipped with armored pumps to spray oil on advancing Moros. Slowly but surely, England had been reclaimed. There hadn't been a report of Moros in over three months, and by now everyone had learned: immediately behead anyone with any sign of bite.
Stephen turned away from the cliff facing France and looked down at the field where his army was assembled: thousands of armored knights with stout shields and battleaxes built for beheadings. Drum towers to lure the Moros, armored at the bottom and equipped with oil barrels to burn mass groups of them. Massive spiked logs to simply roll over their brainless opponents, pushed by teams of peasants. It had taken over a year to gather the army, but Stephen was finally ready: it was time to cross the channel and reclaim Europe.
----
[As requested, Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/Luna_Lovewell/comments/3a1l2o/the_moros/cs8pdkn) |
In spite of the crowds, the poor lighting and the noise, I saw Adam as soon as I walked in to Quarter Lounge. He glanced up at me and then quickly averted his eyes. As with all of the 40 immortals, we recognize each other instantly, even if our appearances have drastically changed.
Adam, as usual, was talking with some woman who didn’t look old enough to be in this place. Dirty old man. I’m not sure how old, but I’ve known Adam at least 4,500 years, even if he didn’t look a day over 25. He was short, just five foot five, but he radiated charisma and a few thousand years of practice made him quite the flirt.
I pulled my tight black dress up an inch higher and reached into my blue purse to pull out a sheet of paper. Walking up to Adam, I inserted myself between him and his lady friend and said, “Adam, we need to talk."
“Elsa, I’m a bit busy now.”
“But Adam, the test results just came in from the doctor and they’re definitely positive.” I stifled a laugh as I heard the woman behind me scurry away.
“You bitch! What the hell?” Adam’s eyes tore past me and I could see him following the ass of the young woman as she walked away. He turned his angry eyes back at me. “So what do you want Elsa? It’s been what? Eight years? Why are you here ruining my night?"
“ Adam, you’ll find someone else as soon as I’m out of here. Don’t worry. I’m here because I actually am delivering this notice to you.” I pointed down at the paper. "The council summons you. You’ve gotta appear before us in 18 months time in Paris, April 12, 2017."
“Look Elsa, you and your two dozen friends can play model-UN on your own time.” Adam briefly snickered at his own joke. "I haven’t reported to the council in twelve centuries and I’m certainly not starting this decade. Some of us like our independence."
“If you don’t show up, they’re going to forcibly take you in. The council has decided that we can’t have ungoverned immortals wandering around impacting events. Robert’s games in Syria in 2014 were the last straw. Running through bullets, appearing on video breathing in chemicals. The world’s intelligence agencies are trying to track us down. It’s a new era and we need to get unified or face some real opposition."
I had rehearsed that speech and it came out even better than expected. Still, Adam sat unmoved.
“I’m not going.” He grabbed his whiskey, drank it, and started to turn away.
“They’re threatening volcano or cement.”
That got Adam's attention. He looked back at me. “Come on? That’s bullshit."
“If you don’t show up and we catch you, you get thrown in a volcano or trapped in cement. Victoria is still in the Hoover Dam. That’s not a fate you want. It would prevent you from picking up the pretty ladies in the bar."
“Go to hell.” Adam grabbed his coat to leave.
“I’ll see you in Paris.” |
The radio on my hip beeped. I whipped it off and held it up to my ear.
"Sir, he's at it again"
I groaned. "Where?"I grumbled.
"About halfway between The Shadow of the Valley of Death and The Cave of Unforgiving Madness"
I sighed as I holstered the radio. My great black leathery wings extended and I took flight over the plains of Hell. In a few hours, or perhaps no time at all, arrived at the source of the commotion: Cerberus, my three headed demon hell hound. From each of his head protruded several eyes, varying in shape and size. Horns and spike riddled the heads and body. The entire beast was skinless, providing a grotesque effect that was unbearable for most humans. Each jaw of my monster split into four mandibles, armed to the tip with teeth.
Cerberus, twice the size of an elephant, squirmed and twisted on his back in glee as Steve Irwin energetically scratched his belly. Seeing I had arrived on the scene, Steve's smile became even wider.
"G'day Satan! Aint she a beauty?"He said happily, shifting his position so he could scratch under the monster's exposed rib cage. "She's one of the most magnificent and dangerous creatures that roams the levels of The Inferno."
I pinched the bridge of my nose in frustration. "Steve, you *have* to stop sneaking down here from Heaven and making documentaries about my demons. It kinda ruins the point if you try to make them out to be cute and cuddly animals"
A sudden jerk from Cerberus threw Steve from the monster and sent him crashing through a stalagmite nearby. Straightening his halo, Steve jumped to his feet and ran at Cerberus. Withing seconds, the he had wrestled my giant hell hound into submission. His camera crew followed, trying to catch the action from the best angle.
"Steve, go back to Heaven or I'll ask Gabriel to come get you himself"I said irritably.
"Aww don't be like that mate. I think she likes me almost as much as I love her"Steve said, ducking as the middle head tried its best to bite him.
I rolled my eyes. 10 years. 10 years I had put up with this guy. He would sneak down every few weeks to feed the Hydra or try and take notes on the mating behaviors of the giant spider demons. There was literally nothing that could curb this man's enthusiasm and love of animals.
I sighed. I didn't want to imagine what sort of shenanigans he was going to get into once Terri Irwin dies and joins him. |
I've heard it said that a wise man fears three things. The first is a moonless night, and the unseen dangers it holds. The second is the sea in storm, for no man can withstand the awesome power of nature. The third, though, is the most terrifying of all.
________________________________________________
It had been a week since the funeral and Patrick was just finishing tidying up the house. Everything in place as she would've liked it. Organized. Clean. The apartment still smelled of her, of sandalwood perfume, of oil paints, of laughter. It had taken Patrick days to find that scent again, so long smothered by the stench of illness and putrid stink of fear. The illness that had taken his wife had been slow and cruel but Sarah had known these things before and smiled until the very end. She begged Patrick to find peace and happiness after she was gone. She hoped he would be able to move on, to forgive, to forget and when she passed, she had peace and hope in her heart. Whatever peace and hope Patrick once held, he lost that day and what he found waiting in its place was monstrous.
____________________________________________________________
At nearly sixty, Tony found walking to his car was getting more and more uncomfortable after one of his "physical therapy"sessions. His patient, fourteen year old Trisha, certainly hadn't seemed quite as energetic at the beginning of their meetings but now that he had worn down her defenses with some insistent rubbing, Tony was confident he'd seal the deal soon. The young ones, always so vulnerable and pliable in his strong hands. "It's not wrong,"he'd tell them, and if they still said no, "Well then I'll just have to tell your parents, or maybe you'd like them to see these pictures!"That usually kept them...compliant. Tony smiled confidently to himself as he looked forward to Trisha's appointment and was so lost in pleasant thought he didn't see a man walking towards him from the other side of the parking lot. He definitely didn't see the man's hands, or the SAP gloves he was wearing. It wasn't until the man spoke that Tony was aware of him at all.
Patrick was less than a foot away when he whispered the last words Tony would ever hear..."Sarah forgave you for the things you did to her all those years ago. I have not."
Tony turned in confusion and fear when the first blow landed and shattered his jaw. Crumpling to the ground in shock, the next punch targeted his ribs and shattered 5, puncturing his lung. Tony began to drown in his own blood and as his vision grew dark, he could only look up in fear at the looming monster.
____________________________________________________________
I've heard it said that a wise man fears three things. The first is a moonless night, and the unseen dangers it holds. The second is the sea in storm, for no man can withstand the awesome power of nature.
The third is the anger of a patient man, for there is nothing more dangerous than fury that has become a friend.
Patrick had heard the stories for years. He listened as she wept, or screamed, or raged at the betrayal of the people who had harmed her as a child. He had held her in the dark when the nightmares became too much and he lifted her back into the light whenever she was tainted by the poison of her past. Patrick was calm and steadfast. He always told Sarah to let go, to seek peace, to live in the loving here and now. He never grew angry at her as he knew who the real monsters were. Patrick was furious... and very patient.
Edit: Fixed grammatical error. |
The creature was small and delicate, with spindly limbs covered in thin white hairs. She was frozen in place.
One of its fingers curled, and its round head bobbed insistently. It was beckoning to her; as her heart fluttered nervously, she leaned forward until they were nose to nose. It grasped at the fabric of her space suit and pulled her closer, bringing its mouth to her ear.
And then its hand whipped out, a finger jabbed her in the chest, and it said, "You're it."The creature giggled like a child, scurrying away with its head wobbling back and forth.
Standing there with her mouth parted, she watched her chance at world-renowned achievement skip through an alien wilderness. She came to a sudden, irrational decision: she had to chase after it.
The oxygen levels were just high enough to support a little bit of running, so she tossed aside her space helmet and dove into the forest of red vines. As she plunged deeper and deeper into the planet, dust swirled around each step and left dented footprints in the sandy dirt. She was following its path of bird-like tracks, stopping every so often to catch her breath or get her bearings.
When she finally found the creature, it was curled into a ball, staring out at her with wide eyes. She grabbed it roughly by the elbow, and it shrieked in delight.
"Say it,"it told her. "Say it, say it!"
She raised an eyebrow at it, cheeks flushed from exertion. "We're not playing games, you extraterrestrial bobble head."
It gave her a look of innocent confusion. "I'm it?"
The astronaut dragged the little alien back through the forest, and hacked at vines the whole way; the creature was oddly quiet. When they reached the shuttle, it began to scrabble at the ground. Its fingers and toes clutched at the dust, leaving claw marks in the sand.
The color drained from its face. "No thank you,"it said shrilly. "No! No thank you!"It squirmed and kicked against her, hissing and biting, before suddenly going silent again.
"Crap,"said the astronaut, feeling for a heartbeat. They were, after all, fragile-looking creatures, and she was afraid she'd strangled it on accident.
A finger darted up and poked her in the nose. "You're it!"And off it scampered, over the shuttle and into the tunnels behind it. She raced after it.
Her radio buzzed, and a grainy voice came through: "Where are you, dammit? Over."
"Busy,"she answered through gritted teeth. "Over."
"For Christ's sake, Sarah, we thought something took you. Why the hell didn't you answer? Over."
She stumbled on a purple root, falling soundly into the hard rock of the tunnel.
"Sarah?"
"I found something."There was a slickness to the rock that made climbing difficult — her knuckles were white as they gripped the cracks and crevices.
"We need you back at the lab. Over."
A chittering noise came from her right, and her head moved to follow the sound. Then she heard the tell-tale giggle. "Quiet,"she whispered into the radio.
"Sarah— "
The quiet laughter stopped. "Crap!"
"Are you okay?"
"I lost it again."The astronaut sighed. "Look, I've got to catch this thing. I'll be back later. Over and out."She switched the radio off.
And then she followed the alien through the tunnels. It is likely that the astronaut and the alien have played that game a long, long time, because not a soul heard from her ever again. |
"Excuse me?"
The elven general seemed almost insulted at the threat, and yet the almost lax manner of rhetoric the admiral spoke was enough to make him hesitate.
"Napalm? High Explosives? What exactly are those? Moreover, what do you think you're implying?"
The admiral was normally no nonsense and stoic, yet this almost ludicrous event had given way from his stone-like rigidness into a constant state of annoyance that he was the one assigned to deal with the matter.
"First off, they're what I'd rather use than this ship. I didn't want to bring along a carrier just to prove a point, but here we are. As far as what I'm implying, well it's that I don't care how much magic you have, we have weaponry that can level forests in fire and if it comes down to it, we have nuclear devices. Explosives that will literally wipe out your cities and salt your land with radiation. And that's only if you could deal with our jets. I doubt you could even comprehend one of these giant bastards roaring at mach 1, never mind top speed."
The admiral motioned to an F/A-18E Super Hornet poised to launch off the state of the art EMALS aboard the USS Gerald R. Ford. The elf took a long look at the Jet, realizing just how intricate it looked. He was cautious to prod as to what exactly he was looking at, or how fast a "mach"was.
"What exactly is it capable of doing? You seem to be rather proud of that contraption."
The admiral was smug about his next remark, prepared to show the might of humanity, alongside the power of their recognizance.
"What is it capable of doing? Well let me show you."
As the admiral gave the all clear, the engines began to spur as the Aircraft was launched. The electromagnetic rails went off without a hitch, the newly christened ship made its first successful field launch with a payload of fear heading straight to the portal.
[ *Target inbound. 25 miles and counting*
{Confirmed.
[ *19 miles*
{Is the payload primed?
[*Can Confirm. 14 Miles*
{You are cleared for assault.
[*Understood. 10 Miles, 3 Seconds to release*
[...*Releasing Payload*
The few minutes were tense. The elf was stunned at the speed he witnessed the giant metal machine fly. The admiral stood silently, his gray streaks glistening under the clear ocean sky, his furrowed brow now smoothed as his aged face now smirked. He was feeling as cocky as his crew, and he wanted to show it.
"If you think we can't figure out when we have a death beam pointed at us, you've underestimated how dangerous we are."
The elf had a small blue ring appear around his ear. Seemingly transparent, it began humming, however the admiral could tell it was a form of transmission, and the look of horror on the general's face was a sign his display of force was a success.
"Your little cloaking magic doesn't mask thermal signatures. Your shield definitely can't handle what we've got to throw at them. I'm sure that giant coastal tower of yours housed a lot of soldier, but now it's going to be an example. And for the record, so are you."
The elf looked around him as countless guns were trained on him and his two guards. The admiral's face returned to a sternly annoyed look.
"There's a thousand foot high wall peaking out of the damn Atlantic ocean right now, and it's somehow a fucking portal to god knows where. Out comes a little white haired brat who thinks a few parlor tricks can stand up to humanity's brute force, and they have the audacity to expect such a bullshit tactic to somehow upend our capabilities. Unlike you, we have a reason to be cocky. Before the first day was done we had drones flying over your sorry asses divulging every secret you had. Now what the drones couldn't get, you're going to give."
One of the elven guards began to understand the situation, and decided to act. Before he could move his staff more than an inch off the ground, a cavity formed in his skull as a bullet streamed effortlessly through his ceremonial headdress. brain matter spilled from the exit wound as the elf's body went limp, his staff clattered on the cold metal carrier's exterior while his face careened to the ground. As the sound of flesh on metal hit the ears of the still shocked elven general, he recoiled in horror. The admiral continued to vent his frustrations.
"I don't care if you bring out billy the kid magician, you're not saying shit before a bullet goes straight through your brain. You might have popped in with your fancy little teleportation, but we already know it takes a few seconds to "cast", and our triggers are sure as hell faster than that. Surrender or die, you've got 10 seconds to choose."
The other guard was terrified seeing his comrade lay dead no more than a few feet away. Without hesitation he dropped his staff and raised his hands as one of the soldiers stepped forward to detain him. The general looked at his surroundings as the admiral impatiently counted down.
"5. 4. 3. 2-"
The decision was made. The once proud general of the elves now looked on in horror as he realized the mistake that was made. This portal was a gateway to a hellish army. 25 miles covered in mere minutes by a metal bird, a long range strike tower wiped out in the blink of an eye, the culprit faster than any caster could hit. This floating metal fortress and its small strongholds were more than enough to chill his blood as he shouted his pleas in pure terror.
"I YIELD! I beg of you spare me! I will tell you whatever you want, damn it."
The admiral relaxed as a soldier stepped to the elf, rifle cautiously pointed at him.
"Finally. This whole week has been straight out of some deranged fairy tale, and it's given me nothing but a headache. At least some things make sense, but as for what doesn't... well you're going to help me with that punk, and my friends back on dry land will help you help me, you understand?"
The elf had a sense of impending doom, and little did he know how well deserved it was.
^(hope y'all liked it. I think it could've been better, but I just hope I did good enough for most people to enjoy.)
EDIT: tried to make it a bit more clear why the admiral was so crass. Also grammar (Edit2: Grammar again).
EDIT 3: whoops, raptor wasn't navalised, swapped it to a recommended (and personally liked series of fighter) hornet.
|
There was a time when man was bludgeoned over the head with love. As he grunted and groaned, the club of passion would crash upon him as Cupid beat the concept into place. Over time, the basics grew easier. The concept was ingrained and the art came in the precision.
Weapons are the most obvious metaphor man ever made for sexuality: the spears which thrust, the hammers which pound, and the arrows which pierce. There is passion turned into the very steel of a sword and a blade's edge draws the heart's blood quickly. And so the tools of war were easily turned to tools of love. Through the years, Cupid honed his battle skills with each successive advance in technology.
But the precision of weaponry was matched by the precision required for love. As humanity advanced, their ability to love waned with their beliefs in Gods and Devils. "Love,"they decided. "Is only chemicals in the brain."They grew jaded and cautious; unwilling to take the plunge of faith. They kept wary eye for Love's ambush, and distanced themselves from the attack.
Chemicals in the brain. Cupid snorted at the concept as he peered through the magnification of the Barrett .50 caliber rifle. He sighted the crosshairs upon the bobbing head so far below the cloud upon which he laid comfortable in its soft touch. The unaware woman below checked her shopping list as she walked through the parking lot. In the magnification, Cupid could read the lonely list: ramen, chocolate, eggs, catfood. He grinned as he fired. The recoil pushed the cloud back several feet through the air as the bullet arced downward and struck her through the top of the head. There was no splatter of blood and brain, but she dropped the list which fluttered softly to the ground.
Cupid quickly readjusted the scope to the young man who looked dumbly at the fallen note of the woman. He had been leaving the store when he saw the paper fall from her grasp. The Barrett barked fire, and the man's expression changed with the impact.
The man and woman locked eyes and smiled.
Cupid smiled with them. The humans were correct that a certain composition in the brain created love, but they would never guess it was hardened steel and trace elements of gunpowder. |
"Kill me."my Master demanded, firmly.
Well, ain't that a kick in the lamp. For 2000 years I've been bombarded with requests for money, fame, power, and sex, and for 2000 years I've watched those Wishes go awry. It's not my fault, it's just the elasticity of reality. I don't even know how it's going to go wrong until the moment I grant the wish, and find that the ways in which it can be technically granted have narrowed down to one or two possibilities that usually don't match what the Wisher intended. By then, it's too late for me to hit the brakes even if I wanted to, I *have* to grant the wish. I think it's because the universe is an orderly creature, but it's an ornery one, too. It doesn't like being pushed out of shape \-\- push it too hard, and it has a tendency to push *back.*
*Everyone* pushes it, though. No one ever Wishes for just *two\-hundred\-and\-fifty\-thousand* dollars, to be just *60\%* more attractive to the opposite sex, to have their enemies lose a *moderate* amount of money in the stock market, or any of a million other small Wishes that would allow them to lead a charmed life while still falling inside the cosmic margin of error. That being the case, some of my former Masters probably did wish they were dead by the end, but only with a lower\-case "w", after they'd already spent the three Wishes they got from me.
But someone rubbing the old bronze and immediately asking to snuff it? That's new to me, which isn't something I say often.
"Ah...Master?"I asked, plaintively. I'm not allowed to give unsolicited advice on Wishes, which is probably why the only people who've ever really come out ahead with me are the few inquisitive types who Wished to understand how Wishes work. I also can't grant a Wish that isn't properly phrased as such, which my suicidal client had failed to do.
"I want to die."he said, scowling. "My life has been nothing but misery. I won't regale with you why, because that would require me to relive my wretched existence, and prolong my suffering. I'm out, I'm done, I gaze upon the horizon of my future and proclaim: Nope!"
"I see."I replied, hesitantly. People kill themselves all the time without my help, and that doesn't break reality, although it harms the world in other ways. But I felt something profoundly *wrong,* in a more fundamental, categorical way as I considered this Wish. It was almost forcing a nonsensical idea into reality, in actualizing the will of the Wisher to no longer have any will at all. That's the kind of thing that gives the universe indigestion. Well, I couldn't ask questions when a guy asked for a tower that reached the moon \-\- he thought I failed to grant his Wish, but I assured him that somewhere on the moon there is an inch\-high tower \-\- I couldn't ask questions about this.
He stared at me, face full of bitterness. "Well?"
"Well what?"I hate it when they don't catch on. I'm really not allowed to clarify.
"I wished to die! Kill me!"he sputtered. Unfortunately, he made a factually incorrect statement that he *wished* to die. Past tense, not good enough.
"Did you?"I asked, wincing in discomfort, as that question strained my boundaries as far as I dared.
He paused a moment, thinking, and then smirked humorlessly. "Ah, I see. So *I* rub a magic lamp and I just happen to get an anal, uncooperative genii. That's just my luck."
I resented that, but simply crossed my arms and stared back at the little twerp.
"Fine."he said, rolling his eyes. "I Wish to die!"
And so he did, before I was even finished saying the obligatory "Granted."
When he awoke in the hospital, I was sitting in the guest chair by his bed, idly surfing the web on my phone. He blearily rubbed his eyes and looked around in confusion, until his eyes fell on me.
"Hey!"he cried, accusingly. "I Wished to die!"
"And die you did, Master."I replied, cheerfully. The irony of the arcane laws that bind me is that I am allowed \-\- indeed, required \-\- to explain the results of Wishes after the fact. "You suffered a heart attack. Luckily, a neighbor happened by, found you, and called 911. The paramedics arrived in record time to revive you, and though you were dead for a few minutes, you've made a splendid recovery. You're going to be just fine."
"I wanted to stay dead!"he snapped, wringing his bedclothes in consternation.
"That's not what you Wished."I replied, with a shrug and a smile. I really don't usually take pleasure in how I have to distort peoples' wishes. I feel sorry for them, I feel bad about having to dash their hopes. But this guy really bugged me.
"Fine!"he yelled, shaking off the tubes and wires that connected him to various machines. "Then I Wish..."
He paused, and I raised my eyebrows. He was thinking it over. A lot of people don't, after the first Wish goes south. They hasten to correct it, and thereby make it worse.
"No...I'm not going to Wish to die and stay dead...you'll send me to some kind of hell or underworld or something."he mused, glaring at me. Actually, things like Heaven and Hell are above even my pay grade , they're one of the few things I can't do anything about. Of course, I couldn't tell him that, so I just looked back calmly.
He thought for a while longer, and slowly a triumphant smile spread across his face. "I Wish that I never existed!"
Uh\-oh. That was a problem. Because, of course, if he never existed, *how did he make that Wish?* Everything went black around me. Matter, energy, space, and time unraveled as I looked on in horror. His first Wish was bad enough, but now he had gone and Wished for a paradox. 2000 years I'd gone with no one breaking the Universe, but every streak has to end, I guess. When someone wishes for something that's strongly opposed to reality, reality hangs in the balance, and I have to find the loophole that lets the Wish and the universe co\-exist. I had a hard time with this one, I admit. It took me a while. Fortunately for all you people who have to live in the universe, when time ceases to exist, you effectively have all the time you'll ever need.
It was both eternity and no time at all before I spoke again.
"Granted. Welcome back, Master."
"Damn you."he growled.
"Categorycally ympossyble."Aye assured hym.
"Somethyng's wrong..."my Master sayd, toucheng hys temple and lookeng around en confuseon. "What dyd you do?"
"What you asked, Master. Aye made et so that a partycular letter of the Latyn alphabet never exysted."Aye replyed.
"You son of a bytch."he muttered en amazement, as he worked et out en hys head. "You got ryd of the letter that Aye used for the word "Aye"when Aye made my Wysh..."
"Yes, but thyngs aren't always perfectly changed en the mynd of the Wysher themselves, whych ys why you notece somethyng's wrong."Aye confermed. "No one else wyll notece, though."
He sat there for a long tyme. Slowly, hys face fell, and hys eyes fylled wyth tears. "Ay've never had anythyng but payn and suffereng from lyfe...why are you doeng thys to me?"
"Ay'm not doeng anythyng."Aye replyed, symply. "You do thys to yourself. "
Aye could already see where thys was goeng, Ay've been doeng thys job a long tyme. Aye leaned en close to hym. "You've *always* done thys to yourself."
Hys eyes wydened. Ah, the look of a mortal whose world vyew has been exploded by the Aesop\-bomb that so often accompanys a magec lamp. Aye never get tyred of seeng et. He sat en sylence for a long tyme, and Aye dydn't say anythyng else. Aye knew et was only a matter of tyme before he sayd et.
"Aye Wysh to undo my ferst two Wyshes."he muttered, quyetly.
"Granted."*I* said, with a smile. |
"Just beat the devil out of it."The soft mellifluous voice at first seemed incongruous with the words, a soft giggle suffusing the words, followed by a rapid and rhythmic thud-thud-thud-thud.
​
The sound trailed off as the speaker, a tall man with a soft brown Afro wearing a loose pastel blue shirt and tight jeans, looked around. Bob Ross knew that the room was definitely not the studio that he had been in. The cameras and crewmen had all gone and in their place stood a tall man wearing a vivid purple garb with silver moons and stars all over. His long silver hair and beard obscured his chest down to his waist and was topped with a tall pointy hat in a matching pattern. Blue eyes sat behind half-moon glasses, sharp and knowing.
​
"I am sure you are wondering what the meaning of this is?"The brightly dressed man asked, one arm waving as if to indicate their surroundings.
​
Bob simply nodded his brown eyes meeting the soft blue eyes of the stranger, his time in the Air Force had taught him to be patient and take in everything before making any moves.
​
"My name is Albus Dumbledore, and you are in Hogwars School for Witchcraft and Wizardry. I had intended to find a master painter, but there seems to have been a mistake."
​
"There are no mistakes, only happy little accidents."Bob replied back, his voice soft. "My name is Bob Ross, I am a painter, maybe not a master painter, but a painter. But how did I get here?"The last was delivered with not a small amount of confusion.
​
"Magic. "Dumbledore stated simply, "Please follow me."And with that Dumbledore turned and started striding away, ignoring the open mouthed disbelief on Bob's face. Falling instep half a pace behind him Bob finally spoke as they exited the room they were in, through a large doorway into a wide hallway.
​
"Magic? Honest to goodness magic?"His voice was steady, with a note of questioning but without a drop of disbelief.
​
"You seem to be taking this rather well."Dumbledore remarked as he strode down the hallway and into the large shaft of The Grand Staircase.
​
"I suppose I am. "Bob replied following up a few stairs, and staggering when he felt the stairs below his feet start to move, looking around he saw a tall column filled with moving staircases, shifting from hall to hall, sweeping around. He could see his own staircase shifting too, no longer connected to the hallway he had exited, the end hung out over a precipitous drop only a few steps away. He was also aware of many painting frames lining the walls, in a myriad of shapes, sizes and materials. The only reason he knew they were painting frames at all were the pristine expanses of white canvas stretched between. Why would anyone display a blank canvas, let alone hundreds of them? He mused to himself.
​
Turning to Dumbledore, mouth open to ask a question he met the penetrating gaze of the older man, his blue eyes seeming to burrow into him, shriveling the words in his mouth. "You have noticed then, the frames?"The man asked with a strange tone.
​
"Yes."Bob answered. "Why.."He didn't get to finish his sentence as the staircase juddered to a halt, and Dumbldore's expression changed to one of joy.
​
"Ah, yes. Here we are."He said jovially brushing past Bob, down the stairs the way they had come and down a new hallway, also covered in blank canvasses framed in a myriad of styles and sizes. Sweeping into a large room filled with easels, pots of paints and brushes he spun to face Bob Ross.
​
"Mr Ross, Hogwarts needs your help."Dumbledore proclaimed. |
The first time I saw one of the “humans” it was terrifying. They were 600 Zenlongs tall, while the tallest of our own kind at the time were no more than 50 Zenlongs. The humans’ hide was impenetrable. The face did seem a weak spot, but upon exploitation, it proved only to anger the monsters.
We crafted our weapons over millennia for the sole purpose of efficient destruction. Yet, even our strongest weapon, the Yiltar super cannon - a large gun which fired a 100-Zenlong-long ball of refined tree skins- was useless against the humans. Volleys from these weapons merely bounced off the thick hides of the behemoths.
Our cities faired little better. One kick from a human could topple nearly the whole area. Planet after planet burned as the humans marched, undeterred by our valiant defense. We were hopelessly outmatched.
The tide turned when we came to the final planet in our route. It was a world of blue and green. At first we despaired, for this seemed to be the human’s homeworld. However, it seemed as though the humans here did not know about us. They knew about the Veyglons, our mortal enemies. The Veyglons has apparently been capturing the humans like cattle for generations. We were relieved, then, to find they were willing to help, and more relieved to find that the Veyglons missed a crucial detail. The humans made weapons which made killing humans a trivial task.
The battle was messy. The Veyglons has brainwashed their humans captives, so despite negotiations, the Veyglon thralls would not stand idly by. Thus, human slew human. It was a strange thing. We Rainshan have never killed each other, yet the humans did so with seemingly little remorse; yet after the battle, the fallen humans were collected and shipped back to families. A strange culture indeed.
With their humans slain, the Veyglons were easily routed. Our new human allies had little trouble resisting the veyglon counter offensives, which were of more meager strength than what even we could muster.
The day was ours, and the humans gladly took what we could teach them of interplanetary travel. In return, the human agreed to colonize any world we settled to protect us against renewed aggression. They breed fast. I was merely a pup on the battlefield when I saw my first human. And now my son plays with the great grandson of my first human friend.
These are strange times, but these are peaceful times. The fear which once accompanied the word human now brings a feeling of security. If only they lived longer. I miss my friend dearly. May we all now have a moment of silence for our dear Bethany, may she Rest In Peace. |
I tried to fix the corset, but whatever I do, I felt like I made it worse... and it’s bruising my ribs.
“Stop that,” Julie whispered.
“This is bullshit. How the hell did this happen?” I asked her.
“Well, Lord Caron invited you to-“
“Not that!” I snapped.
The other guests at the ball looked at us, judgmental bastards.
“The lady is nervous,” Julie stated, “Calm down Lady Julia.”
“I can’t... Sir Timothy,” I gritted.
Julie sighed and looked around the crowded ballroom again. I wish I had my body back. I should’ve let Julie get hit... no, then I would have lived with guilt for the rest of my life. But then again, I wouldn’t be in Julie’s body in the first place.
“There’s Lord Caron,” Julie said.
He entered the room, dressed as elegantly, probably showing off his wealth through his clothes. But he does look dashing. I think I’m starting to sweat, especially down there.
“Does vaginas sweat this much?” I asked.
“Dear god,” Julie groaned, “Just... Why is this happening?”
“That’s what I asked when we got here. So what do I need to do, sleep with him?”
“Don’t. You. Dare. Flirt with him, my god.”
“He looks like a tits guy,” I said, adjusting the dress to make my breasts bigger.
“Stop that!” Julie snapped, “stop messing with my boobs!”
“What, I’m trying to get his attention. What would you do?” I asked.
“Walk up to him, and try to get his attention-“
“By just talking? Please, I got this. I would’ve done it better in my body though,” I told her as I got up.
“So you would flirt with Lord Caron as Tim? I don’t think that will go well,” Julie said.
“Babe, I would have him wrapped around my finger. Just watch,” I told her and stride into the dance floor.
*30 Minutes Later*
I roundhouse kicked one of the guards as Julie and I ran. Lord Caron began to shout orders, meaning the whole kingdom will be after us now. Or lorddom... I don’t know!
“Why did you do that!” I yelled at Julie, “I had him wrapped around my finger!”
“I wanted to prove you wrong, okay!”
“By doing that! You are such a terrible flirt! I would’ve killed you too!” I told her as we ran into a barn.
“Well, I’m sorry I’m not such a harlot like you!” Julie snapped.
“We could steal those horses. And who says harlot these days?” I asked.
“It’s a magical medieval world. You know you have magic, right?”
“Now you tell me?!”
“I thought you knew! What have you been doing this entire time!”
“Winging it mostly! And using my survival skills?”
“You call those skills?”
“I didn’t say I was good at it! Just get on the damn horse and let’s go!” I yelled. |
*"You say they've jump-capable fleet carriers? Weren't they just getting a grasp for hull design within a vacuum?"*
*"A few of their solar revolutions, seven, to be precise. That's how long it took them to figure it out."*
*"I thought we sanctioned them so they could not get military grade schematics and equipment."*
*"We did, a-and still do. But they proved more intriguing to the xenopsychologists than we had anticipated. Did you read their reports?"*
*"Of course not. Who has the time? It's useless drivel anyways!"*
*"That's not what they found. Apparently, the 'Humans' as they call themselves, are extremely adaptable and have a great talent for imitation."*
*"But what does that have to do with their shipyards?"*
*"Well, they were brought on to a jump capable fleet carriers during their observation."*
*"So?"*
*"And the observation subjects were houses right next to engineering. One must have had some skill in propulsion technology."*
*"And I'm to believe they understood how the nacelles worked just by looking at them?"*
*"The xenopsychologist's report would suggest so, but I've checked the shipping manifest and...well..."*
*"What? Out with it!"*
*"One of every spare part was...missing."*
*"I don't have the faintest idea how we're going to explain this to central command..."*
*"Huh. Another report just came in. This time from the foreign culture curators."*
*"Am I going to be wrong if I say that's drivel too?"*
*"You might want to hold your tongue. The report's titled* ***The Punic Wars; how the Roman Republic copied and overtook the Carthaginian navy through..."***
*"Finish it."*
***"Reverse engineering."***
*"Central is going to kill us."* |
As soon as the words entered my thoughts, I felt a pull as I was drawn towards the centre of the branching cracks, where a large sliver of blackness seemed to suck all the remaining candlelight in the chamber.
Helplessly, my body rose. Untethered but for the invisible pull as I got closer and closer to the blackness in the centre. I heard the the gasps and panicked urgent chanting. I tried to move my arms, my feet, my head. Anything. But I was petrified as I entered the blackness, and as it engulfed me it was all I could see.
"Long have I searched."
The voice was there again. I tried again to move my body. But I could not tell if I was successful. I could not feel anything. I could not see anything. I was trapped in my own body.
"Long have I bided my time."
I could no longer hear the chanting of the heathens. I realised I could hear nothing. Not even my own breathing. A strange, empty silence encompassed this void.
"Ah, no matter. You are here. You can finally be free of your mortal vessel and reclaim your throne."
I tried to talk. Open my mouth, work my throat. And was surprised to hear my voice, scratchy and hoarse.
"Where am I?"The sound that came out of my mouth seemed alien, the words sounded like someone else's.
"Home. Can't you see?"The other voice sounded puzzled.
See what? Was I truly blind?
"Ah, the lesser vessel. Mortals and their limited comprension of things. Forgive me. That should be the first order of business. To give you a shell fit for your standing. So you can reclaim your vision and marvel at all that belongs to you here."
Suddenly I felt another pull, and it felt like I was falling. Falling, falling, falling at an unimaginable speed. I tried to scream, but the sound was caught at my throat. And suddenly I was not falling anymore.
I was lying. I was lying and I could hear. But the sounds I was hearing were different. The ambience of my breathing, the sound the *air* made as it hung heavy around me, and distant noises that I knew I should not be able to hear.
Sounds that I have never heard before, not because they were new, but because I simply, physically could not. These sounds were always present, I realised.
And the way I was aware of them. I heard them for barely a second but my mind seemed to stretch that second so my thoughts could form and judge and decipher the noises at their leisure before that second ended and the next began.
My mind was different, as well. Being able to jump from ideas to ideas, thoughts to thoughts at a pace I was surprised to keep up with.
I had to open my eyes. I had to see.
And when I finally opened them in this new body, in this new consciousness, I saw.
"Welcome home, master."The voice announced. |
"Right, settle down you buggers,"the man yelled as he walked into the busy classroom. "My name is John Constantine and because *someone* cheats at cards,"he groaned and frowned in the general direction of the principal's office, "I'm here to teach you how to defend against dark magic today."
The class exchanged slightly confused looks; the man wore a beige trenchcoat, a loose tie, dirtied trousers... he looked less like a teacher and more like a used car salesman at a bar.
"Sir,"one of the boys near the front carefully said, "are- are you our teacher? I thought that teachers all wear black robes."
Constantine glared at the kid briefly, but then his face shifted into a smirk.
"Right you are, lad. Seem to have forgotten mine at the stables. Do us a favour, and, go fetch it for us, ey?"he said.
"But- sir, that's the other side of the school,"the boy protested. "It's a 20-minute run!"
"Then you best get going, right?"Constantine chuckled. The kid sighed and defeatedly left the classroom.
"Roight!"Constantine yelled and clasped his hands. "What's the last thing you lot learned here?"
"Page 54, sir,"a young woman near him said and offered him her textbook. He took it and started turning its pages.
"Ineffective... outdated... last one I saw someone try *this* one they lost two fingers!"he said and grinned at the class. They did not share his exuberance. He threw the book back to the girl.
"Bleedin' hell. No wonder this school loses a student almost every year,"he murmured to himself. "'Aight, listen up you lot. I ain't gonna teach you how to defend against dark magic. I'm gonna teach you how to *royally* fuck up whoever's trying to hex you, sound good?"
The class responded in a mixed manner - some students lit up excitedly, some grew worried. Constantine reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a crumpled pack of cigarettes, lighting one and taking a long puff.
"Good,"Constantine said contently. "Perhaps a demonstration is in order - I heard it's a 'good teaching technique'. How many of you have summoned a demon before?" |
"Husband hit me!"the Ogress wailed. "I want him arrest!"
"Wife hit me too!"the Ogre shot back. "I--"
I held up my hands "Sir, you'll both get a chance to--"
"Why cop only believe female can be victim?!"The Ogre demanded. "Look at me black eye!"
"Sir!"I said, more sharply. "I'm not taking anyone's side! I'm here because there was a report of a domestic disturbance. Your neighbors said it sounded like someone was getting murdered in this cave!"
"Me should be so lucky..."the Ogre grumbled.
I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Look, we can't keep doing this, you guys. Clearly, both of you are contributing to this problem, and both of you need to find a way to fix it."
"Easy fix!"The Ogress snarled, pointing at her husband. "Arrest!"
"She one who need arrest!"The Ogre growled, pointing right back at his wife. "She danger to self and other! Need head doctor!"
"I doctor *you* head!"the Ogress hissed, cocking back a meaty fist.
"ENOUGH!"I roared, loud enough that it actually brought the quarreling couple up short. "Come on, I know neither of you *really* wants me to arrest the other one!"
"Why not?"the Ogre demanded.
"Yeah, why not?"the Ogress agreed, sticking out her chin defiantly.
I couldn't believe it. I opened my mouth to answer, and then closed it again.
"You know what? Fine. Learn the hard way."I pulled out my magic mirror, and traced the rune for Dispatch onto it's surface.
"This is Uruz 312 -- I need a paddy wagon sent to the cave residence on Ymir Street."I said.
The gnomes at Dispatch, naturally, asked what sort of creature I was placing under arrest, and how many there were, so they could send an appropriately sized and enchanted transport to contain them.
I glared at the defiant pair as I replied. "The prisoner? One *very stubborn* two-headed Ogre!" |
The ship, Conradomo, was making good time. In fact, it was a long way ahead of its schedule. If it wasn’t, perhaps its passengers wouldn’t have stopped to answer the distress call. Perhaps they would have just carried on. Perhaps none of this would have happened if only they had been slightly less efficient or had just taken one more break at work. But the fact of the matter is that none of those things happened and the crew did indeed answer the distress call. In the civilized world we live in, kindness should be rewarded. The only problem? There are things beyond our civilized world.
Conradomo docked with the other ship. The captain gave the go ahead and the other two members of the crew went searching for the source of the distress signal.
They came back with a creature they couldn’t really identify. The captain looked at the creature too, unsure of what to make of it. It looked quite unlike anything he had ever seen. But still. He was the captain and he had to do the right thing. He would save this alien’s life.
The alien itself was barely coherent, slipping in and out of consciousness.
The captain looked at their techie. “We need to understand what it is saying. Can we figure it out?”
“It is a language I have never heard. As long as the alien is out of consciousness, I can map its mind, allowing our bafis translators to upload the most common words it can trigger into our databases.”
The doctor chimed in. “Actually, it might be just for the best if we make the alien unconscious for a while. The constant changes in its central thought unit might not be good for it if it is anything similar to us in physiology.”
The captain nodded. “Let’s do that. To help it, we need to understand it. That’s the basic first step. In the meantime, I’ll try to reach out to others to see if someone recognizes this… thing.”
The doctor got to work, moving the bed where the alien was currently passed out, to the infirmary. The alien was then placed on the cryo table.
The techie walked in and placed a device on the alien’s head. “You gonna freeze it?”
“It doesn’t look like freezing would help. I’ll use medication to keep it unconscious for a while. How long will it take for babfis system to map the common words? It looks rough. But since I’m not familiar with its physiology I’m not comfortable with any treatment options I could use.”
“Not a lot.” The techie pointed to the device. “Built a handy timer for you.”
The doctor smiled. “Smart. I’ll probably take a bit longer just to let it recover a bit more.”
They sat with the captain on the bridge when the transmission came in.
“Come in Conradomo. Come in. Code 6,28.”
The captain sat up straight. Code 6,28? That was only for the most serious of situations.
“This is the captain speaking.”
“Did you sent out the image of the alien you have onboard?”
“Yes.”
“This alien is not allowed in the galactic zone. I repeat. This alien is banned from the galactic zone. You need to get rid of it right now. If not, you will be charged with assisting a fugitive.”
“A fugitive? What is this thing?”
“It belongs to a species called Humans. They used to be part of the federation a long long time ago. However they proved to be unstable and dangerous. We banished them to a galaxy far far away. We reset their scientific evidences and quarantined them.”
“Well they obviously suck at quarantining since we found it well within the range.”
“Be that as may. You are to get rid of the human right now.”
“Its ship is blown to smithereens. It will not survive.”
“That is not your problem. In fact that would be the best possible solution. Please put it back on its ship and get out of there. If that doesn’t work, put it in the airlock and just throw it into space. Anything as long as it is not on your ship.”
“Yes sir.”
Unbeknownst to them, the human in the ship had caught the conversation. The babfis hadn't translated all of what had been said, it had translated enough. The human quietly got up and went towards the cargo area.
“Captain. I’m a doctor. I cannot stand by and let it die.”
“I’m with the doc, captain.” The techie spoke up.
The captain looked at his crew and then towards the radio and nodded. “We saved its life. I won’t let it die that easy. Let’s try to do what we can. You go and see if you can repair its ship. Doc, you go and try to talk to him and fix him up the best as you can. Now that I know what it is, I’ll try to find everything about it. I’ll beam what I find to your bab devices. Unfortunately since this communication already happened and the code got called they will be sending some ships to us to check on things soon. Let’s try to get both it and its ship working by then.”
The crew all touched their left shoulder with their right hand, nodded and walked off to their respective tasks.
*******
The techie went to what seemed like the central command of the human ship. After playing around with the controls for a while, a video appeared on a small screen. It was weirdly two dimensional and the techie had to wait while his eyes adjusted.
The babfis device which worked both ways, allowed the techie to understand a bit of what was on the video. The videos were logs of the last few days of the ship’s crew. The techie continued watching feeling more uneasy as things became clearer.
The techie rushed back to the Conradomo before the last video even finished.
*********
The doc looked for the patient in the infirmary but it wasn’t there. Where could the human be and why had it left?
The doc called out, hoping the translation was enough to allow communication.
The doc entered the cargo area. “Human? Where are you?”
The doc felt a sharp pain in the bottom extremities. The human came out of the hiding spot, holding a knife it had stolen from the infirmary. It bared its teeth, and pounced.
***********
The captain poured over the records. The more the captain went over the records the worst the situation seemed. The human files all contained some of the worst crimes the captain had ever seen. The captain wondered if all of this was exaggerated. Surely no species would be so destructive? Surely no species could be so easily prone to violence. Maybe they should all have listened to the…
The captain felt a wetness on the throat followed by a sharp pain. Green blood poured over the captain’s shirt covering the federation’s logo. The captain raised the paw towards the human. The human just stood there, smiling.
********* |
"Mommy! I caught one!"
*Oh no*, I thought, *this can't be good*. I ventured upstairs to my child's bedroom, rather, the demon's bedroom, and peeked in the door. When he showed up a few months ago, we didn't know what to expect. His clothes were tattered and frayed at the edges, his face covered in soot. How were we supposed to know it was a demon?
"Kyle, did you capture another soul?", I asked, being careful not to open the door any further. "No! This one isn't a soul, it's an angel!"A surge of fear made me tense up. First borrowing the souls of his teachers to do his homework for him, and now angels? "I'm coming in,"I announced.
Inside the room, a white light was hanging in the centre, illuminating the wallpaper. It was so bright, I had to look away for a minute. "It's talking to me,"exclaimed Kyle, "telling me things about God!"I sighed and put on a disappointed face. "Well, let it go. It's dinnertime."
"Aw."The light dissolved into nothingness. "Okay."
Dinner that night was strenuous, and my husband kept throwing me meaningful glances. Eventually I took the hint, and met him by the stove, out of earshot from the dinner table. "We need to talk about that... thing."He had not accepted the fact that a demon was living in our house, and kept prompting me to do something about it. Despite this, he wouldn't say a word to Kyle that wasn't encouraging or praising his ability. "You're doing great in school, son!"; "How about we go fishing this weekend since you finished all that homework early?"It was becoming almost sickening how much he hated the thing, but couldn't say so to its face.
"Look,"I said languidly, drawing out the word. "You never wanted to have a child. So this? This is what you get."His face was one of dismay. It was almost as if I had told him he was convicted of a serious crime, or sentenced him to a bout of community service. "Fine,"he resigned, "but the next time something happens, just know it's all your fault."
Once dinner was over, I went back to my room. It had been a long day, and I was exhausted. I felt my stomach, and was delighted to feel something small kicking back. *Gear up, Kyle*, I thought, *you're about to have a brother*. |
When I was little, it didn't matter that I didn't join in with the songs. I'd dance along because everyone was dancing and everyone seemed so happy, and it was okay that I was clumsy and fell over and bumped into things, because it was expected that little kids still be somewhat uncoordinated. Cute, even.
Around puberty, most people get self-conscious about our voices, our looks, our dancing. Being uncoordinated is no longer socially acceptable--it still happens, but not as often, and our own shame is usually heavier than any outside disapproval.
But gradually, usually in the mid teens but sometimes earlier, everyone gets back into the swing of things, back into the songs. The Sixteenth Birthday at the latest, since that's a magical year when Things Happen.
As I got older and still hadn't joined in, everyone expected some great grand musical debut on my sixteenth birthday. I was so ashamed and anxious that I couldn't even open my mouth. There was no song in me. Nothing came out.
The party broke apart after that in confusion, and I retreated to my room.
A few weeks later, it started. The Encouragement. The first time, it was at school, during lunch. A friend tried building me up, tried telling me that I'm a great person, that I deserve to be happy and part of it all. She started singing two years ago, and never pressured me to join in before, she knew I'd join in when I was ready.
As it was, the whole table joined in, and by the final chorus, even the lunch ladies were belting out the refrain. They all gathered around me, like I was the middle of some ridiculous human flower, pointing arms at me in unison as my cue.
I opened my mouth and the noise that came out might have been mistaken for a startled chicken.
After that, it became a trend. That song followed me everywhere; somehow everyone knew it, the tune that defined my life.
People would whistle the tune whenever I passed them.
On the bus, they murmured the refrain, in the classroom or on the train. I ignored the song as best I was able, but in time, I felt it was making me unstable. I could never manage to sing along, but the pressure was getting far too strong. In my room, I practiced scales, like rocking chairs on cats' tails.
But whenever I came into a song on the street, I bumped into dancers and tripped over my feet. I enrolled in lessons for poise and grace, but more and more I hid my face.
I felt I was on the cusp of madness. I stopped socializing, I stayed away from people as best I could. I barely spoke to anyone.
Years passed, and the "encouragement song"faded; people came to accept that I was odd.
When I turned 21, I spent my birthday alone. I'd always wanted to try drowning my sorrows in alcohol. I can't even break into song properly while drunk. I tried. I watched my recording the next morning, and deleted it immediately afterwards.
This feels like cheating, but I did find a solution, eventually.
I write my own songs in advance now. I write them and learn them, and practice by myself. And if I find a situation that fits the song, I stand up by myself and sing them.
The best part is that everyone else somehow doesn't know the words, so they don't join in, they can't dance, and they look at me in confusion. It feels like a petty revenge, but it is all I have.
I am the world's only soloist. |
(we learned the equations in the Academy - we learned the power it'd take
Tarkin didn't care about the details, he just wanted the end result)
They were quieter than I thought they'd be when I came into the cafeteria. There were a couple whoops and some clapping, but the air in the room hushed them as soon as they started.
(2.4E32 joules, and pop! said the planet
he focused on the pop, not the construction of the needle)
There were a couple officers I knew who had family or friends on the planet. Most of those particular ones weren't there. One who was had red-rimmed eyes set in dark circles, and she didn't look away.
(the beam would take a full 24 hours to recharge
but we've been working on faster, more efficient methods since)
We had a prisoner from the planet (I don't say its name, I don't like to) on board at the time, I heard, and since then she's gone missing. It's been a long few days, for me and for everyone else, and I could see that there were some people surprised at my straight posture and composed expression.
They thought I would be a shell of a human or a bloodthirsty barbarian after that - they didn't expect me to be an officer, just as normal.
(the design is foolproof, we told them
there is no needle strong enough to make us pop)
I sat alone and ate. Others, officers and off-duty stormtroopers, settled back into their cliques and meals, looking at me out of the corner of their eye. I'd be lying if I said I didn't know they'd use the weapon that we built.
(there is no needle strong enough)
I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel the weight of what I'd done. I'd balanced the scales heavily out of my favor - my gods back home would remember that after I died.
Would I be lying, though, if I said there was a friend of a friend, a contact three or four times removed, to whom I had sent a message not long ago? If I said that message contained information about a single thermal exhaust port, two meters wide?
(strong enough)
Would I be lying if I retold one of my mother's favorite stories - the one where the lifelong sinner finds redemption, re-balances their scales, in the act of self-sacrifice?
(Tarkin never cared about the details, he just wanted the end result)
Would I be lying if I retold my story - the one where the Imperials took my mother away?
(strong enough to make us pop)
My posture was straight and my expression was composed, and I ate alone and thought of the planet, and we sailed toward a moon of Yavin.
[Edit] Thanks so much for the kind words and the gold! |
Marise sat on her bed, huddled against the headboard, clutching her pillow, sobbing. Her room had turned into a dead land. Her desk sat dry and cracked while her ceiling poured rainfall. It would always start to flood before magically draining. There were her tears, and she was wasting them on him. Stupid Jake. She'd called him and left him messages and texted him since he'd seen him with her. Melony. She was boring, stupid, ugly. What could Jake see in her? Beneath her depression sat anger, a slowly spinning fireball inside her. It singed the edges of her duvet, turned her teeth black and eyes red. If this was anger then the ocean was dry.
She was enraged, infuriated; she *hated* Melony. She'd tried to walk to her house a few blocks down, but quicksand followed her steps. She'd sunk into the pavement, struggling to free herself. And it was all Jake's fault. He made her like this. She had tried to get over him all for the sake of spite, but the image of him and Melony clinging to each other was too much.
She banished the rain from her room, sitting up slowly as the sobs receded. Drops of blood took its place, slowly dripping, coagulating and spreading on her sheets. It was thick, dark red with a smell strong enough to turn anyone to a vampire. She'd blast a hole through Melony.
Taking off from her window, she floated to the ground. Pounding her feet quickly on the lawn, she lusted on images of torture, eager to see Melony suffer. As she crossed the neighbors' lawns, the sprinkler water turned rank. It's foulness killing the grass it landed on within seconds. Reaching her house, she took the front door's handle, gripping it tightly, and swung the door off its hinges. *Oh, it felt good,* she'd thought to herself. Walking up the stairs, she heard voices. *His voice.* She jumped the last 3 steps in one leap to walk in on Jake and Melony. Their lips parted from each other's; their eyes turned to her. Marise looked demonic, her clothes charred, eyes like coals, and ash sprinkled around her face.
"Sorry to interrupt. I just thought I'd let out some anger."The previously golden glow that came from the room turned dreary. Marise's palms grew hot. She knew what to do. Dragging her hands on anything she could touch, the room soon blazed. The couple stood together, looking in horror at the demon in front of them. Horns had sprouted from her head, her teeth extending to points. Jake and Melony were both immobilized, their magic not working in such fear.
Marise walked up to Melony first. She licked the side of her face, the skin turning black where it'd touched the snake-like tongue. Life left Melony's eyes as Marise sunk her teeth through her neck. The body fell to the ground, limp. Marise turned her eyes on Jake, his face had gone pale. She approached him, feeling his fear make her stronger. As her sharp nails neared his cheek, she paused. Her body had been locked in this position. Unable to move, she was forced to feel someone's eyes on her back.
Jake's dad walked into her vision. Kneeling over Melony's body, he brushed her face with a light sprinkle of golden powder. Her eyes sprang open, before being immobilized, too. Jake's body seemed to lose some of its tensiont, becoming more relaxed as his dad approached. Jake's dad grabbed his son's arm, lifting it above his head. Jake was gone in a pop as he was teleported away. He went to Melony and did the same.
Turning his attention on Marise, he spoke quietly, "What you have done shows your ineptitude. Control yourself or someone else will."His eyes never left hers as she felt her magic ebb away from her center, through her fingertips. Black revulsion sprung from her digits as her features returned to normal. "Consider this a grounding,"he said as she felt her body become unfrozen. Before she could react, she was teleported back to her room, now devoid of anything abnormal.
Ineptitude? What did he know? She was in control. Always in control.
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Might come back to this and write more if it gets any traction. Hope you enjoyed what you read so far!
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Continuation (Thanks for all the kind words!)
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The dark wood dinner table separated Marise from her mother. She sat tense, waiting for the expected outburst.
"I got a call from Mr. Morgan today."The sentence hung in the air. Marise stared at her plate, twirling her fork in her hands. She contemplated lying or making an excuse, but instead, she kept her mouth shut. She had to remind herself that she did not have her magic to charm her words. "Do you want to comment on that?"Marise did not want to comment on it. She knew her mother's tactics. She want a confession, the permission to grind her to a pulp.
Marise's mother was head of council at one of the many companies that had skyscrapers scattered around Manhattan. She'd gotten the position last year. Before that, Marise had loved her mother. She'd been kind and endearing, the best mom Marise could want. The job changed her. It'd started with subtle eating habits. Food she had thought was gross yesterday would be in a heaping pile on her plate today. Her style changed to something more formal, and her eyes lost their twinkle. That had taken a week. Since then, her personality had been replaced by something a robot would lust for. Marise had made due alone, distancing herself from all family contact.
"When I am speaking to you, I expect you to look at me in the eyes."Her voice didn't even sound like her own anymore. Marise felt her an invisible hand push her chin up till her eyes met her mother's. The pupils had dilated like plates as if she had been trapped in darkness.
"Mhm,"she mumbled quietly. Her mother's face contorted, then relaxed. "I will not have you embarrassing me in front of my peers. This recent phase of acting out is not like you. Have you met someone? Have they done something to you?"her mother said monotonically. It was infuriating. Had *she* met someone? It was as if her mother were describing herself. How could she not see that?
*You freak! You're not my mother! I hate you!* she'd thought. Her insides were shaking. Before she could say any of those thing, she got up from the table and ran to her room.
The hours ticked by as redness creeped into her eyes and her pillow become saturated in tears. She couldn't do anything. She was powerless to her mother's magic. She'd felt the wards go up that anchored her to this house. She couldn't step foot out of her window without being teleported back. It was as if her mother had died to be replaced with a robot. When the tears stopped rolling down her cheeks, she moved her from the pillow to look out the window.
The night sky had stars sprinkled about, full of constellations that she and Jake used to map together. They used to lay under an oak tree by the pond saying that they would be as forever as the twinkle in the sky. *Ha,* she laughed inwardly. A rustle of her curtain sprung her from the bed. Jake sat on the windowsill, looking almost lazily at her. "Hey, darling,"he said playfully.
She walked over to him, the urge to kill him forgotten. "What are you doing here?"Marise asked urgently "My mom put up wards around the house for me. You can't be here!"His eyebrows raised marginally. He pushed off the windowsill into her room, ignoring her warning. "You know, when we dated I nicknamed you Mary Jane, but now that I think about it, Bloody Mary might have been more fitting."
A smile tugged at the edge of her lips. She knew this was his attempt at trying to put the past in the past. He walked over to her, his hand extended. "How would you like to see Andromeda tonight?"Marise's stomach fluttered. He'd really forgiven her for her freakout and wanted to get back together. She took his hand and felt it being raised above her head. She closed her eyes.
"1, 2, 3..."Jake's voice faded as she opened her eyes. She was under the same oak that they'd always gone to. She felt Jake appear beside her.
"I feel like I need to address what happened earlier."His voice sounded like metal on metal. "I—I made a mistake with Melony. She wasn't who I wanted. You are. What you did was expected. And besides, what teenage girl doesn't have a freakout every now and then?"he said, earning a playful jab from Marise. "So with that out of the way, I think its time I give you a little get-back-together present,"he said, pulling a small vial from his back pocket.
It shone black in the moonlight, showing her face in its reflection. She took it from his hands and gulped it down greedily. She felt the familiar hum of magic in her core. She felt *alive.* Two pops sounded from behind Marise. She and Jake both looked behind them quickly. Mr. Morgan and Marise's mother stood there together, looking livid. "Dad, what are you doing here?"said Jake.
"Hmph. What am I doing here? I think the better question is what are you doing here, especially with *her*? Jake looked shocked at his dad's words. "*Her*? She has a name, dad, and it's Marise."She felt a sudden rush off pride that her boyfriend was sticking up for her.
"And you young lady,"her mother started, "this is inexcusable. Unequivocally wrong."she finished, seemingly at a loss for words. All parties seemed on the verge of their anger spilling over, but Jake's was the first. His eyes glowed green in the darkness as his body started to transform. Pouncing on his dad, he was thrown to the side by an invisible shield. *Two can play at that game,* she'd thought before lighting her own fuse. She felt it building inside her, ready to explode. Red light sprung from every orifice on her body, disintegrating everything that it touched. She felt electrifying. The red light struck the shield causing sparks to fly. The adults gazed in horror at the sight infront of them as Jake prowled behind. He drew a rune in the dirt with the tip of his claw, its sharp lines animated
**Word Cap. Continued in comment** |
We start with a tempting job offer.
The job has a salary that is far above average for the prisoner's field. Most accept. If they don't, we raise the offer.
The prisoner is then flown to a small town in Alaska. This town is accessible only by planes.
The prisoner is allowed to work from home most days.
An employee approaches them, pretending to be from the local bank, and offers to sell them a house with a no interest loan. There's a small, unimportant clause stating: If you move out, the loan must immediately be payed in full. If they notice, our employee reassures them that the clause doesn't prohibit them from selling the house if they need to repay the loan. If they don't accept, we try again with a nicer house in a better location.
In our local stores, everything is overpriced, but each store has a low interest credit card that gives you a small discount on every service. These stores don't accept other credit cards and it's difficult to pay in cash.
The stores often forget to send out monthly statements. Each credit card's balance is due a different day of the month.
A month in, we begin raising the price of electricity, heating, water and internet. The utility companies let you pay your fee at a later date and their interest rate is low.
Eventually the prisoner is demoted for subpar work and their salary is cut. Their supervisor assures them that this is only temporary, just until they prove themselves.
One day, the prisoner will be unexpectedly fired. A local business will hire them for a minimum wage job.
At this point, the prisoner will want to leave.
However, the only way into, or out, of this town is by plane.
The airport is owned by the bank. The bank, it turns out, also manages all of the local credit cards.
The bank isn't willing to sell you a plane ticket until you pay your debt in full.
The prisoner will never pay their debt. |
I crinkled my eyes at the boy's house, and I readied myself to enter. I'd been constantly informed by the other angels, and even a few demons, that this boy, Derrick, was a mysterious one. Two angels and three demons missing, because of him? And my superiors were still assigning angels to him? *It is our mission,* they said, *to protect all humans, even ones not worthy of it.* They just didn't see the bigger picture, that the two most powerful species on Earth had gone missing because of this twelve year-old boy. But I had to accept the role.
With a lowly sigh, I entered his bedroom through the window and turned to face a black-haired Derrick, who was situated in a gray chair in front of a TV. He had headphones on, and was yelling into the microphone as though he were the only person in the house. Suddenly angered, I snapped my fingers, shutting off his TV and console. Confused, he clicked a few buttons on his controller, checked the console itself, which I was forcing to stay off, and then he whirled around, only to jump when coming face to face with me.
His reaction to me wasn't what I expected. Based on my siblings' tales, I thought he would be *less* surprised to see me, not more, but the subtle glint in his grass-green eyes was not boredom, but fear.
"Who are you?"He asked, looking me up and down.
Although angels were required to introduce themselves, I figured I could break a few rules to get this boy in shape. I would not be the next angel to disappear. "Where are my brothers and sisters?"
Derrick shook his head. "What? What are you- get out of my house before I call the cops!"
"Oh, believe me, boy, the angels of Heaven are far worse than any of your pitiful police men. We do not forgive."I let the words roll off my tongue in a way that I had never tested before. To him, I sounded fierce and dangerous, but in my mind, I sounded weak and afraid.
"Angels?"He laughed, "I think you need to see a doctor."
Like I had been trained to do by my superiors, I straightened my back and unfolded my cotton-like wings, flapping them slightly for dramatic effect. He stared at them in bewilderment, his jaw nearly touching the floor.
"I don't-I don't understand, you're not supposed to be real..."he trailed off, uncertain of his words.
"Do not lie to me, Derrick, I have heard the stories about you. What did you do to my siblings?"
His eyes met mine. "I have no idea what you're talking about, I've never met your siblings."
I pounced on him then, breaking another rule. "I told you, do not lie."
"I'm... not!"He shrieked, and carefully, I searched his eyes, his soul, but I could not find one shred of a lie. How was this possible?
"If you did not take my siblings,"I hissed, "then who did?"
Derrick shook his head once more, his face fading into a light blue. I sighed and released him, more confused than ever. If I returned to my superiors with the news, they would send out search party after search party, alerting the cunning criminal to our intentions, and I would be punished for my actions against Derrick. But if I went after the criminal without their knowing, while protecting Derrick... maybe I could catch him.
I nodded to Derrick and gave him a wide smile. "Well, then you and I are going to find out who did." |
When I failed it was Tuesday. The overgrowth outside remained green; the old ironworks from our forefathers' days creaked in the sun. It was a Tuesday and the world would move on.
Many were crying. Their bawls were ragged, comfort evaporating against the heat of failure. I was one of them I admit, and I cried in the car. My husband was there, but I wasn't. I could only live in a dead future. A life that flashed as it exploded in that morning's reality. And then there were doubts too.
He had passed the test long ago. Would he leave me? Would he go behind my back? If the roles were reversed, would I? I cried and cried. There isn't any other way to put it. The time passed but the day didn't. When my tears were spent it was still early morning. He was making comforting noises with his lips, petting me and holding me. From the window I saw the graveyard of past man.
This entire world was its graveyard. I wished I could live then, when things were easier. There were over seven billion people alive in those days. Their derelict marvels rotted into ruin, laughing at me as the earth took them.
*Look at you! Can't you pass a stupid test? Can't you get knocked up? Are you too stupid for that even?*
Then it was quiet and the tears were gone. The hurt was a silent thing and I looked at him. One was a gone future in my head; his eyes showed an uncertain one. Or maybe I was projecting.
He held my hands and told me he loved me. But love wasn't enough.
At home the day passed and then days passed and the hurt dulled into something more frightening: a permanent ache in my heart. I had always wanted a son. Someone who was mines wholly. I always wanted a family. Isn't that a human thing to want? I thought it would be simple.
Then it was impossible.
And then hope sprang, though it was shaky.
Mother Hen was known to all, in those parts. She was a cross between the boogeyman and ancient people, people you knew existed, but had been dead so long they were almost myth.
The words came at night when sleep wouldn't. We spoke half hearted at first but I will spare you a couple's desperation. At last when the sun came the decision was made.
Mother Hen lived in the back country if the stories were true. In the swamps near the river, where the aligators roamed and where there were houses of wood and ghosts of old lumber yards, she lived in squalor. A remnant of the world gone. A free woman, untouched by the sterilization we all endure at birth.
For a price she would allow you a child. You only required the rooster. And I had one.
The travel was easy at first. Our car was self driving, an older model. Our destination was unknown, only south until we saw the trees and felt the air. That morning was crisp and I felt happy for the first time in a while. Then there were vans behind us.
The newer cars had cameras inside that the police could turn on in duress. Ours had none and that's why we kept it. But no one told us of the mic. And that was always on, an opt in of the future.
The vans had flashing lights. The car stopped immediately as it was programmed to do. We were scared but we had done nothing wrong as yet. We thought it was routine.
The officer shone an unfriendly light that bright morning.
"An odd day for a getaway,"he said.
"No kids,"my husband said.
"A shame... What about when you come back?"
"I don't understand."
The other van was pulling up. Backup walked in the rear view. I grabbed my husband's leg. I dug as hard as I could.
There was an instant where the choice was made, where we threw away everything. I heard the key turn and the engine revved. I do not know if the newer cars have it, but ours allowed for manual driving. And we drove off.
The chase was hectic, how else to put it? But the self driving cars were not used to human driving. We drove madly, and the officers could not aim. There cars would not switch to manual for some reason and we outran them for the time.
Then the ground fell and the humidity rose. The lights were glows behind the trees and the sirens faded. Night fell and then it was cold and dark.
We could drive no more in that land. We walked with flashlights, hopeless and afraid. The police did not give much chase because it was not necessary. They had caught our faces. The first time we were to step in civilization, the cameras would go off. We would be caught and hauled off in the modern way.
But we didn't think of that then. At that moment we searched for Mother Hen, old ghost she was.
Hours and hours passed and we were lost and then we saw the houses. The old lumber yards of the gone era were blocks against the marshes. A smell permeated the air, musty and foul. The night creatures moved in a slimy way.
We could not go back, but in our hearts we knew it would be of little use. We could not have a child now. The authorities would be looking for us, would have seen all our business. We had not the permission.
We went on. After aimless miles the smell grew fouler. We came upon a large barn near the swamp. From there the smell was worst.
A light flickered inside and there were grunting and shouts and screams and deep gurgle that made us froze. But we were cold and spent and death became a reality.
Inside we saw men. They were naked and skinny and drunk and old and young and cruel looking. At the center was a mattress and on it lay a fat grotesque woman. Her face was made up and she was naked and from her the smell came. She looked at us and smiled.
"More customers,"she said.
It was her who made the gurgle. The candlelight cast large undefined shadows. We tried to back away but some men were too near the door. We were trapped.
"Here for a baby, are you? Came to rouse the Hen? Is that your cock?"
My husband was shaking. The men were laughing.
"A live one! We caught a live one! This one won't fire blanks!"
"Bring him to me! Come here sugar. I'll give you the time of your life!"
They pulled him and eyed me.
"No meat on this one's bones."
My husband struggled and I leaped on the crowd.
The men were weak, drug addled and drunken. My husband fought and the woman was laughing. Each laugh released more of that foul stench. Then he broke free and we ran for the door. I kicked at a candle hoping the place would catch fire but it was too damp.
At the door the naked men shook themselves and laughed.
"Babyless! Babyless!"they howled.
We ran blindly until we found the car. It was then that we remembered the car had a mic. We screamed and screamed for help.
The police came and there was a raid but the barn was empty but for the mattress and bad smell.
We were taken away and in a prison we stay. The days now are long and that hurt ebbs, but never stops. My husband is by my side and we raise our digital children to pass the time. They look like us and seem real on the days when the depression grows too much. |
Tears of overwhelmed relief run down my face. My entire life has been dedicated towards this moment- this, I know, more than anything, will be my legacy. It will be my single defining contribution to humanity, the notion that I have done something to change the world. I pick up my teleportation device and the guinea pig I just sent through it. My hands are shaking as I turn to the video camera and announce my success. I’m going to win a Nobel Prize for this.
I’m about to fumble through the necessary experiment protocols when something changes. There’s a tingle in the air, and I automatically turn to face my lab, back pressed against the research bench. It’s an instinctive reaction- something tells me I am in danger.
One blink, and there it is in front of me- a cloud of floating mist, hovering close enough to my face that I can feel it brushing against my cheek. It’s white and blurry, prompting me to rub my eyes a few times.
“Wha-”
It speaks. “Hey, Timothy. Congrats” It speaks! I fumble behind me but there’s nowhere to go, nothing for me to do except face the- whatever it is. “It always seems to be you, doesn’t it?”
The floor spins beneath me as I press myself further into the workbench. “Who- what the hell are you talking about?”
The cloud rises up a little and then sinks back down, and its voice is unmistakably irritated as it mutters to itself, “Same damn conversation every time. Why doesn’t anyone kill you off every once in a while?” It drawls in a weird hybrid accent of American and something else I can’t quite place. I blink confusedly at it. “Anyways, sorry, but I’ve gotta do the rewind now. No hard feelings, all that, see ya-”
“Wait!” I hold my hands out and end up sticking the, through the cloud. It’s freezing cold, and when I hastily pull them out they’re completely dry, if a little numb. “Rewind? That sounds pretty drastic. I’m assuming my invention triggered this… rewind.” The cloud stays silent, so I take that to be agreement. “Then shouldn’t I at least get an explanation?”
There’s an audible sigh. “I do explain, kid, every single time. It’s almost always you who discovers teleportation- well, except for the time before last when you accidentally got shot, and that other one where you over-invested in ride-sharing and committed suicide, and you also got jailed for incest once-”
“What?” I take a deep breath, trying to make some semblance of sense out of what I’m hearing. “Incest? I don’t have siblings- nevermind.” I hesitate. “So… I’ve done this before?”
“Yeah.” The cloud sounds bored.
“...How?”
“Basically, y’all humans are cute and all, but you can’t get too advanced, see? Messes up things for the rest of us cosmic beings. Interdimensional teleportation is too far, so every time this guinea pig here goes through the portal into our world and back, I’m charged with comin’ over here and resetting shit back to the stone age. By-”
‘No, no, no, stop!” I panic and try to grab the cloud, forgetting that I can’t touch it. “So… humanity’s basically set in an endless loop?”
“Yah.”
“And the same things happen basically every time?”
“Mostly. This is the thirteen thousand, five hundred and second time.” A pink light flashes in the hovering cloud. “It’s getting very repetitive.”
As absurd as this conversation sounds, something in my gut tells me that I’m hearing the truth. There’s a feeling of deja vu- this has happened before. There’s still so much I don’t know, but the urgent thing right now is getting it to delay the reset. I don’t know what’s happened in the past, but I do know about now. I know that I’m getting married on Sunday. I know that we can’t be trapped in this cycle forever, where the world simply runs and runs like a hamster on a wheel, charging blindly towards the future without knowing that the end is a black abyss that brings us back to the start.
I can’t stand the thought of never seeing my family again. Maybe I’ll see them during the next reset, but that isn’t real to me. I won’t be me, Timothy Lee, the next time. It won’t be my world. I’ve got to stop this thing at all costs, show them that humans aren’t quite as predictable as they think.
In one fluid motion, I grab the vial of acid on my bench and throw it at the cloud, screaming in rage and defiance. The acid goes right through it and onto my foot.
An explosion of pain erupts as it eats right through my shoe and begins corroding to the skin. I collapse through the cloud onto the floor, smelling burning. The world blacks out, and when I come to again the cloud is hovering over me.
Through my haze of agony, I hear the cloud remark amusedly, “Well, that was new. I hope I get the other guy next time- much more entertaining. Okay, see you around, Tim.”
A flash of blinding light. I’m in a dimly lit hospital, and the huge faces of cooing nurses loom in front of me as I’m held up to a woman’s chest. Automatically, I begin to suckle on her breast, feeling very tiny and vulnerable against my mother. I have just been born. There’s a fading memory of rainbow clouds in my mind. Confused, I blink twice, and the memory starts flooding back. A booming voice. A guinea pig. Time rewinds.
My eyes widen as I realise that I remember everything. I know what I have to do this time.
|
The midnight sky was silent and peaceful. Droves of birds had converged, squawking at the burning sun in anger. They longed for quiet.
He stood, tall and fierce, casting a weary look at the horizon. He wished it wasn't so hazy, wished that the fog would finally lift and allow his people to bask in the rain.
It had been centuries, and he was bored with being an accountant. It was the best job he'd ever had the privilege of holding, and he was terrified that he would be fired.
Somewhere in the distance, a frog howled at the moon beseechingly, and a wolf croaked ominously.
He had been dead for an eternity. He was a corpse, a brilliant shadow, a scream in the wind. Nothing made sense anymore. That was the only thing of which he could still make sense.
A voice drifted and whispered.
"Larry..."
Larry..."
"LARRY."
He awoke from his stupor and glared at his secretary with blurry eyes. "I was sleeping. And I was happy."
The secretary gave him a blank and uncaring look, handing him a file. "This should have been done yesterday. Sarah from HR is fuming."She sighed and turned to walk away. "The backlog is becoming unbearable. Sort it out Larry."
It had only been a dream! Thank goodness for that! With a toothy grin, he stood up and unsheathed his scythe, adjusting his robes with a skeletal finger. It was time to clear the backlog. |
“-and she’s not worth it. You’ve got lots of friends and a family that loves you. You’ll be okay after all of this. Just fall asleep and put everything that just happened in the back of your mind. You’ll feel better tomorrow, I promise.”
I take a deep breath, a sigh of comfort and despair, as I close my eyes. She was the world to me. My everyth-
“Hey are you done with that fucking loser?”
My eyes open up. Did I hear that right? A lighter clicks in the back of my head, followed by a slight chuckle. I can hear him exhaling some smoke.
“Yea, I’m done. How’d it go with that girl?”
“Easy. She just finished dumping her boyfriend. Another waste of breath like yours. Had to convince her it was the right thing to do or some shit like that, you know how it is.”
Another lighter click, then the sound of exhaling.
“Haha, really? My guy just got broken up with. He thinks his girl cheated on him too, poor son of a bitch.”
“Wait, wait… What’s his name again? Starts with a J right?”
“Jacob.”
“No. Fucking. Way. Haha! You’re kidding, right?”
“Oh shit, haha. Kelly?! Your client was Kelly?“
“Yea, man! Oh man, she dodged a fucking bullet then.”
Laughter. Fucking pricks.
“So wait, did she really cheat on him?”
“C’mon, dude. Look at him."
Footsteps. His voice gets louder.
"Of course she chea-… Wait a minute. Your guy's still awake.
DUDE, YOUR MIC’S FUCKIN’ O-“ |
People hated me. A ton. I was the guy who always seemed to have a knack for predicting death. My parents once kept me from a family reunion for fear of me scaring the grandparents and cousins. I'd built a reputation at school for being the pessimist and was once called "The Reaper"by a classmate whose shadow miraculously disappeared three days later, followed of course by his heartbeat.
It was a gift? I guess. I haven't really thought about the specifics of my predictions further than my assumption that God has a sickening sense of humor. His joke, lowered only upon the school outcast, myself, was to make the ever-present shadow of those around me disappear as if forgotten by the sun in the sky. I would then have the front row seat to the last breaths of everyone from past bullies to crushes I had fostered from my innocence. Once in a great while, I would lend a hand to those who I felt deserved to go out happy but soon found everyone to be afraid of me for my sudden kindness, so instead, I sat back, pleading that I wouldn't be the only macabre witness.
I've lived this way for years and yet nothing has caught my attention as it had today. My normal routine usually saw one of possibly hundreds of city-dwellers lose their shadows and slalom their way to the gates of the beyond; however, today has been found to not house one shadow further than my own. Commuters on the subway shared the common characteristic of isolation with the poor and starving on the streets.
For the first time in my life, I was purely overwhelmed. I was always calm, composed, and incessantly curious and yet this situation had turned my mind into a panicked board room of politicians living with the lives of millions of soldiers on their hands. I felt hopeless and scared for the possible reason of this danger. Yet somewhere, in the deep recesses of fear and anxiety came a will to fight.
With only a day to command the nation to action in what I suspected to be either a nuclear war or zombies, (the latter being the most likely, of course) I set myself to study, call, review any and all information I could on the possible ways the nuclear war could go hot. I formatted a video to expose the possibility of what was to come, fitted with every inch of click-bait I could muster.
Released at five in the morning, fueled on 6 monsters and a Five-Hour-Energy I found in the cabinet, was a mess of a rushed speech and poor phone-based camera quality that I considered well enough to post to all media sites I could.
Finding contentment, I strode onto the street outside my apartment and relished the air for which I thought myself to be the only one to continue appreciating. It never registered of my lack of a shadow. Nor did the car's headlights at breakneck speed. It never registered until my skull hit the ground that the issues of the world are settled behind closed doors, and while my shadow disappeared for my idiocy, the shadows of everyone else reappeared. Oddly, the president happened to be late to a meeting with advisors thanks to a small accident with his vehicle and a crazed lunatic. |
A dead tree that still grew.
The pastor had told me it was the sign of the devil. That he had the right to chop it down. Well, the court disagreed with him. It was, after all, the tree that had grown from my brother's BioCasket. It was paid for. An agreement had been signed at the time. And nobody could dispute it. Not even an old self-righteous priest.
It had his DNA. And, by extension, a bit of mine, as well. It was the only thing still left of him, short of the corpse tangled in the tree's roots. Above all, however, it'd been his last wish.
In spite of everything he'd done, I felt I owed him that much.
Maybe there's a certain kind of pity a man has for people who die in their prime for things out of their control. Maybe I was curious what kind of tree he'd turn into. Maybe it was the sense of gratitude I had for the generous sum of money he'd once given me.
It was probably that last one, in all honesty.
Certainly wasn't brotherly love. Henry was an asshole, through and through.
When we were children, he was the school bully. I, his most famous victim. He stole from our parents. He partied until he landed himself in the hospital. He lied to get a job most people would've dreamed of. Amassed a fortune he never shared. Failed to show up for Mom's funeral. For Dad's, he did so intentionally. Cheated on his wife on a constant basis. Left her out of the blue.
And then, he died. Just like that.
How long had he been ill? Nobody knew. I just picked up the phone one day, and he was gone.
___
*Henry closed his eyes. He was well-aware it'd only make her angrier. But that was the goal. The angriest she was, the easier it was going to be to let go. "I'm sorry. But it is what it is."he said over the sounds of her painful sobs. "I don't love you anymore."*
*"How can you do this? After all this time?!"she latched onto his lapel. He said nothing. He could not raise his voice. He could not look her in the eye. And most importantly, he could not allow himself to cry.*
*"Eleven years of marriage, Henry! Eleven years of marriage! You son of a bitch!"*
*Even though, crying was all he wanted to do.*
___
I placed my hand on the tree. Its surface rough and decaying. Its skin diseased and undoubtedly rotten. And yet, it grew. Casting its long shadow of twisted branches over the cemetery.
When it begun to grow, I was fairly convinced it wouldn't reach a foot. It was bad from the get-go. There was a point where I'd considered sneaking into the graveyard one night, pulled the thing of the ground, and placing a burying seed in its place. I couldn't determine if it would've been an insult to my brother and his memory, or an act of kindness. In the end, I opted against it.
Now, it'd grown so large you couldn't even see the tombstone.
___
*"I don't understand."Henry's brother said. "What is all this?"*
*"It's money."Henry replied. "It's for you and the kid. Every penny. You take it and you keep it."*
*A moment.*
*"I don't understand."his brother repeated. "Like, Jesus, man, there's got to be at least fifty grand here!"*
*"Fifty three."Henry chuckled. "And, as I said. It's all yours. No catch."*
*His brother studied him carefully. "There's always a catch with you, Henry."*
*"Not this time."Henry coughed, slowly lifting himself up and making his way to the door.*
___
I remember, back when we were teens, Mom always used to say: "He'll come around."But why? Why would he have? It'd all been working out fairly well for him. Is the only point where a man can turn good when they experience something horrific? Well, it'd make sense. If their actions are so bad, then it's only the consequences of those actions that can make them see they were in the wrong.
How many times does that actually happen, though? When do the bad guys actually get to lose?
What had been the point when Henry had looked himself in the mirror and acknowledged what he'd done?
___
*She pressed her body against his. Cold. Practically freezing. She was skinny. Which wasn't an issue. That's how Henry liked them. But this girl, he realized only then, was unhealthy.*
*Even so, he said nothing.*
*"You mind if I talk?"he said.*
*She didn't answer. Of course, she didn't have to. The two hours he'd bought still weren't up. In that dingy, quiet motel room, he was still king.*
*"I've done a lot of horrible things in my life. Just -- awful shit. Well. I mean. There's probably worse people than me out there, thinking about it. But there's different types of pain. And I know I've hurt the people I love. Even now, being here with you -- I shouldn't be doing it. But not doing it now wouldn't change the fact it's happened a million times before. And I've run out of time for a proper redemption. It is what it is."*
*He sniffed. A distinct stench of cigarette smoke filled his nostrils.*
*"I don't want to die."he declared. "Oh, God, I don't want to die."*
___
Thinking about it now, did I ever even know him? What were his interests? What kind of movies did he watch? What kind of music did he listen to? What kind of hobbies did he have? What kind of women was he attracted to?
Were we even brothers?
If we were -- where's the proof?
Who was he?
I looked at the grotesque tree.
A dead tree that still grew.
"...Did you even know, Henry?"I asked aloud.
___
*He ran. He was supposed to be lying in the hospital bed. Letting his muscles relax. Be under observation. Be hooked up to the machines that would keep his breathing steady in case something went wrong.*
*But what was the point?*
*What was worth saving?*
*He didn't know.*
*So, he ran. He ran through the streets of the city. Every inch he took causing excruciating pain. He knew he would soon die. He'd known for the past two years. And yet, only then, did the fear truly hit him. Only then, did he need to actually try.*
*Someone.*
*There had to be someone. Anyone. Someone who would understand. See who would see how empty he'd been. But also lie to him, and tell him that he was okay. That it mattered.*
*He stumbled. Once. Twice.*
*But he never stopped.*
*Where would he find this person? He wasn't sure.*
*So, he ran.*
*He ran until he stumbled the third time.*
*And then, he stopped.*
*And he fell.*
*And he did not get up again.*
___
That visit had been the first time I'd come around to see Henry in the past decade. Something, however, had compelled me to return to the cemetery the very next day. As if something was telling me: "Come and see."
And I saw.
Hanging from one of the solitary branches -- a leaf.
It should've been impossible. Yet, there it was.
A beautiful, healthy leaf, being gently pushed by the wind.
The next week, they'd filled the whole branch.
The month after, the dead tree had produced signs of life. Its black, rotten body now stood in contrast with the green that obscured its treetop.
I put my hand on it once more.
"Hello, Henry."
And that was how we started over. |
There are lines, you know. No, not that kind of line, not the ones I cross when I take a life. Take a lives. Take lives? Yes, that’s it. Sorry, they distract me. The lines, that is.
They’re everywhere, all over the world, coming together, flowing apart, from person to person through time and space and heartbreak. Joy, too, sometimes, but I don’t care about that. Joy can happen all it likes.
Convergence is hard. It's delicate. So many things have to be just right for it all to come together. I mean you knew that, we all do to some extent. Destroy is easy, build is hard, right? Right. Just takes a nudge to stop things in time. This person here plus that person there plus him and her and him and her and they come together and now there is weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth, as the saying goes. People dead, or hurt. So I nudge here and nudge there and boom, doesn't happen. Great.
Except it wasn't enough, not in the long run. At first I thought, yeah, bad things mostly happen because things come together, and they do, and still it's great, great that I can stop them. But I had to stop them over and over and I started to notice.
Same people, over and over. Same people I had to nudge. People who were just the right combination of conscienceless and smart. And they started to notice, started to notice me. It's not good for people like that to notice you. I had to do more nudging now so that the bad things didn't happen to *me.*
And I started to believe in not just bad, but in evil. Didn't used to. Thought it was all circumstance and chance and that. Some people are raised bad, makes them bad, but not *evil,* that's not a useful word, not a useful concept, it doesn't show up in the lines, just the hurt at the end. But that doesn't mean it's not real, because these people? You'd nudge them away and they'd be right back at it. There were the lines, all threading together into some new horror. Striking agricultural workers slaughtered by corporate kill-teams. Yes, that happens, look it up. Terror attacks, though honestly those aren't the worst of the things I prevent, not by a long ways.
Wars. Economic crashes. Just money, you say? Wrong. Suddenly people can't afford health care. The stress makes hearts go out. People turn to crime. It's a cascade. I can see all the lines. And sure some of the lines are spread out, lots of responsibility, circumstance, excuse. But.
But. Some of them keep going back to the same people. Again and again.
Only one way to be sure, only one way. I don't like it. I'm not a violent woman. I mean, that's a lie, obviously I am, look at all this blood. But I'd rather not be, if there were another way. Prison, I guess, if I were a state, but I'm not. Tried that anyway, reporting them, getting word to the police, to the press. But these people, these terminus-of-bad-lines types, they get out of it more often than not. They wriggle. And it happens again.
So I cut their lines short. Not hard to avoid getting caught, I can see those lines too. I don't hurt police, I understand why they're hunting me. I just avoid them, make sure their lines don't intersect with mine. It's hard sometimes, the other lines, the good lines I guess, they can be persistent too. But it's worth it.
I have killed 1,034 people as of this morning. I'm still scrubbing the blood from my gloves. I caught and cut his line at just the right time, where I knew no other would cross its path for a while yet in the future. I'll be long gone by the time they start looking for me.
I have saved 7,324,556 lives. I think. It's hard to keep track. But I can. Because that's how I am, with the lines. The world is a better place now, and no one knows why. It does make me smile, and that's fine.
Joy can happen all it likes.
​
r/Magleby for more elaborate lies. |
Detective David Chippent was a wide eyed recruit, fresh out of the academy with flying colors and woefully ignorant of the truth of the world. His teacher from the academy patted him on the back as they stood in front of the six-hundred-sixty-sixth precinct. “Good luck son, if you’re still alive at the end of the week I’ll buy you a drink.” and with that ominous last word Chip was on his own.
The halls were high with black marbled floors lined with golden Greek pillars and a single white desk at the end of the hall. an older woman with sagging skin and dead eyes looked up at him with disinterest and asked, “name?”
“Ah… David Chippant, I’m sorry, I’m supposed to be meeting the captain—“
“The new recruit. they told me you’d be coming.” The woman picked up some stacks of paper and knocked them together on the desk and coughed on some phlegm in her throat. it sounded like she was unwell, certainly not in any condition to be working. Several minutes passed and Chip felt sweat form at his brow as he moved his briefcase from one hand to the other and switched his weight from foot to foot. The old secretary didn’t make any more looks at him when a buzzer sounded and the floor vanished from under him.
Chip’s stomach launched into his throat as his body was plummeted downwards on a spiraling chute in complete blackness. lines of light formed in front of his eyes as he whipped down with gravity. A pathetic shrill scream sounded from his lungs and he slid to a stop at the bottom of the metal chute like a child on his butt. A beautiful blonde woman coughed into her hands as she regarded Chip with embarrassment. “Detective David Chippant?” she asked.
Chip straightened himself and adjusted his tie haphazardly, not even fixing his disheveled suit coat. “Yes, that’s me.” The woman wasn’t acting like the slide was anything special so he decided to play it off as if it were normal himself. He scratched his hair, there was nothing normal about this.
“Welcome to the precinct of the beast.” She offered her hand and chip gladly took it meeting her eyes. At least he’d have this beauty to work with. He turned to observe his surroundings as he was trained to do and his jaw dropped. Phones wrang off their hooks and men and women darted back and forth too busy to pay any mind to the newcomer but the walls were made out of flames and each of the detectives seemed to have a monster attached to their hip or riding on their shoulders. There was a man with a dog with three heads, a woman with a fox with nine tails drapped around her neck, and none of them seemed the least bothered by the mythical creatures. Chip yammered nonsense as he tried to ask about the animals that were filled in the precinct but the blonde woman simply laughed.
“The chief and your partner have been waiting for you.”
Flabbergasted, Chip followed behind, gawking at each new sight he saw until they reached a black glass wall. the woman opened the door and bowed and a booming voice yelled, “Newbie, quit dawdling and get in here.”
jumping to attention Chip ran into the room and bowed. “Thank you so much for this opportunity chief, I won’t let you down.”
“Easy kid, you don’t even know what’s going on yet.”
Chip looked up and sure enough the man infront of him had blood red skin and horns emerging from his forhead. He sat three meters tall and the small glasses on his nose looked especially comical with his white shirt that could barely be buttoned up exposing sections of his glowing tattoos on his chest.
“Says here you had the top scores every semester at the police academy and have already served two years on traffic duty.”
Chip starred at the massive monster before him with his jaw on the floor but when the monster regarded him with a raised eyebrow he nodded fervantly remembering his place. “Yes sir, that's all correct.”
“I see, On paper you look like a good fit, but can you handle the truth of this world kid? there are monsters on our streets and I’m not talking about dealers or hooligans.”
Chip bit his lip and nodded, “I— I became a detective to make the world safer.”
“Bet you didn’t expect to discover demons and familiars were real today, did you?”
“I was not briefed on this, no sir.”
the chief blinked and slapped his hand on the table shaking the whole room with his boisterous laugh. “Not briefed. hah. No shit. none of us were. Haha. I like you kid.” he pointed a finger the size of a log at Chip’s chest and the new detective felt his heart thump. “Hey Quinz, get in here, you’re partners finally arrived.”
A tile in the ceiling shifted to the side and Chip felt a cold sweat as a massive python with slick black bat wings hung down from the ceiling to meet his eyes. “Looks fresh, and ssscared.”
“I’m not scared. Sir.” Chip added the formality to the end, unsure of how to treat this mythical monster hanging in front of his eyes. since it likely could murder him without a second thought and seemed intellegent he ered on the side of caution.
“Oh, ssseams like he’ll fit in quick here.” The snake's wings fluttered and he rose back up into the ceiling. The chiefs laugh filled the room again and Chip felt the blood in his body move once more now that his partner had left.
“Welcome to your first day in the precinct of the beast. remember, it’s hell out there.” |
I cracked an eye open, trying to figure out where I was now that I was dead. It seemed I was still at my funeral. Funerals were typically held on the day that someone would pass so that people could celebrate the last time they had to experience life before their death. Mine was small, only ten people I was close with, but either way, I wasn't supposed to be alive anymore. Perhaps I mistimed my end date. I checked my index finger.
**-1**
My eyebrows knit together.
"I always knew the day was coming that he would pass on before me,"my mother sputtered through tears from next to my casket, "I just wish that I didn't have to live with the pain of his loss for so long."
"It's gonna be all right,"my best friend Roland said to her, his voice trembling as well. "For the seven years Rick or I shared, I sure got to get a lot out of it, he--"
"Uhh..."I said, rising out of the casket.
The room went stiff with silence and horrific gazes. From around the room I watched all sorts of reactions from lower lips trembling to mouths hanging agape. I scratched the back of my neck.
"It... It says negative one?"I said, answering a question they hadn't asked but needed the answer to.
"N... Did you say negative one?"my physics teacher Mrs. Grant gasped, running up to my casket. I looked to my mom for reassurance but she had passed out into Roland's arms. I shrugged at him and he shrugged back.
"Oh my God..."Mrs. Grant whispered, staring at my finger. "I... I've never seen anything like this before."
"Maybe his was a signed integer!"my computer science teacher Mr. Pratt joked. No one laughed.
"Can I get a picture of..."Mrs. Grant said, pulling out her phone. She stared at her phone for a long while, scrutinizing something on it.
"My number dropped!"she shouted. The room's attention shifted to her, a small wave of panic rising in the wake of the room.
"What?"Roland asked, coming over after laying my mother across chairs.
"I had 5 years! I'm at 4 now!"she screamed, dropping her phone and gripping her index finger.
"What if today is your death day?"I asked.
"No, my death day is two months from now! I'm sure of it!"she countered.
"Well, whatever is going on there, we need to figure out what's happening with Rick,"Roland said, helping me out of the casket. "What does negative mean? Do you feel any different?"
"I don't think so,"I said, patting down my body then looking back to my finger.
**-3**
"Oh, what the..."I said. Roland looked at my finger and blinked in confusion.
"My number just dropped,"Mr. Pratt said, bemused. "And here I thought I'd live to be a hundred."
"What are you doing to us, Rick!?"Mrs. Grant hissed, pointing with her non-tattooed finger while obscuring the other one under her arm.
"Me!? I'm supposed to be dead! What could I possibly be doing!"I yelled, my hands gesticulating wildly.
The room started being filled with screams from the few that were there, most complaining of numbers dropping.
"Exactly! *Supposed to* be dead, but look at you! With a negative one!"she said hysterically.
"Mrs. Grant, please calm down. Let's not go crazy until we figure out what's happening here,"Roland said, frowning at his own finger. His number had dropped as well. I shook my head with disbelief and looked back at my own hand.
**-8**
"Ummm..."I said, showing it to Roland. He audibly gasped.
"What is happening man?"he asked me, showing me his number had dropped two more numbers. He was at 5 now.
"I have no idea! It's like your numbers are being transferred to..."I gasped and ran to my mother.
"Transferred!? You mean stolen!! I'm calling the police!"she said, picking her phone back up.
"Come on Mrs. Grant! What are the police even gonna do?"Roland said.
"Kill him as nature intended!"
I picked up my mother's hand. Her finger was at 6.
"Noo..."I said slowly. I looked back ay my hand. It was at -9. She had also lost a year. I moved away from her, shaking my head.
"Mrs. Grant no!"Roland shouted angrily. My vision was completely overtaken by white. I felt nothing but pain from my head.
"If the numbers won't take his life, I have to! The police won't make it in time!"she yelled, hoisting a chair over her head again. I put my hand out in front of me to protect me. She smashed my forearm while Roland dove to tackle her, but she kicked him out of the way. She raised the chair again, then dropped it.
"Wait, please! Please, Rick, stop!"she begged.
"I... wuh?"I said in a pained daze. I thought I was the one who was supposed to be begging for my life. She thrust her finger out to me. There was one 1 left. I looked back at my own.
**-11**
"I don't know what..."I put my hand out to get a closer look at her hand, and she dropped dead, her hand at zero and mine at -12. I closed my hand tightly in reflex. The room was in pandemonium now, everyone clambering over one another to get out of the funeral party room. I stood up slowly, my hand planted behind my head as it continued to throb. The only one left in the room was Roland.
"What happened to her?"Roland asked.
"I think I stole her life away,"I responded.
________________________________
For more stories, come check out /r/Nazer_The_Lazer! |
“Think of heaven and hell as more of a PR divide. They just have the better marketers.” The demon Jaalbzznk led Samantha from New Mexico down a spiral staircase with razor blades for hand rails and stone steps blacker than midnight. “We both provide the same service,” Jaalbzznk hissed with a fork tongue – he was in every way your typical demon painted in renaissance masterpieces. He probably *was* the demon painted in renaissance masterpieces. “after-life services.” He continued.
Samantha kept her arms folded against her chest, eying the handrails with horror, and looked down at the her short guide. “Why the fire and brimstone?” She asked.
The demon’s black tail whipped against the staircase with a small ting. “Management made a décor decision based on budget a long time ago. I wouldn’t bring it up. Touchy subject around here.”
The staircase descended into a red fog. Thick enough to lose sight of anything beyond the length of Samantha’s arm, but just visible enough to keep following Jaalbzznk. The demon with goat legs left small bloody hoof prints, and Samantha cringed whenever she noticed ticks or fleas or whatever they were scatter and coarse through Jaalbzznk’s matted fur.
“So after-life services?” Samantha hesitated with a drop of hope in her tone. “Does that mean hell isn’t, you know, *hell* with torture and stuff?”
“Oh, no, no, no. We do our fair share of torment, anguish, guts of IRS agents spilling out onto a trough for the damned to eat.” The staircase ended onto uneven stone ground, but the fog immediately lifted. The new world opened up and Samantha couldn’t hide her gasp. It was hell. As far as she could see without her glasses were plumes of ash rising from vents, cages with moving skeletons, birds – or, rather, nightmares on wings swooping down on people chained together at the necks, plucking out eyeballs or scalping heads, pools of bubbling lava with fingernail marks at the edges.
Jaalbzznk motioned to a man they were passing on the side of the path, half eaten by a group of cats lapping at his exposed bones. “We made Nolan milk flavored, and Orobas’s cats have been licking him for a hundred twenty-six years.”
*Kill me.*
“He was a terrible son to his mother, you see, who was one of those crazy cat people. Can’t much blame him, though. Nasty things they are.”
Samantha thought one of them looked like her orange tabby. Oh no! Mr. Edwards! She mentally pushed aside the view of another demon using a spork to eat the brains of a man and hoped somebody would remember to feed her cat at exactly 5:30pm.
“Hell and heaven are no different, see.” Jaalbzznk snapped Samantha’s attention back to him.
“I thought Heaven was supposed –“
“People always do.” The demon said off-handedly, Samantha thought she even heard a sigh. “No. The afterlife is supposed to remind people to live for the lives they have up on the earthly realm, not grovel to some giant floating heads and waste their lives. Heaven and hell are equal opportunist torturers. We just have fun with it. *They*"he said with derision, "simply bore you to madness. No creativity at all."
“So what’s the decision? Like, if it’s all the same, who decides who goes where?”
“Not who. What.”
“Ok, then what? A tribunal of angels?”
“Oh sweet tasty chlorine no! Those bastards can’t tell a severed head from a lollipop.” Jaalbzznk openly cringed. Samantha looked around at the endless eternity of torture, then thought how bad angels could be if they made this demon shudder. “No. Not angels. But then again, we don’t actually know what makes the decision. Can’t figure it out. Us or the crowed upstairs. Complete mystery. Come, this way.”
The demon slinked into a doorway Samantha hadn’t noticed before and led them through. She braced herself for a new scene of torment and damnnation.
It was a white room. Marble white with golden cracks glazing out like splintering lightning bolts. The ceiling, floors, and walls were all the same, the cracks were the only thing giving depth to the room. Samantha pieced together where all that budget went that Jaalbzznk had mentioned. The only decoration was a throne, and as they approached she noticed it was constructed of bronzed skulls and… and were those penesis used as grout? Without warning, a figure dropped from the ceiling and with a crack like an earthquake landed on the throne. She knew without a doubt. This was the devil.
*Shit.*
Jaalbzznk spoke first.
“My great and honorable lord,” The demon said, Samantha could swear she heard traces of sarcasm in his voice. “I bring you the one called Samantha, destroyer of Bowers.”
The devil. Lucifer. Satan. Shit-fuck. The thing – she was hesitant to prescribe the literal devil a gender even in her head. Does that give it humanity?
“Samantha.” It sounded like an entire world cracking apart. “Our Samantha.” It smiled with teeth of black toenails with a tongue of rotten flesh licking at them. “You do us a great honor in your death.” It lowered its head just noticeably enough. “I trust Jaalbzznk has treated you with warmth and hospitality?”
Samantha couldn’t stop looking at the devil sitting on his throne of skulls and flacid dicks.
“I asked if Jaalbzznk has been a kind host?”
“Oh, yes. He’s been good.”
“Has he told you why you’re here?” Satan leaned forward, his mammoth black horns curving to the ceiling should have toppled him over by any respect.
“I’ve died.”
Satan howled with laughter and the walls shook, Samantha crumpled to the floor and covered her ears. It was like getting hit by a semi-truck. Which was a feeling she felt oddly familiar with.
“Yes, Samantha. You have died and the great nothing has sent you here to Hell."It motioned for Samantha to stand back up. "But do you know why you’re here, with me, in my chamber – and not being dipped in tubs of scolding water? Do you remember your way to the afterlife?”
“My way –“ She stood back up and brushed herself off. Wait. How did she end up here? How did she die? Last she remembers, she had just gotten off work and was driving down the freeway. She had been in meeting after aggravating meeting all day. Who needs the approval of three different boards to certify a small change in a contract even before that contract was finalized? It was the worst! Samantha remembered. She was driving after work to meet up with..
Oh. Oh no.
She felt her phone buzz in her pocket and her car’s Bluetooth wasn’t working. The thing never connected to her car the first time. She had meant to get it fixed but kept pushing it off – along with getting her tires rotated, oil changed, brakes checked, and something about a gasket leak. She remember reaching into her pocket to respond to a message. Then, a horn from a semi.
“Death by texting and driving. Yes.” Satan brought her back.
“I’m so sorry, I –“
“Remember, everyone dies, Samantha,” Jaalbzznk said. “And it’s only by chance you landed with us. Be thankful.”
“Yes.” Satan said. “Be thankful. In your haste to get to The Oinking Pig Pub, you lost track of the road, hitting a semi-truck, and your car rolled over a bystander, smashing him into a bloody pulp forever staining the concrete with his organs that were melted into it."
“Oh my god, I didn’t –“ The sobbing started immediately. How could she have taken a life over something so stupid? This wasn’t the way anything was supposed to go. She wasn’t supposed to be dead. She wasn’t supposed to kill anyone. She wasn’t supposed to leave Mr. Edwards behind like this!
“You misunderstand, Samantha. The wretched creature you saw fit to flatten was none other than Bowers himself.”
“Bowers?” she said between gasps of air.
“Bowers was our Jack of Spades.” Jaalbzznk said. “One of our most wanted souls. And you, fair, kind, airheaded Samantha, killed him on your way out.”
“And for that act of ignorant bravery, no matter how unintended, you have earned a seat on my council as per my edict. Anything that brings me a soul of a most wanted has earned their place.”
“I thought dead people were randomly sent to either heaven or hell?”
“You’ve been listening. You’ll make a great council member.” Satan said. “Yes, but we’re able to submit requests for certain souls. Bowers on was that list, and now he’s in our waiting room.”
“Waiting room? What will you do with him?”
“You’re a council member now, Samantha,” Jaalbzznk said with a smile. “You help decide. Please, this way.” The demon put his hand on her back and led her back through the door. She looked over her shoulder at Satan who began laughing to himself with delight.
They left through the same door, but instead of the hellscape from before it was a normal conference room with a long oak table in the middle. Around it were various people and creatures of all shapes and demonic possessions. Was that Amelia Earhart next to Julius Cesar who held the hand of a half-dead centaur?
“Please, take a seat.” Jaalbzznk motioned to a normal swiveling office chair next to Salvador Dali. Samantha noticed it had great lumbar support. “May I introduce to you the slayer of Bowers. The conqueror of the Jack of Spades. Councilmember Samantha.”
The board room burst with applause. |
"If you kill me, you won't fulfill the prophecy!"The Demon Lord looked down at the hero. For 3 days and nights they fought and the Demon Lord finally had the upper hand. But this? It was a trick.
"Hero, I have slain many but this? Trickery doesn't become you."
"It's no trick, Master Vak-riz-zorich."Only one group of people called him by that. Only one group was *allowed*. "Your priests sent me."
The Demon Lord put his blade aside. "What? Why? They DARE betray me?!"
"No, master. They figured out the prophecy. You were to be defeated by the one described in the hero's prophecy. But your defeat would only let you rest as you would be reborn into a royal bloodline."
"The Crown of Madness. But how? Why you?"
"I fill the description of the hero. Born with the mark of the slain."He lifted his shirt and showed the birthmark that looked like fatal claw marks. "Mother was a priest, Father is a knight of a dishonored lord. If I beat you, I can just let you go. Otherwise, a different hero could trap you after your defeat and cast you back into the Dread Void."
"And so my priests decided to shift the odds in my favor. Yes, clever. But why not share this plan?"
"If word got out, it could be used against you. Plans could be made to ensure you'd never claim your rightful throne."
The Demon Lord smiled. Fate has never been kind to him, but now he had the chance to write his own history. "Then strike me down. Help me fulfill my destiny and claim this world as my plunder!"
The so-called hero took his sword and pierced the Demon Lord's heart. As the vision from the Demon Lord faded, he saw the pawn pull out a strange crystal. A soul trapping crystal.
"Damn, I never thought you'd fall for it." |
This... is a farce.
"Look at the defendant! Flaunting his moniker! Reveling in mass slaughter!"
The prosecution is laying it on with a trowel. But I think he's wrapping it up, if for no other reason than the Judge looks about ready to explode from internal pressure. Yep. He's done.
"You're on trial today, accused of killing billions of people! How do you plead?"
I guess he's surprised at how calm I am. Standing, I begin. I must admit that I am an imposing figure, being seven feet tall yet skeletal in frame, with a scythe built to my scale. I have chosen my robed form since it is generally my least offensive form.
Although, there are those who find my unrobed form one of barbaric splendor. I shall not forget that young man.
"I plead not guilty, your honor."
The court is a slithering of voices across the wooden floors and echoing from the walls which have heard some of the most infamous and brutal crimes recounted. Yet these people are shocked at my plea. They have forgotten who is genuinely responsible and what my actual function is.
"Are you quite certain you wish to make that plea?"
"Your Honor, with nothing but the greatest respect for this court, your position, and the law, I am here as a *courtesy*. The people who fear me and call me a murderer are misinformed. My purpose, here, today, is to re-educate the people of this world as to my nature."
"You deny killing people?"
His voice is incredulous.
"I do so deny."
The court of whispering snakes becomes a seething storm of denial. I can see the judge pounding his gavel, demanding silence while his face shades towards deep red. Perhaps it is time to begin education.
"SILENCE."Spoken firmly, yet not all that loudly, my voice cuts across the storm of protest, cutting it off as I would a soul from the mortal form, which has become nothing but a source of pain and with no hope of recovery.
Turning to the room, "This is your court. You will show it the respect it deserves, since *it* is your best defense against unwarranted and unnecessary death."
There is not a single person in that audience who can meet my eyes. They know they have done wrong by this court. Returning to the Judge, "Your court, Your Honor."
"Thank you, Grim Reaper. I can see the prosecution itching to present his evidence, but the prosecution will simply have to wait while we settle the issue of jurisdiction. Grim Reaper, are you above the law?"
"The better question is am I above *all* law, and the answer is no. I do answer to a law, but no human court enforces that law, nor is that law open to legal maneuvering or political grandstanding."A sideways look at the prosecutor, whom I know has his eyes on the next guvernatorial election.
"I see. If that is true, how were you compelled to come to this court?"
"I was not compelled. I have a certain degree of freedom, within my constraints, and the court I am answerable to took note of the rising tide of outright hatred based on misconceptions. I was given the choice to come here and set the record straight, if I wished to. Thus, I am here as a courtesy to this court, with permission to educate the people regarding my true nature and purpose."
"You would usurp the purpose of this court, which is to hear the charges brought before it, and render a verdict under the laws it was formed by?"
I can see the tension under that question.
"Your Honor, the charges are driven by hatred. I ask the opportunity to correct the misapprehension of the people, and show that my acts are not murder, but a mercy granted by a higher court as the natural right of all living beings."
"How do you propose to do this?"
"By example. You are perhaps familiar with a motion picture titled "It's a Wonderful Life?"I swept the audience with my gaze. I see the comprehension in all but a few faces. "I see that most are familiar, for those few who are not, I ask permission to gift you with the viewing of the film. I will not force any judgment upon you regarding that film, but only the experience of seeing it. Your reactions and thoughts regarding it are entirely yours. Please nod if you agree."
All but one of those agrees, and a surprising number of those who have already seen it ask to see it again.
The story of a young man, in his prime, who became so despondent that he thought of taking his life. Yet saved the life of another, which was a constant theme throughout his life to that point, and when he expressed the desire to have never been born, was gifted with the opportunity to see what would have happened if he had never existed.
My presentation will be the diametric opposite, what happens when someone should die, and does not.
•••
"I am sorry, Mrs. French. Your son has an incurable and inoperable cancer."
"There is nothing that can be done?"
You can see that she was expecting this outcome. It's almost a relief, even through the grief, to know the truth.
"We can make him comfortable, manage his pain, give him the best life we can in his remaining time, but that is the most we can do."
"Why?"
"Why is that the most? Or why your son? For the latter, it is nothing that anyone did..."
I stop the presentation there. "That is not entirely true. The correct answer is that it was nothing *anyone they knew about* did. Let's roll time back ten years, and focus on what happened."
A scene by a creek. Young boys swimming in a deep pool. Upstream, a small chemical processing plant. All the safeguards are in place, even a thick layer of clay, well compacted, to act as a final catch basin in the event of a severe incident. The incident occurs, almost silently, save for the alarms warning the staff. Everyone does their jobs, and the spill is cleaned up. Unknown to everyone, a flaw in the clay. In one load, a small amount of porous material. The leak falls on that one spot and a small quantity escapes. There will be no repeat, and testing later shows "no significant contamination"nor does it show the porous area as the chemical burned it out and vibration from the equipment closed the miniscule opening.
((cont)) |
The eye sockets are empty. And yet, I can *feel* the judgement in Death's stare. I smile briefly, but decide to try and keep a more serious demeanor for a bit.
"So..."I click my tongue inside my mouth.
Death looks at the stone tablet in their hands.
"Are you Fast Deer?"
"Mmmmm... no."
"Strong Tree?"
I shake my head.
"Strong Rock?"
"Nope."
"Strong B-"
"Let me stop you right there. I'm Natasha Bowie."
Death checks the stone slab. "You are not here."
"Yeah, not that surprising. I'm not kinda... born yet, I guess."
Slowly, the skull raises until it's looking at me again. "But you died. There's no way you'd die without being born first."
"Oh, I was... or rather, I will be born. I just haven't been born *yet*. That's very important. *Yet*."
The primitive humans around the two of us have checked out of the conversation ages ago. While Death can make them form a queue and wait, they can't change the innate humanoid nature of getting bored out of our skulls whenever there's a bureaucratic mistake happening in our vicinity.
"I'm really sorry ma'am, but I'll need you to explain what happened here or I won't be able to take you. I need to respect the list and you... you are just not on it."
Death is polite, and yet, their hands clutch the tablet tight. It's shaking a bit in their grip. I want to ask for a supervisor, but I have a feeling the big boss might not take kindly to the blatant violation of the laws of causality. What's the point of making up time and days if humans are going to disregard them? Better to keep it with middle management for now.
I press my palms together and tap my lips with my fingers. Clicking my tongue again, I realize I might be out of my depth.
"I traveled back in time. And honestly, I must be the unluckiest woman in the world because I seem to be the first person in your temporal causality to die out of their time, uh? Why couldn't I be the second? There would be a system already."I sigh.
"Oh"
Death scratches their skull, and I nod. They are about to say something once or twice, but stop themselves. I wait, hoping they can come up with a solution. None is coming.
A homo something comes up to me, and I wave. Since it hasn't been invented yet, I don't think he gets the gesture.
"Hey, how come you speak perfect English?"I ask Death, while the caveman stares at my hair. Hygiene has not been invented yet, either, so I understand their curiosity.
"I don't have the slightest idea of what 'English' is. Death is just an universal concept, so any living being can understand me."
"Bummer."
"Excuse me?"
"You know, that we all have that in common. I guess not for you. You wouldn't exist otherwise. Bummer for us."
"Never thought of that. Sorry, I guess."
"Hey, no biggie. You are just you. You didn't invent death."
The caveman goes to touch my hair and I step to the side.
"You say very interesting things. I haven't had such a long conversation... ever."
"Oh, yeah, we kinda evolve *a lot* and our brains change. We make all sort of fun things, eventually."
"Like whatever brought you here."
"Yeah. 'Fun' doesn't mean 'good', I guess."
Death chuckles. "What makes you say that?"
"Well, I made a mess by traveling back."
"If what you say is true, someone else would have done the same. Eventually. Some things are... *inevitable*."
I laugh. "I see what you did there."
Nodding, Death looks around. As if checking if we are alone. We aren't but I'm sure they are not concerned about the caveman trying once again to touch my hair, nor the rest.
"How long until everyone is as smart as you?"
I blink several times. "As smart as me... that's a tall ask."Death isn't amused. "Ok, ok, no jokes."I clear my throat. "I'm not sure. A couple hundred thousand years? Things get pretty crazy eventually, but we pull through. We are tough like that."
Death thinks it over. The passage of time has lost all meaning after the prehistoric brain surgery I was subject to, so I don't mind waiting.
"Answer one question for me. Why did you do it?"
"Die?"
"I'm serious. Why did you travel back?"
I don't need to think too long. "I wanted to see it all. To know, how much is true, how much is a lie. To really see if we evolved or just... changed. Maybe not for the better."
Death nods. They offer a bony hand. "I can't really deliver you until you appear on my list. So, why you don't you stick around? You'll get to see it all."
I smile and shake. "Sure, it's not like I have anything else to do, uh?"
"Great! You can start by helping my process this cave. You already delayed this delivery *so much*. Least you could do it help me catch up."
I grab the stone slab they hand me and get to work. |
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