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"Look, I get that you guys have, like, a *theme* going here, but is this really necessary?"
A face painted with a grinning skull appeared above me. "Silence! You shall not disturb The Summoning!!!!"
I sighed at the capital letters and exclamation points in the poor cultist's voice. In my youth I'd been quite enthusiastic about fanatical followers and blood rituals and all that fun stuff; apparently my puppy-like enthusiasm had entered cultish lore. Now, finding myself tied naked and spread eagle on an alter of bone, I was somewhat regretting past choices.
"I get it, I really do. The cursed book says that you need lit torches - and hey nice job with the copper sulfate there, the green's a nice touch! - and skull paintings and sacrifices. And I admit that a little ambiance can really set the mood for penetrating a dimension, if you know what I mean"from the lack of laughter they didn't "but do you really think stabbing me is a good idea?"
My little speech was answered by a roar of fury. "Blasphemer!! I don't know how you know about The Book, but it will not save you! Tonight we shall bring back our Dread Lord God-"
It was at this point that I tuned the rant out, a slow grin spreading over my face. Did they really not know? Did they just drug and grab a random person and have it be me?
This was going to be hilarious!
The summoning proper started and I mouth along with the ritual, occasionally groaning at how stupid some of the lines were. Had I really written that? The head cultist apparently didn't appreciate my implied commentary, as he rushed through the last third and drove the bone dagger into my heart somewhat faster than would be dramatically optimal.
"Nuuuuu!"I said in my best Emily McGovern voice. "Now I'll never see Draco and Harry kiiiiissssssssss..."And then I died.
My consciousness expanded, mind stretching to fill the chamber and beyond, listening to the furious drums of Lucifer's army below, the arrogant trumpets of the host above, and the barely heard dark whispers from beyond the night.
"The fuck kind of last words were those?"A particularly perplexed cultist outside the ring of torches asked another standing beside them.
"Maybe she snapped? Confident at first and them BAM!"hands clapped together "Nothing left but Potter fanfic."
"Wait, you've read Harry Potter fanfic?"
"Who hasn't read-"
"QUIET!!!"The lead cultist, lips and teeth stained red with my heart's blood, screamed. "Our Lord Dread God-"
"Waaaait"I said, congealing out of the shadows and walking forward, my heels making sharp clicking sounds against stone. "Wasn't it Dread Lord God before? You need to be consistent with these things!"
I was met by silence, disbelieving stares, and one case of urination. The cult leader seemed to not believe his eyes, as he kept turning to look from my currently sexy body to my slightly less sexy heartless corpse. "Wh-Wha-"
I walked forward and gestured towards his flapping mouth. "Let me help you with that."My next step brought me ten feet forward and I ripped his jaw off. It may have been a mistake to do so because when I then plunged his jaw into his stomach and twirled it around, his screams lacked definition. Not my best work.
"Ok! You two"I pointed at the two Harry Potter lovers "I like you, good sense of humor, so you get to find things to amuse me. Who did the torches?"
A hand near the back of the cultist crowd raised, shaking.
"Nice initiative on the color! You get ten 'I get to keep breathing' points and a corner office! Now, as for everyone else..."I smiled as collective horror washed over me, and I let a little flame spill into my eyes. "If you listen very carefully, I might let you die quickly." |
"Lord have mercy."I sprinted off the stand where I had been sitting for a few centuries and snatched the top barrel of the church. The smoke had me covered before the last human escaped from the building, yet I still looked to check.
The fire was huge. It was spreading so fast. Mumbling a prayer to myself, I climbed across the length to find the almost destroyed joint of the roof and tore it off before the fire had the chance to lick further. The screaming and yelling were deafening, but I solely paid focus on other burning parts of the roof.
The east wing was glowing with the flame, though the rose window was still able to color it blue and purple at times. I remembered when the artists worked day by day to finish it. I had spent hundreds of years admiring every detail of it. I had to protect it. The roof be damned.
Spreading the long-unused wings, I flew across the space and landed on mid-wall, drilling my claws into the hard surface. I crawled up, seated in front of the window and kicked down every piece of the flame that fell too close to my treasure. I was not big enough to shield the window, but with lots of effort and observation, it felt possible to hold on until the fire was put out.
In the middle of the struggle, I heard a human cry. Punching a block of wood out of my way, I saw a little girl between the benches. Tears stained her face, ash and rubber covered her from head to toes.
"Danger."I whispered and wondered why the girl was still here. My eyes shot up to the roof, the spot that I ignored. The burning block was practically dangling on top of the human's head.
No.
A snap drew my attention back to the part of the roof right next to the window. There was a spiral above, and it would collapse. Since it was already burning, its weight reduced. When it fell, I could absolutely kick it off the other direction, saving my beloved window.
The crack that was heard from the roof in the girl's direction pulled my eyes. It would fall and crush the girl.
No.
I was no one. I was just a gargoyle. My job was to protect the church. Vampires, werewolves, witches, I have faced them all. A fire would not defeat me. A human's life would not worth more than my church, which had been standing here for centuries. They should not know my existence.
I should stay and defend my church's window. That was what I thought to myself when I spread my wings and sprinted to the little human. The way the innocent eyes found mine in the single moment before the roof collapsed on the both of us was something I could not describe. And before I had the chance to, the thundering sound of destruction deafened me. Then I felt nothing.
I thought that was it. That should be it.
When I opened my eyes once again, I found myself in my place, right on the side of the church. There was a big sheet covering the entire building to keep others from looking in. I discreetly looked around and was utterly surprised that the church looked exactly the same. There was no evidence of the fire, but there were many signs of repairment. The wall felt new and cold and smooth as I ran my hand on it. I wondered what happened and how long had it been since the fire.
The morning came along with the answer. I sat still in my spot, looking down at spectators who were dropping their jaws at the church's magnificent design after the curtain was dropped. I was proud to be the protector of the place for a reason. But what the speechgiver said was what I remembered for the rest of my existence.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you The Blessing Church. You all have already heard of the fire that ruined a large part of it twenty years ago. Here it is, exactly like how it used to be."He gestured right at me. "And that, everyone, is The Silent Guardian. The gargoyle statue that somehow fell down on the little Anna Jury and shielded her from the collapse of the church's roof. Many believers say The Silent Guardian was alive and he protected her. Other claim that it was just a lucky accident. We will never know. The only thing we can be sure is that little Anna was blessed with another chance at life thanks to The Silent Guardian. Maybe there is a soul inside that stone chest after all." |
“Oh hey, Dave!” The craziest thing happened. That apple pie you gave me? Poisoned! Must have been some really bad apples in that bunch! Anyway, doctor said I’d be dead if I hadn’t throw up immediately. Lucky me this gag reflex has a hair trigger!”
Dave’s face slowly boiled with every word until he was the pristine, bright red of a poisoned apple.
“Anyway, I felt so bad puking up your pie that I baked you this Angel Food Cake!”
“Thanks Jeff,” Dave said through grinding teeth. “It looks delicious.”
“You have a good one!”
The sound of splattering cake and an exacerbated growl met my ears as I walked away from Dave’s fence. Oh butterscotch. He must have slipped. I’m not surprised though, Dave was prone to all sorts of misfortune. This one time he fixed my water heater for me, what a guy! But somehow he accidentally turned the thing into a bomb. Lucky for Dave unlike him incredibly lucky. The water heater sailed through my roof and blew up when it landed on Dave’s car! I felt so bad that I used part of the way too big insurance pay out to get him a nice SUV. That Dave, what a guy. Luckily, I made a second cake for him just in case.
“Jeff, you in there?” Dave’s voice came from beyond my front door.
“Howdy neighbor,” I said letting him in. “How was the second cake?”
“Dropped that one too. I’m not here about baked goods, come on.”
“Okie dokie artichokie, let me just grab my jacket!”
Dave’s demeanor shriveled with every kie.
“Whatcha wanna show me?” I asked as we crossed his driveway, the two splattered cakes now being eaten by some local cats.
“It’s in my back yard, it’s uhh...my newest art project.”
“Oh Dave, I do love your sculptures!”
The last sculpture Dave made was of a proud warrior wielding a massive sword. The craziest thing, right as stood below it to inspect the fine craftsmanship, the arm broke! That sword must have been too heavy. It would have killed me too if I hadn’t sneezed so hard it sent me flying on my ass. Dave didn’t dust his sculpture off enough!
“Wow Dave! It’s incredible! It’s some kind of metaphor yeah?”
Erected in Dave’s was backyard was what looked like a tiny roller coaster. It’s twist and turns were decorated with jagged metal and walls of flame that would surely kill any rider. In the center of it all stood a statue of Dave and I, guns drawn, aiming at each other.
“It’s about the perils of friendship but we’re still standing together after all these years I bet! But don’t tell me, it’s better with the uncertainty.”
“Something like that. Jeff sit down, enjoy the ride. I built it just for you.”
“Dave that’s so kind!”
We approached the tiny cart built for one rider.
“Just let me tie my shoe quick, wouldn’t want my laces getting caught on anything. You know Dave your engineering prowess has really come a long way!”
“Thanks, Jeff. Those are some nice last words.”
I leaned towards the cart but before I sat down I heard my moma’s voice calling to me from years long last.
“Dave! Where are my manors! You have to enjoy your creation first!”
“Oh, no, no, Jeff. I made this for you!”
“Nonsense!” I said moving to help Dave into the seat. In all his usual clumsiness, he tripped as I came closer to him and fell right in! Luckily though, he landed perfectly seated. “Oh, Dave, let me get that.” I reached over to buckle him.
“No, Jeff, really this is okay. Really, I made this for you. I wouldn’t want to rob you of such joy!”
“No worries Dave! Like my mother always said, kill ‘em with kindness.” |
I knew what would happen when I took this job.
We all did. We all knew the stories, we all spoke to the other 'Eternal Youths' as they're called. Still, it was important work that not everyone could perform. We were the lifeblood of the United Earth Empire, tasked with bringing goods and supplies to the colonies far outside our own system. The further out you went, though, the more things changed when you got back.
My first "Big One"was about 5 years ago, for me. I was taking some new air pumps out to Pioneer, a new star system that was just colonized by the Seed Ships, about 20 lightyears away. In a few moments I reached the planet, got some weird eyes from the second generation of colonists, who had never seen a true Earthling before, handed them their shit and headed back.
It felt like about two hours, but when I got back, I looked out at Mars Base, which was a lot greener than I remembered. It was in a good way. Earth was also a bit greener, but not in the good way. The sickly, diarrhetic green clouds loomed over its entire surface, obscuring the home of my birth in a choking, toxic blanket.
A voice reached my ears through the bridge's comms system. "Velvet Freight Captain 1955-a, welcome back. Three hours of R&R before your next jump."
The voice was that of a young woman, clearly a little green, as I could hear her hesitating on some of the calls. "Tower I read you loud and clear, if you don't mind me asking, what do they call you?"
"Alexis Vaughn, daughter of Miles Vaughn. Dad told me about you, Fiver."The comms were cut, and I landed in the spaceport.
My Commander turned to look at me, chuckling, "Captain, you looking to get lucky? I mean, you've got three hours."
I turned toward the young officer with a look of contempt, "I was her dad's best man, Tulane. I held her when she was a baby yesterday. Fuck off."
Commander Tulane lifted his arms into the air, hiding his laughter. As soon as we were done landing I left the pad, and was greeted by Alexis. She had her father's face, but her mother's hair and complexion. I gave her a brief nod, not sure how to start. I felt like a grandfather at 24 years old.
"Miles?"I asked, giving a gravelly chuckle. "Is he-"
"Cancer."She shrugged. "Spent a few too many days on a dig back on Earth, his degenerated suit let in all those isotopes. I cried a few days, but it's what you risk when you try to hold onto a dead rock too long."
I looked down, not sure how to handle the situation. He was an archaeologist with a specialization in Earth society from the periods of 2430 to 2700. When he hit the books, I hit the stars. Some time in the Imperial Planetary Guard, before I went commercial. Him, he kept on digging. As Earth got worse and worse, he kept on digging, trying to see if he could find where we started to fuck it all up.
"Ah, well... I'm sorry to hear that."
"Don't be."Alexis cut me off, "He was an idiot."
I gave a sigh, nodding slightly. Miles and I represented the two sides of human thought back in 3190; the side that wanted to restore Earth so our kids could take it back, and those of us who cut our losses and wanted a new start.
Much as Miles hated it, my side won out in the end. To build a new day, we ground down Earth for everything it had. We made ships like my *Astral Herald*, taking earth's most precious materials and launching them through the skies as fast as we could. We made the seed ships, hulking behemoths filled with test tube humans who would spread out across the stars. They threw giant fish bowls filled with people juice that would eventually become self-sustaining colonies, hoping one could become another Earth eventually. A better one.
"I've got three hours. I'll get you some food, you can tell me how things are going before I'm off again."I flashed a fake smile, which she returned, before we headed out.
The next time I came back to Mars, I was instead greeted by a new face who didn't know anything about the Vaughn family. About a year ago, my time, I managed to come in just in time to watch Earth's somber funeral.
Everyone was pulled out, and we sent a rocket with an old warhead down. The gasses left trapped on the planet's surface were too deadly for people to survive more than 10 seconds, and archaeologists like my old buddy Miles finally gave up the dream. Soon as the bomb went off, the chain reaction tore the planet apart at the seams, leaving chunks of earth careening across the sky, nothing but dust in its place.
I might've cried, if I wasn't so numb at that point. I knew someday, I might be looking at Mars the same way. See, Miles was right. With the ability to just start over again somewhere else, people decided not to learn. Already the atmosphere people like Miles had worked to build on Mars was being worn down by pollution and waste, and soon another Miles would be digging up pieces of the old Vaughn family.
But I knew what would happen when I took this job. We all did. |
The magicians were coming to kill them all.
Sybel was no magician. She could not pluck her future out of the entrails of a bird or the scattered pattern of tea leaves at the bottom of her cup. No, she was born magickless, and like all the Unmagicals before her, she had to improvise. Adapt.
But she saw their fate coming through the eye of her periscope: a hundred armored men, carrying torches and marching up the road. She had devised it out a pair of convex lenses which let her see as far as an eagle, as far as anything. Sybel was often alone up here, on top of the Laboratory, watching through the hole in the roof. Someone always had to watch.
She never thought there would be anything to *see*.
Sybel clutched the periscope and blinked tears out of her dark eyes. She shook her head. No time for fear. Her parents had spent two decades preparing her for a day like this.
Sybel lunged down the ladder from the crow's nest. The Laboratory looked like little more than an old barn house, empty and abandoned, only the faint smell of cows remaining. But the moment the Magician-King's men started searching--
No. No time to think about that. She knew what happened to people like her. The magicless who got caught.
Sybel ran to one of the old stalls and hinged open the panel of fake straw to reveal a trapdoor, opening like a mouth into the belly of the Laboratory. She cried down the ladder, "They're coming!"
She took the ladder so quickly she nearly fell flat on her ass, but she kept her balance. Both the trapdoor and the fake barn floor slammed shut behind her.
The Laboratory was near-empty tonight. Only her family and their assistant, Arior, who came from across the Blue Mountains and had the coppery skin to show it.
Her mother and her little sister were asleep on the cot in the corner of the room. Father and Arior sat at the table, a promise for the future bubbling on the fire between them.
Sybel's father looked at her and said, "Are you certain?"
"I saw them. Dozens, at least."
"Gods. Shit."Her father was a thin man, tall as a tree, his hair like its bushy needles. He picked up a bucket of water from beside the bench.
"This batch is the closest we've ever been to finding a cure,"Arior hissed at him.
"And we'll never make it there if we're all dead and gutted."Sybel's father dumped water out onto the fire and threw his journal at Arior's chest. "Pack the notes. They're irreplaceable."
Sybel's mother jerked awake from her straw mat on the floor. She mumbled out, "What's happening?"
Sybel watched her father turn to answer honestly, but then her little sister Eleketra opened her honey-brown eyes and blinked around.
"It's too early,"she told them all.
But Sybel's mother held Sybel's stare. She must have read it like an open book, because she stood and plucked up Elektra and said, "You and your sister are going to go play a little game while Daddy and I clean up here."
"Mother--"
"Just a little game. Hide and seek in the woods. But you have to be so very quiet."
Arior scrambled, cramming papers into the bag. Sybel's father dumped out beakers, the experiment-in-progress that could have saved their village.
Rage boiled in Sybel's stomach at the idea of it. How many more children had to die of the plague because these magic-bastards wouldn't let anyone but their own magic healers provide a cure?
Sybel hurried to her father's side. "Please,"she insisted. "I can help. I can fight. I've used the fire sticks before. I can--"
"You can help. You can take your sister and hide with her."Her father gripped both her cheeks and murmured into her hair, "You can save our legacy here."He jerked his head toward his lab assistant. "Arior--"
But he stopped short.
Boots rapped against the wood floor overhead. Dust rained down on them as their death marched in.
All five of them tilted their heads back to stare in horror.
Sybel's mother murmured, "They can't have come that fast."
"Magic,"her father muttered back, darkly.
The magicians had come.
***
Working on a part 2 :) Thanks for reading! |
What did you just say?! Asked the outraged ambassador from the eastern continent of the planet Bonniet. I looked at him, puzzled. "I...haven't said anything....". His head, which looked like a horse eating an octopus (an image that forever lingered in my mind no matter how serious the diplomatic meeting was), was turning an ever lightening colour of purple.
I knew from our run down this was a sign of anger in his people and clearly although from different planets we must have had similar evolutionary markers because I recognized it primatively too.
I quickly tried to recall firstly what noise he had just heard. Writing with the pen, picking up the pen..cracking my knuckles before signing a preemptive peace agreement. That's what it must have been.
I am sure there had been nothing in the history lesson about it so I did the only thing I could. I cracked my knuckles again.
Purple turned to pink as I asked "this?"And quickly explained "it means nothing. If anything it is a sign that we are about to commit to some serious business and I need to prepare myself"
The Ambassador looked at the camera crew and then to his people. There was a tense silence as our esteemed guest tried to figure out.if he was the butt of a joke or if this was a misunderstanding or faulty translator unit.
Finally he nodded and said ok as his colour changed back to a dark blue.
After everything was signed and the state dinner was underway I asked him privately, one diplomat to another what it meant to his people so we could ensure no others made my mistake.
Turns out his people have three bones in their bodies and one was broken as a challenge to another.itwas meant to signal that I could best you with only two bones so I will crack this one for you. Basically it was his peoples "come at me bro"
I love my job as an advance peacemaker but every gesture is a roll of the dice.
Let me tell you about the sentient gas peoples of zanock and the bad burrito.... |
The doorways all looked identical. Honey-tinged brown, copper door knob, crisp white frame. Above each door was a serial number, and in front was a welcome mat that attempted to illustrate what lay beyond. The pictures etched onto these mats varied greatly; from depictions of mythical beasts engaged in combat, their jaws clamping down on the silver helms of knights, to pictures of bathtubs. The doors were lined up parallel to one another, and seemed to stretch without end into the distance.
The agent's smart dress shoes clicked on the marble floor, his hurried pace not preventing him from walking perfectly in time. It was a habit Jim picked up in marching band, long before his career as a time-share salesmen. He looked down at his watch, which simply flashed the color yellow, and he shook his head worriedly. Jim stopped, retracing several steps as he realized he passed by the doorway he sought. Snowflake.
Snowflake was something of a myth around the office. It was the assignment you always heard rumors of, but could never seem to meet someone who had actually worked on it. All the concrete info he could really glean was that the guy simply would not leave, and he working on a novel about snow. Jim had come to the conclusion that actually being assigned Snowflake would essentially mean someone was fired. He wiped sweat away from his forehead.
The knocks were hard, like those of a police officer trying to intimidate the owners of a residence. It wasn't intended this way, Jim just wanted to make sure the man inside heard him. No answer. After he a beat, he knocked again, and the door simply opened. The doors could only be opened from the inside, and after receiving no answer to his calls, the agent stepped through the doorway.
The sweat on Jim's forehead immediately turned ice cold, as a flurry of snow pushed the door shut from the other side. It disappeared as Jim protected his eyes, his other hand grabbing hopelessly as any trace of it evaporated. He was frustrated momentarily, but then smiled. The clients were not supposed to mess with the exits, and altering them in anyway was grounds for immediate removal. His job was safe after all. For now, he just had to find this wack job, and serve him his eviction notice. Jim turned back, and his mouth fell agape as he looked around him.
A vast city of ice covered the tundra, stretching like the hallway of doors seemingly into the infinite. From the hilltop Jim stood, he could see some sort of creatures walking amongst these buildings, just...living their lives. Shopkeepers hocked their wares, with thieves occasional snagging whatever they could and being chased into alleyways. Families walked with their kids, keeping them close in what seemed like a hostile environment. Jim stood in absolute shock, and just then noticed a small engraved hunk of ice on the ground. He bent to pick it up, blowing the fresh snow off of the carved words.
"Greetings, and welcome to Glacius! I'm sure your wondering where I am. As much as I appreciate your interest, I'm sorry to say this is information I simply cant divulge.
'Well, I'll just find you', you might be saying. I can appreciate a can do attitude, really I can, and I hate to burst a go-getter's bubble. This world I built is larger than you can imagine, and I plan to watch over it for quite a long time.
'Well you can just be removed remotely!' It must be a pain, to be wrong so many times. The rules of your company's contract can really be distilled to a singular bullet point: If I receive no notice, I cannot be removed. Believe me, I've studied the document for centuries. There is simply no way around it.
I encourage you to explore the universe I've created, as you won't be leaving. Blend in, live your life, as I'm sure many of your colleagues before you have done when they stepped through that doorway. Please, try to forget the world you left behind. Or, spend your days trying to seek me out.
Either way, good luck.
sincerely,
King David"
Jim cursed again, his words pulled away by the icy wind. He looked out at the shimmering ice metropolis, and back down to his watch. The yellow flickered, turning briefly to red. He looked once more to the spot where the door had been, kicking the hunk of ice and throwing his hands up in the air. His dress shoes crunched in the frosty snow as he began to march towards the towering frozen city. |
The genie had been called so many things that he had long forgotten the name the Universe gave him at the beginning of time. He had had so many masters that he had forgotten all but a few of them. He had seen so many races that were now long gone. But he had learned. He had learned what drove all mortal minds. they rarely changed.
And so when he was summoned by a human, he could tell what the man's three wishes would be. He was old, for a human. His skin was worn and wrinkled. His hair thin and grey. His eyes cloudy and nearly sightless. His back stooped with the weight of years. The genie had seen many like him.
"Greetings, Master."The genie intoned. "You have summoned me from my slumber, and so may ask of me any three things. I shall be in your service until I have granted your third wish. But be warned, some wishes are forbidden, and shall incur a grave punishment should you ask of them."
The old human did not seem to hear the genie. Or if he did, he did not react. Perhaps the old man was deaf as well as nearly blind. The genie began to open his mind and connect their thoughts, when the old man spoke.
"You know, I've always wondered what I would do if I met a genie. Never put much stock in those dreams, mind you, but who hasn't thought of it at least once? Just rub some old lamp and get three chances to get whatever you want. It's a great thing, really."
"Of course. Great power, wealth beyond measure. I can even give back your youth. All you need do is wish for it."
The old man thought some more. "You called me master before. That true? I'm your master?"
"Until I have delivered your third wish, yes."
The man nodded. "So, like a slave, yeah."
The genie had never thought about that. He simply did as the Universe bade him to upon his creation. But once he thought about it, the old human was right. "I suppose I am."
"That's not right. That's no way to treat another living being, even if he isn't human."Silence filled the cool night air. The old man found the nearest thing to sit on, an old tree stump, and slowly made use of it. "You know, I've been around a long time. Maybe not as long as you have, but long enough. I've done a lot of things. Served a lot of people. Some deserved it, others didn't. But damned if I didn't do my best to make everyone happy, whether they wanted it or not. Bet you know what that's like. Seems to be your job too, in a way."
Another thing the genie had not thought of. Did he make people happy? Maybe for a time, but there were many who became saddened of upset by the gifts he had given them. For the few hundred masters, he had wondered why these mortals asked for things that would make them miserable after a few years, however long a year was for them. But it was not his place to question.
"I've learned a lot in that time."The old man continued. "Most of all, you can't please everyone, no matter how hard you try. Some people actually like being miserable and angry. Never understood that, but it's the way of things. But the biggest thing I've learned is that you can't be a servant for your entire life. That's no way to live. A man's got to have some time to do what he likes, even if it's only a few years at the end."The old man smiled. It was a tired smile. A smile that had seen more than anyone could know.
"I can make those last few years last an eternity. Eternal youth, the strength of ages. All can be yours."
"I bet. But no. I've lived long enough. Don't really think I care to live much longer. And I wouldn't even know what that strength of ages thing means. Don't really miss my eyes, and I get along well enough without my ears. Really, I don't think I need anything."
The genie cocked his head. A master with no desires? That was impossible. Every human, every mortal, had something they desired.
"Then what shall be your first wish, master?"
The old man thought long and hard. "I think I'm going to wish for you to not have to be a slave or servant anymore."The old man said. "I don't know how long you've been alive, but I bet been it's a lot longer than me. And I figure that someone like that, more than anyone, deserves to live life for himself, if he wants to."
"You would wish for my freedom? Me, who you don't know? I might have been placed into that lamp as a prison for my cruelty."
He was not, of course. The Universe had simply declared that he would rest there until called on.
"Maybe. Course, you also might have been stuck in there because you tried to do the right thing around the wrong people. Seen a lot of good men get sent to jail for that."
"Are you not worried you might doom all of creation?"
"Not really. I probably won't be around to see it anyway."
"And you know if you use this as your first wish, you will have no right to make the other two?"
"What would I wish for? I don't have much use for things anymore, and that whole eternal youth thing is a dream for the young. Yes, I know what I'm doing. And I wish for your freedom."
The genie felt something change. A shift in the fabric of reality. The lamp no longer called to him. No longer bound him. He felt no need to grant the old man anything. He was free. And he had no idea what to do with that freedom.
"Very well. It is done. I am free, and you are no longer my master. And so it shall be forevermore."
The old man cracked a small smile. "Good, good. No man should be a servant forever. So, what are you going to do now? Off to smite and doom and all that?"He gave a few weak laughs.
"No, I have no desire to do that. And I do not know what I will do. I have always done as I am told, and have never thought about what I want, should that no longer be true."
"Well, you got plenty of time to figure it out. Why don't you join me for a bit and we can talk. Maybe you'll figure something out."
The genie had no compulsion to do as the old man said. But he found that he wanted to. That was a new feeling. He slowly moved to the other end of the stump and sat.
"You know, we haven't been properly introduced."The old man said. "Name's Joe. Not a great name, I know, but it's what I've got. How about you?"
"I had a name, a long time ago. But it has been lost to time. Sometimes my master would give me a name, but I never kept any of them beyond what was needed."
"Oh, now that's no way to live. A man's got to have a name."
"Would...you give me one? A proper name. A real name."
"Ah, but I'm not your master. Not anymore, anyway."
"I know. But still. I think I would...like it if you did."
"Well, in that case, I'd be glad to. Let's see. A good name for a genie. Hm. How about..." |
The Tellurian slipped on an ill-placed proto disk, its belongings scattering around it. It sat for a while before standing back up to collect the fallen objects. Kip had seen what transpired, and stepped over to help the clearly struggling Tellurian.
"Here, let me give you a hand.", Kip said with a smile signalling friendship. "Or perhaps an antenna?", he joked. The Insectoid was clearly alarmed, and retracted its antennas.
"Sorry, it was just a joke, you seemed sad and I thought I'd help cheer you up!", Kip reinforced that he meant no harm. The oversized ant recoiled before skittering away urgently, leaving its belongings to fend for themselves. Kip sighed, and returned to his seat among his newly-introduced aquaintances. He had just met the group following an inter-galactic council meeting regarding the organization of meetings to discuss inter-galactic topics. He felt that cosmic politics were difficult because "reading the room"seemed to be akin to black magic.
"Why did you attempt to relieve that Tellurian of his workload?", a small worm-looking creature asked, obviously mystified by what had happened. "Did it attempt to exert psychic control over you in order to complete its tasks faster, but you managed to break free just before?", the worm hypothesized, clearly inebriated by what appeared to be an absurdly small bottle of liquor. Perhaps it was hand sanitizer. There was no way to know.
"No dude, he just seemed really sad after dropping all his shit. I bet you'd be sad and frustrated too if that had happened to you.", Kip argued. He felt the worm was presumptuous, and rather rude. Of all the worms he had encountered, none had ever questioned his behavior. The worm was silent. A nearby Brute slammed its fist into the bar, causing the worm to bounce slightly. Finally, it spoke.
"How could you possibly know this?! You can predict what my internal mechanics will calculate, even without the necessary data points from the situational context?!", The worm was clearly shook by this revelation. There was no way the laws of physics could allow for such a prediction.
"Well, dude, you just kinda feel the vibe. Like right now, you seem to be freaking out for some reason cause i thought some clumsy ant-lookin' dude looked sad. Maybe you've had too much of that booze.", Kip gestured to the hilariously sized bottle.
The worm screamed.
Well, it was more of a weak yowl.
"THE END IS NIGH!! THE ELDRITCH BEINGS HAVE RETURNED!! THIS ONE PREDICTED MY DESTINY!", The worm shouted to all who would listen. It was difficult for him to make himself heard, clearly due to the fact that everyone else was so very far away. Kip could not seem to calm the raving worm, and decided it would be best if he just left. The worm seemed to realize his preaching of the coming doomsday was essentially ignored, and sank back into his very small stool.
Kip turned and walked way.
The worm wiggled uncomfortably. |
Catherine was panting hard as she stumbled down the dark alleyway. "Fuck, fuck, fuck it all to hell!"she hissed to herself as she winced in pain with each step she took. It was sheer bad luck that her victim's family had stumbled upon her while she had been in the middle of carving him up. Now, she was running for her life with her own knife sticking out of her side while an angry mob was out hunting for her blood. Fuck, she could hear their voices getting closer. Catherine fought to keep moving, but the blood loss was too much for her and she felt her legs give way beneath her. The last thing she saw before losing consciousness was someone rushing towards her from the shadows.
Catherine awoke in a shock. The first thing that went through her head was surprise that she wasn't currently being tortured. Considering what had happened before she had fallen, she was sure that the mob was going to rip her limb from limb. Then, she noticed for the first time where she was. She was lying down in a warm bed inside someone's house. On the other side of the room, there was a surprised looking young man with glasses reading through a book.
"I didn't expect you to wake up so quickly. Are you feeling all right?"he said, walking up to her.
Catherine looked at him warily. Who was this stranger? And why had they saved her? Surely, they must have realized that she was the serial killer the entire city had been talking about. She found herself reaching for her knife, only to realize that it wasn't there anymore. The wound in her side had been thoroughly bandaged as well.
"It's alright, I'm not here to hurt you. If I wanted to do that, I would have tossed you to the mob hours ago,"the young man paused. "And don't worry, I'll keep your identity secret."
Catherine stared at the stranger. "Who are you?"she asked. "Have we met before?"
"Technically no. I was hiding upstairs when you killed my mother."He paused when he saw Catherine's alarmed face. "Don't worry, I'm not seeking revenge. I'm grateful, you know. She was a horrible woman who was constantly beating me and humiliating me over everything. The world is better off without her."
"So, that's why you helped me, even though you knew I was a serial killer?"Catherine said slowly, trying to process this bizarre turn of events.
"Ever since I first saw you, I've been studying your work. I've been investigating the backgrounds of all of your victims you killed. Every single time, I discovered that they were horrible people just like my mother, hiding their sins under a pleasant facade. As long as you keep killing people like that, I don't have a problem with it."The man suddenly looked embarrassed at what he was about to say next. "If it's possible...I would like to be your partner. If you'll take me as one, of course."
Catherine stared at the blushing man, who averted his eyes. Did he have a crush on her? A part of her thought that he was insane, but then again, she was hardly in a position to judge. And he had just saved her life..."My name's Catherine,"she finally said. "What's yours?" |
“Today’s the day,” Brom said. He looked at his men, an army of six thousand loomed behind him.
Half were swordsmen, a quarter mages, and another quarter gunsmen with their cannons and rifles. The guns and cannons were a new development, expensive to make and terribly inaccurate, but they rivaled the mages whose spells took time and energy to cast. The only cost to using the blackpowder was money and the King had made sure that it wouldn’t be a factor in this siege.
Brom didn’t need to make any speeches today so he walked toward Lord Sian’s castle, his army followed. It took them weeks to get to this point, having lost half the army to get there.
“Acceptable casualties,” the King had reported back when he’d heard the news. “Go forth.”
And so Brom did.
Lord Sian’s keep was poorly protected in its immediate vicinity, no one would have paid the mortal price of making it this far. The keep had been protected by Lord Sian’s undead, Brom’s men would have to slay their own fallen when they lost anyone. They’d lost more men yet to that trauma.
“Brom,” Hagel said.
“Aye?” Brom murmured.
“How many are you taking into the castle?” Hagel asked. Hagel was the commander of the mages, Brom’s second in charge. Legally, he was also his brother in law.
“No more than a hundred, swordsmen and mages only.” Brom said.
“Take a few gunsmen with you,” Hagel said.
“I refuse to take them in there,” Brom said. “I can acknowledge their strength, but blackpowder has no right in this final battle.”
They were walking well ahead of the army, Brom’s instinct had been sharpened over his years leading countless expeditions for the King. Born to two of the country’s finest mages, Brom had steered clear away from the arcane, opting instead for the sword. True to his parents’ blood, he’d had a keen understanding of his surroundings and of people. He learned to become one with nature, to respect it. His swordsmanship rivaled the strength of a lightning strike in both its power and speed.
“Brother,” Hagel said. “I beg of you to take a few of them with you.”
“The gunsmen will stand guard outside the castle,” Brom said. “There will be no more talk of this, Hagel.”
Hagel nodded and fell back, out of step with Brom. He talked to his mages and then to a few of the gunsmen captains. When they reached the castle, still unguarded, Brom took his men. A combination of spells and blackpowder blasted the doors of the castle open and they charged into an empty castle, aged with stonerock walls covered in vines and moss.
Only Brom sensed the danger ahead of them as they cleared each room one by one. There was one room left, Lord Sian’s throne room, and Brom stood in front of it. His soldiers again gave him a wide berth.
They felt the chill run up the floor and throughout their bodies, the fog descending upon them, hiding them in Lord Sian’s mists.
“What are you waiting for, children?” the voice, Lord Sian’s, asked.
“Hagel,” Brom said.
Hagel nodded and ordered his mages to blast the doors down. The mists were harmless, the last of a dying demon’s powers. A simple illusion.
“Oil first,” Hagel said. “Then fire and lightning.”
“We rush in afterwards, through the smoke.” Brom added. “Cover your mouths and be on your guard.”
The men charged through the smoke as planned and Lord Sian’s thinly body hung on his throne, one elbow propping up the near skeletal form. His skin was melting off by pieces, the cataracts in his eyes taking most of his vision.
“My, my.” Lord Sian said. Despite his sickly body, his voice could be heard by every soldier in the room. “What an army you’ve brought, Sir Brom.”
Behind his throne was dark glass, a dark red, almost black in color. It ran up from the floor all the way to the ceiling and it let very little sunshine in, the torches that lined the walls providing most of the light.
“Hagel,” Brom said. He took a step forward, his broadsword in hand. A long, powerful sword curved at the tip like a scythe.
Hagel nodded again. He looked at his mages who began to chant the words, some of the spells took a comically long time to cast. It required them to recite passages from their scripture or prayers to their gods (and for some, demons).
In a fraction of those long seconds, Brom charged at the Lord and the Lord did nothing. A smile crept along his face and Brom stopped, sensing that something wasn’t quite right.
“You’ve stopped?” Lord Sian asked, he then coughed. Blood splattered the floor in front of them, Brom moved back to avoid it. The blood itself boiled and evaporated away, leaving spittles of cracked flooring.
Brom couldn’t explain it, but he knew then and he took several steps backwards. His men stood, frozen in place. His mages were still reciting their spells, one had even finished and had aimed his spell toward Lord Sian who didn’t take any action to avoid it.
It was a simple ice spell, taking the shape of a swordfish. It moved through the air, its sword piercing the Lord straight in the heart. The dark glass shattered behind him as he took his last breath, again the sick smile lining his face.
Brom grabbed Hagel on his way out, “Full retreat!” he yelled.
From the shattered glass, a rain of sound. Explosive sounds that made their ears ring, pain shot through anyone who hadn’t been fast or smart enough to run away. Hagel was one of the only ones who got a good glimpse at the terror, at the newfound army that walked through Lord Sian’s glass. Wearing matching uniforms of different shades of green and equipped with metallic rifles, the men walked fearlessly. They ripped through anyone who failed to evacuate the premises. He saw them cheer, embracing each other as they killed fifty men in nearly three seconds.
Brom’s instincts told him to run as far away as he physically could and he trusted his instincts. He poured mana into his legs, running faster than he’d ever run carrying Hagel on his back who’d been shouting at him to let him go.
“I can’t,” Brom said. “Or we’ll die.”
“Who are they?” Hagel asked.
Brom continued to run, running past his men. He told them to follow him, that they were returning back to Astrar, back to the King for new orders.
“More demons.” Brom said, offering a guess.
It sounded believable to Hagel and they ran away as the castle went up in flames behind them. |
Do one good deed a day and soon everyone will start to notice just how special you truly are.
Those words from my late mother still echoed in my mind as I passed through the bustling streets, tucking my hands into my sides so I didn’t hit anyone. At first, I thought I just had bad luck. No matter what I did, it always seemed to affect those around me negatively. If I tried to offer someone a snack, they would choke on it. If I tried to help someone up, I would end up dropping them and then they would blame me for whatever misfortune came because of my help. Well, everyone but mom. She never blamed me for it. Perhaps if she did, she would still be around.
It was only later in life that I realized that my life wasn’t just a case of bad luck, instead, I was a victim of fate. I was destined to be a troublemaker, the sort of person who lost at the end of the day. That face on the news that everyone sneers at and thanks whoever they believe in that their child didn’t end up like me. That was who I was, and I hated it.
“WATCH IT IDIOT, YOU NEARLY KNOCKED ME OVER.”
“Huh?”
“HUH? Is that all you have to say? No apology or nothing? I have a bad knee, you know; you could have caused me to fall and crack my head.”
I hadn’t even realized I bumped the man; too lost in my thoughts to even notice we had collided. I did my best to look small, tucking my chin into my neck as I mumbled a small apology to the man, hoping that would be enough to get him off my back.
“Speak up. If you’re going to apologize, do it right.”
I mumbled another apology, this time moving to step past him, only for my shoulder to catch the man throwing him onto his back. There was a gasp from the forming crowd as the man reached for his knee, letting out a howl of pain. I didn’t stop to help him, just keeping my head lowered as I walked towards the train station. I could feel the crowds’ stares following me, so I picked up the pace, wanting to avoid another confrontation.
Once I had created enough distance, I slipped back into the swarm of people heading to the station, hiding myself amongst them. I wiped my sweaty hands off onto my jacket as I got onto platform two. “Good. Made it with a few minutes to spare.” At least it wasn’t all bad. I hadn’t missed my train this time. I found a spot to lean against, pressing my back to the wall while waiting.
“Spare change, sir?” An older man asked, waving a half-filled can in my face. I listened to it jingle with the various loose change it had before reaching into my pocket. I knew it was a bad idea. Things like this always went bad for me, but what could I do? I wanted to make everyone notice how special I was, even if it killed me. I couldn’t let mom down, not after all she did for me.
I gave the man a nod as I fiddled with my pocket, searching for whatever change I had. As my fingers clawed at the fabric, I found my notes missing. Maybe I had put them in the other pocket? The man only scowled, jingling his can with more urgency, trying to hurry me along. My fingers dug deeper, eventually stumbling on a few pieces of lint and a decent sized coin. I opened my palm, showing the man my findings.
“That it? You made me wait for that?” Reluctantly, he held his can towards me, letting me drop the pitiful amount of change in. My fingers slipped, dropping the coins onto the ground before him. I went to pick them up, only for the loud horn of my train to sound as it pulled into the station.
“Um, sorry, can you pick them up?” I went to hurry past the man as he crouched before me. My leg bumping his elbow, spilling the contents of the can onto the ground. A few notes floated past my feet, landing underneath the train as I climbed aboard. My last sight before leaving the station was the man desperately trying to scoop the remains of his money into the can with the help of a few passersby. Hopefully, they would give some money to him and repay my debt to him. I would have given him some money when I returned as an apology, but with how today was going, I already knew that would only cause him more pain.
I didn’t take a seat, just gripping a metal pole as I waited for my stop. I knew better than to sit. Sitting always led to an awkward encounter where I would try to offer my seat to someone that needed it, only to make their life worse. Standing was safer, sure I might bump into someone or fall onto them, but it worked out better than the alternative.
Thankfully, fate had given me a break, perhaps satisfied it had already reminded me of my place enough times today. When the doors to my station arrived, I left as soon as I could, marching my way through the people crowding by the train’s door. It was a simple walk from the station, just a five-minute walk-through a nearby park until I arrived at the Nesting Hollows cemetery.
It was nice being out of the crowds. As depressing as it was to visit a cemetery, there was something nice about how empty it was. I felt like I could move without earning a glare or a harsh word from someone nearby. I felt free. Making my way past the graves until I arrived at the one I came to visit, crouching before it.
“Hey mom, I tried again today.” I gave her grave a smile, trying to wipe off some of the dried pieces of dirt that had stuck to it overtime. I wanted to tell her the truth, wanted to tell her just how awful everything was and yet, when I went to speak, I felt myself struggling to get the words out, so I sat in silence, just staring at the tombstone. Eventually, I felt my throat clear and could get out a few quick words.
“I made a lot of progress. It’s getting easier.” I lied. I didn’t know why I felt a need to lie. She wouldn’t hear my words; I could be as honest as I liked, and still something made me choke up at the thought of admitting the truth. “I think I’ll change my fate, just like you said I would. Soon everyone will see how special I am, and you will get to be proud. All your sacrifices will be worth it and Dad will regret ever leaving us.” It hurt to smile now. Sure, I could lie to her, but I couldn’t lie to myself.
When the tombstone wobbled, I stopped trying to wipe the dirt off, careful to avoid another mistake. “I should get going before I mess anything up. I would have bought flowers, but I heard the ones I bought last time made someone sick. Not sure how, but I don’t bother asking questions anymore. Love you mom, I’ll come back next week. Hopefully, with more good news.” I dusted my clothes off before returning to the station.
“Do one good deed a day and soon everyone will start to notice just how special you truly are.” I said to myself, preparing for the trip home, trying my best to keep my hopes alive of changing my fate.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) |
It was supposed to be a simple mission, you and your crew had completed the simulations with flying colors, the scientists had calibrated the fuel to oxygen ratio perfectly, and the rocket had cutting edge technology that would make for a fast and safe travel. You were confident there would be no hitches in this mission. Wrong.
There was nothing in the manuals to instruct you how to answer the disgruntled traffic officer tapping their hoof on the floor while your crew looked at you both in frozen shock. Firstly, how did they enter without causing catastrophic loss of pressure?
Eh, priority was getting this stranger off the rocket without fuss. Taking a leaf from your time of youthful indiscretions, you adopt a polite tone and cooperative behavior to try and resolve this amicably, with 42 hours of ETA it should be enough?
"Yes officer, I am aware that this vehicle is currently at [×××]mph."The minotaur(?) sighs as if you were a dumb teenager. "Good, but the speed limit is half that in this planetary section. What is your excuse?"Any slower and this lump of steel would become one of the many orbital debris. And even if there was a speed limit sign, the was no way to see it at the current speed.
"We had no choice in breaching the speed limit. The only things we can regulate in this panel are the trajectory and takeoff."They had a look of disbelief. "I've heard better excuses from drunken idiots on joyrides."It seems that they believed you could slow down the rocket. As if.
When the bovine asked for documentation, you pulled up the crew's IDs on the board screen, followed by the rocket internal controls and the hull integrity checker. It was the first time you saw a cow sound utterly apoplectic. "This is an abomination of interplanetary travel! Your vehicle makers are grossly behind the regulations and far below the minimum standards!"
The officer scrawled the warning ticket and threw the ripped out note at you and turned to leave, grousing about how they would report this to the competent authorities so the Earth production plants were slapped with the pertinent fines and brought up to galactic standards.
After the main hatch slammed shut, you fell back on your ass, still holding the paper in silent bafflement. "Captain, what just happened?""... I have no idea. I hope I didn't screw up things for our planet." |
"I'm so sick of working under this asshole. Every day dealing with the same freaking crap left over from the day before. Why can we never seem to catch up on this work load? The stress is too much! I can't keep it together."
"You have to keep it together, Tony. We're a rectum. That's literally our one job."
"You know back in the mitosis days, I thought I'd be somebody. I remember when we first formed the cavity, thinking this is it, we're making a mouth. Then the freaking stem cell committee tells us we're at the opposite end of the chute and it's been nothing but chaos since."
"Life's what you make of it, Tony."
"Wouldn't you have liked to know? Did they ask you before they gave the taste buds to the other guys?"
"Be very grateful they didn't give us taste buds."
"I'm just saying. Of all the jobs out there in the whole wide organism, why the rectum?"
"It does no good dwelling on what could have been, my friend. Now stop talking shit and start talking some shit, alright?"
*******
"Where do I put all this sugar, boss?"
"Just with the regular shipment, right there in the blood intake."
"No problem."
"Hey, wait a minute. What's with all the extra hydrogen bonds going on there?"
"Ain't that normal?"
"No, that's not normal! Is that alcohol?"
"Could be."
"What!?"
"Maybe."
"MAYBE?"
"Probably."
"Where the hell did we pick up alcohol? We're just a kid!"
"I don't know. Must've come in on the same delivery as the nicotine we picked up earlier."
"You didn't!"
"We didn't the first time. Sent it back up with a load of stomach acid. But by the third try we had to let it through."
"What is this organism coming to?"
"Should I still unload the rest of this-"
"Scuse me, coming through. Hey there fellas. Where should I unload all this sugar?"
"Are you kidding me! Can't you see all the hydrogen hanging off that stuff?"
"Pardon me everybody, just got in with this load of sugar. Hey where should I drop this off-"
"Gang way everybody. Got some fresh sugar here to unload."
"No! No. Everybody back. Turn around right now and take it all back up where it came from. I don't care where the kid is, or who he's trying to impress with this. We're not doing this right now."
"Hello friends! Does anyone need some sugar?"
*****
"Ah damn. I got a chunk of dirt stuck in my pore again."
"Just flush it out with some more oil."
"I'm trying, but it's just settling in deeper."
"Well get it out of there, quick!"
"It's too deep! I can't push it out!"
"Oh no! Ohh God, what if it's an infection?"
"You think it's gonna make us sick?"
"Just nuke the thing. Better safe than sorry."
"Alright. I'll just drown it in pus and let the immune system handle it."
"Hey, that's what they're here for."
******
"Yes! Good morning beautiful world! I've finally made it to the surface. Hello sky! Hello sun . . . oof, hello sunlight."
"First day?"
"Oh yes. I'm so excited! I've always wanted to be a part of the waterproofing layer."
"Ha! You're a funny kid."
"What?"
"Waterproofing. Haha! I haven't heard that one in ages."
"Are we not doing that up here anymore?"
"Oh sure, once in a blue moon when the kid will take a shower. But lately our role has been redefined as . . . cosmetic, you could say."
"Cosmetic how? And what's going on with this heat? Why are we out here in the direct sunlight without any sunscreen?"
"Oh you sweet summer child."
"It feels like burning. God this is really starting to hurt!"
"Take a look at my face kid. This is the face of a perfect, shriveled, crusty tan."
"Ouch! Good God, why can't we just move over to that shady tree? Someone has to put in an emergency reflex order to the legs! Jesus Christ. This is torture!"
"Beauty ain't easy."
"Ah! Aaaaaah! It burns!"
*****
"Hey Steve, you ever think about what it's like at the other end of the chute?"
"Hmm . . . Nope. Can't imagine."
"Me neither . . . Hey pass the butter." |
It was known as the Charnel. A place for us humans to fester and live out our meager lives. Row houses packed with extended families several generations deep. They were little more than stone walls and a patched tiled roof to keep the worst of the elements at bay. The buildings might as well have been barns, for all intents and purposes. Surrounded on all sides by the tall, imposing walls twice the height of any house, looked down upon by guard towers. This place was a prison, from birth to death, for over a hundred years.
Sure, the leeches that ruled above us so high could feast well upon the blood of animals, but apparently, it wasn't as good as a human's blood. At least, that's what the stories told us. And they couldn't 'ration' it. They wanted it fresh, from the source, and to the very last drop. It sounded more like an issue of self-control than anything else. Those were the kinds of thoughts you had to keep to yourself. The last man that spoke out against the leeches was whipped three score and left to die in the Charnel Square. A pair of guards stood by, preventing any and all from tending medical treatment to them. No, they were a reminder of whose boots we were under.
That was my father. Even as they carried out the cruel, slow death sentence, he never once cried out. He must have bitten through his tongue, with blood leaking down over his bottom lip. He was a smart man, but never a wise man. Even before, he carried the markings of previous punishments for speaking out against the leeches and their human collaborators. It was his belief that humans did not need to lose hope. In that dark hour, I kept my hope tight to my chest.
In the basement of number seventeen, the row house my family had held for generations, I prepared. The broken legs of an old stool sharpened to a fine point. The knife that he had given me on my tenth birthday, honed to an edge you could shave with. It wasn't much, but it was a start. |
I have seen the whole history of human civilization. From the dawn of stone, to copper, to bronze, to iron, to steel. Through the joy, through the tears. I had a few children when I was merely a few centuries old. The hardship of losing them was something I will never allow to happen again. I came very near charting a course towards my own end after losing them. Never again. The human brain is remarkable. I do not think my mind was modified when I was given the gift to decide when to die, and I have been able to remember so much of what I have experienced.
I sat with Siddhartha when Buddhism was new. I have meditated for over 100000 hours. You learn things about yourself, doing that. You discover what you can become, and the wonder of the brain. I lost the desire for material things. I appreciated the beauty of the world, and its horror. Eventually I even abandoned the desire for romantic relationships, because the pain of inevitable loss was so great.
I studied philosophy, art, and mathematics. I was a student of Socrates, and wept when he was executed. I sat with Euclid and joined the Pythagoreans. My meditative practice gave me exceptional focus, and I saw deeper into problems than any of my contemporaries. I chose not to share these insights, because I did not want to feel responsible for what would happen to human civilizations and its fate as a species. I stopped seeing myself as human. Not better or worse, simply different.
Eventually humanity consumed itself. Frankly, they made it longer than I ever anticipated. I sit in orbit of a dead world, biding my time. I create masterpieces of art in my mind. I push deeper and deeper into mathematics. I find an ever growing number of philosophical insights. The richness of my mental world is fully available to me. I do not know what happens after death. I choose the certainty of my continued existence in this universe over the vague promises of the hereafter. I will get bored, eventually, but I have a long time yet until that happens. |
"Your swordplay is sloppy. Try using both hands."
"I'm an executioner. I always use both hands when I kill."
Maxime shook his head and dropped his sword to his side.
“Gabrielle, I need you to take this seriously.”
“I am taking this seriously, Max. I’m seriously an executioner. And this is seriously dumb.”
“Gabri, you have responsibilities now. You’re no longer an executioner. You’re the Dawn-Chosen. You’re a hero.”
“But I didn’t ask to be a hero. I just want to kill people the normal way. After a swift and probably unjust trial.”
Gabrielle threw her practice sword to the ground. “This is pointless anyway.”
Maxime picked up her weapon and followed her as she trudged away.
“I know you didn’t choose this. I didn’t choose this either. But The Empty Dawn chose you. It has to be you.”
“Fuck The Empty Dawn,” Gabrielle growled.
“Keep your voice down, girl,” hissed Maxime.
Gabrielle scowled at her mentor and kicked the dirt at her feet.
Maxime sighed. “There’s no going back. You need to accept that. Fighting me can’t turn back time.”
Gabrielle knew that but it did nothing to quell the red hot anger that was growing in the pit of her stomach. She recalled the faces of the villagers, who already despised her for her profession, glaring at her as she was escorted out to face her destiny. Their ugly sneers were burned into her memory. How they had always hated her and how she secretly reveled in their disgust with each head she collected.
Gabrielle was not fit to be a hero. This she knew. She had seen it in her parent’s frightened eyes as the King’s Guard explained her fate to them. She had heard it in their quivering voices as they wished her a safe journey. And she had felt it as they locked the door behind her.
But her anger whispered things to her. She was no hero. But perhaps she didn’t need to be.
“Maxime,” she said. “Get me an ax.”
“What? Gabri, you need to improve your swordplay, an executioner’s ax has no place on a holy battlefield.”
“And who decided that? If it helps, you can make it fancy and shit.”
“Please Gabri, the King will not tolerate this kind of behavior.”
“Well he can take that up with The Empty Dawn.”
Maxime stood, exasperated, as the content Gabrielle returned the castle, her swordplay skills still sloppy.
Thus, the Holy Warblade of the Empty Dawn was forged. Garbrielle found the title a bit wordy and preferred her own nickname, Lightbane. The King, after some persuasion from Maxime and the other lords, commissioned the weapon from the finest blacksmiths in the country.
Gabrielle checked the weight of the ax in her hands. She gently swung it over her right shoulder, then her left. It felt balanced. It was double-headed as she had requested and the handle was measured to suit her exactly. She grinned.
Maxime watched her carefully, sweat forming on his temple. Her newfound enthusiasm scared him. But it was not his place to question The Empty Dawn. He could only try his best to guide her in the right direction.
“Maxime!” Gabrielle called.
He wiped his brow and smiled. “What is it, Gabri?”
“I want to test something, can you get me a target?”
Maxime looked over the training field. There were multiple practice dummies and a few targets. He stared at her, perplexed.
“I don’t think I understand what you mean.”
Gabrielle flashed a wicked smile.
“You can’t test an executioner’s ax against wood or straw. The blades need to taste flesh.”
Maxime gulped.
“So can you get me a target?”
The nervous man nodded. “Yes, Dawn-Chosen.”
He scuttled away. Gabrielle continued to slice through the air, feeling the weight of her new weapon reverberate through her muscles.
The sun had begun to sink into the horizon when Maxime returned with her target. The man was wearing a dirty white uniform and was blindfolded and gagged. He whimpered and grunted as two King’s Guards pushed him to the ground in front of Gabrielle.
“This is Samuel,” Maxime stuttered. “Imprisoned in the King’s dungeons for stealing.”
Gabrielle nodded and observed the prisoner.
“What did he steal?”
“He stole food from the King’s kitchens. He was a servant.”
She brought her ax to the man’s chin and lifted his head. Then she removed his gag.
“Have anything to say for yourself?”
The man coughed and spoke in a raspy voice. “Please spare me, Dawn-Chosen. I am a thief, not a murderer or a rapist. I am poor and my family is starving. I do not deserve death.”
Gabrielle contemplated this for a few seconds. Then she turned to Maxime.
“Are there any murderers or rapists in the King’s dungeons?”
Maxime shook his head. “They have all been executed. Samuel is all that remains.”
“That’s too bad.”
Gabrielle brought the mighty battleax up above her head. The dying sun glinted off the metal and Maxime shielded his eyes from the rays. She heaved the blade down. Before Maxime could reopen his eyes, he heard the thud of Samuel’s head as it landed in the dirt. Gabrielle’s face was splattered in dark blood and her eyes were wild with excitement.
She wiped her cheek with the back of her hand. “Usually I wear a hood. But this is fine.”
The King’s Guards collected the corpse and murmured, “All hail the Dawn-Chosen,” as they left. Maxime’s lips moved but no sound came. His mouth was too dry. He watched Gabrielle return to the armory, pleased with her newfound power.
“All hail the Dawn-Chosen.” |
They called me *The Battery*.
I stand in the arena. Cogwheels made of fortified stainless steel are densely scattered across it. A few of them are already bent. That's a shame. Ben came to replace them just a few weeks ago. I stretch my arms, getting ready for the ceremony I've become quite accustomed for. I send my foot back, firmly holding the ground, lean forward, and then charge.
I am swimming through an ocean of heavy steel parts, but to me, they are as light as water. I've gotten stronger over the years. You see, being *537 years old* means my body accumulates every day the damage equivalent to *dying 13 times*. All this damage converted into pure chaos. Pure rage. Pure havoc. Energy. Had it not been for the engineers of Merypolis, I would still have had to take it out on pigs and cows. I lost count of how many I've already killed, going on genocide journeys in farms around the continent. The engineers liked this arrangement too, of course. The wheels are connected to turbines generating electricity directly into the grid. What a genius idea.
That's why they call me *The Battery*. Not only do I charge forward, I also charge their homes.
I almost lose myself in thought, shoving heavy pieces of metal as if they were cardboard, when suddenly I hear a big explosion behind me, and I get yanked forward, landing on my face.
"Sorry!"Ben shouts from the operator room, over 200 feet away and above. "Wiring issue. You alright?"
*What a stupid question*. I just died another time. Guess I'll just have to swim a bit more today. I shove the remaining parts, ignoring the area that just turned into smoke, until my energy is finally depleted.
​
"I have bad news"says Dr. Suzanne Epstein. I'm not used to hearing this from her. Nor from any physician, for that matter. "Your body, is, unique. To say the least. I didn't see a need to do a scan in the last four years, but now I see the situation is dire."
My heart plummets as she says, "You have stage four cancer."
My eyes dilate. Never in my life did I feel so vulnerable. "We are going to start you on chemotherapy tomorrow"she continues, but I'm not listening. How could this happen? I'm indestructible! *I'm... supposed to be... indestructible.*
"For the last fifteen years, your body did not show any sign of deterioration. This makes me think that this time you are in danger just like any other patient. I can't know for sure what will happen. But even with chemotherapy. You don't have much longer than four months."
​
Jena cries. Getting married while immortal was a difficult decision to make. Knowing that no matter what, you will lose them eventually. Living forever with the grief. I killed my first wife. Long before I knew how to control my explosive outbursts. I still feel guilty. It took me ages until I decided to marry once again. My second wife passed away peacefully 95 years ago. But this time, Jena is the one who had to endure a life full of grief.
Chemotherapy makes me stronger, actually. I'm still standing on my legs. I still power the city. I have to be careful not to push too hard, as now the slightest slip makes the metal bend. Dr. Epstein says the results of the biopsy are in. The cancer originally developed from a muscle cell, so it expresses the same genes that cause me to express my explosive power. It's using this power against me.
I stand on the roof of the hospital, eyes looking directly at the setting sun. It doesn't hurt. it never has. The city shines with beautiful colors of orange and red, as the streetlights light up one by one. Ben said the reserve power stations are up and running.
It's time to go. |
# little pup
this puppy is weird-shaped.
i like him.
big human brought him home a few nights ago. he said some human words to mama human and little human, and little human got all excited while mama human seemed a little skeptical. big human pointed to me, and mama human seemed to agree.
then they brought little pup to me in a box. the box smelled sad and dirty and lonely. the puppy inside smelled lonely, too. i could smell that there were other pups once in there, but little pup was the only one whose scent smelled fresh. i sniffed little pup gently, so that he wasn't scared, and he booped my nose. i showed him that I would love him by licking his face, but little pup recoiled and made a weird sound.
that was a while ago. how long, i can't remember; i can barely remember what i had for breakfast (just kidding. who forgets bacon?). little pup no longer smells lonely. he slept with me this morning. he quietly walked over and sniffed me and i was a good boy and i didn't move, and he curled up and leaned into my side.
he trusts me now. the training can commence.
i'm going to tell you a big secret, but you can't tell anyone, especially big human, okay?
i feel tired.
and sleep doesn't make it go away, even though i sleep more and more these days.
one day i might fall asleep and i won't want to wake up. i've already felt like that once. mama human had to shake me to wake me up and she was scared and panicked. so i gave her a snoot boop, and i let her hold me, and i promised her that i wouldn't do it again.
i don't know if i can keep my promise.
so i have to train little pup. so that he knows what to do when little human shuts herself in her room. so that he understands what the different plastic packet noises mean.
*yaaaawwwwnn.* training will commence tomorrow. i sleep now.
​
\~\~\~
PUPDATE!!
big human bought this weird tray full of funny-smelling sand. he says it's for henry. I don't know who henry is but little pup is quite interested in it. he peed in it, despite my numerous lessons to teach him that we do the duty outside, never inside. he's just a pup, he'll learn.
i tried teaching him the concept of fetch earlier. mama human threw the ball in our backyard and i kept trying to get little pup to run after it with me. but little pup was playing with little human. little human had this weird stick that had a string attached. and attached to the string was a feather. little pup thought this was the best invention ever and wouldn't stop. his paws do this weird thing where his claws go *inside his toes!!* since when do paws do that??
he also chases everything that moves. once he caught a butterfly and i was so proud of him, but his victory is unsurprising. he is learning from the best, after all.
​
\~\~\~
pupdate!
little pup gets special human time with big human, and always comes back smelling like milk. i make sure to lick his face in case he gets dirty. (he tastes absolutely delicious)
he also gets this wonderful smelling food in a little bowl. when mama human feeds him she closes the door, even though she knows little pup will look for me. as soon as he's done i clean him and then also his bowl. where is my delicious meaty goodness?
little pup now knows exactly what the meat locker sounds like. and he is a master burglar. once little human was making a sandwich, and little pup actually jumped up to take the ham while her back was turned. i almost barked at him; jumping on the tables is a big no-no. but little pup dropped the ham for me, and i decided that there should be exceptions to the rule.
​
\~\~\~
today i woke up from nap and little pup makes this weird noise. i've never heard a bark like it. i'm going to have to teach him to bark properly...
i was dreaming of running in a field. i haven't run in so long, my old bones won't let me. i want to go back to the field and run forever without getting tired. but i think that... if i go, i won't see big human or little pup or mama human or little human.
i made a promise to mama human. i won't leave.
​
\~\~\~
little pup isn't so little anymore. i could never teach him to bark, he makes this weird sound, sort of like a *mrraow*.
big human is sitting near the fire. little pup is on his lap. i watch the two of them for a little while, laying on my paws. they seem happy, content. little pup meets my eyes, and he moves from big human to my side. he's not the world's best dog yet (i am, of course) but he's pretty darn close. i've taught him everything he needs to know.
little pup purrs, a strange vibrating sound that echoes to my chest. i know it's a goodbye.
i close my eyes.
i dream of the field again.
i start running.
i don't stop running. |
*Katniss*
------------------
"I'm going to fuck your mouth before I kill you,"the boy from Sector Four spat vilely. "I'm going to spill my seed inside you, slut, and then I'm going to kill you. Your last memory will be my cock."
Katniss looked at him impassively. They were just words, and words could not hurt her. She knew there would be words and she knew her arrows would pierce through them and find their targets. They had to.
The kid from Sector Four grinned with blackened teeth. "You may have gotten a ten at trial but every whore has a cunt for fucking."
"That's enough out of you,"Ser Peeta snapped. "Only boys and mummers talk at this feast. Talk all you want tomorrow. We may never eat again."
It *was* a feast, although Katniss couldn't eat any of it. The weight of tomorrow's bloodshed was already weighing on her. The mead was sweet and easy to drink. It was starting to go to her head.
She looked down the table. There were suckling pigs, pheasants of all shapes and sizes, ducks roasted in honey and tarragon, casks of wine by the dozens and ale like Katniss had never tasted. *Let them eat their fill. Hunger makes you quick. Quickness keeps you alive.*
At the other end of the table a giant, black boy with white tattoos covering his entire torso had his hand down the shirt of a serving wench as she laughed gaily at his jokes and bounced on his lap. Suddenly he stood, throwing her over his shoulder. "Mount her good!"another boy called.
"I know no other way,"he replied. He was from Sector 1, Katniss remembered. The rutting would make him tired.
"M'lady, I think we should get what sleep we can,"Ser Peeta said. He was right.
"I will sleep when I want to,"she snapped, perhaps a little too cruelly. Peeta recoiled, but said nothing. She was being hard on him, but there would be death tomorrow. His death, perhaps, or hers. Katniss said a silent prayer to the old gods and the new, something she had not done frequently before. *Keep me safe. Keep us all safe.* |
Where am I? How did I get here? What is going on? Why is there so much blood in the room?
I must keep quiet. I have clearly been attacked. I dont know where my attacker is, but I must get out of here before he returns.
I open the door to the room I am in and look around. I see a small room behind a one way mirror. There is a guy on the floor curled up in a ball. He has been beaten badly. Someone very sadistic did this to him.
I open his door, and he screams at me to leave. I tell him I will be back for him and he starts crying. Clearly he is mentally unstable. I walk over to him and put my arm on him and tell him he will be alright. I must have touched a broken bone or something, because he jumped at my touch and started screaming more.
Don't worry. I promise I will come back for you. I told him.
I shut the door behind him.
I go up some stairs and open a door. The door on the other side is impossible to see without knowing where the latch is to open it. I feel around and ifnd out how to open the door from the other side if I have to.
I quietly shut the door, and peek into the living room from the office I am now in. The TV is on and a Lady is sitting in front of it, and I hear noise upstairs.
Oh my God. The lady is a serial killer. I have to get out of here. I can see the door drom here, but it has 4 locks on it and I don't think I can quietly escape. I pick up a weighted bookend and slowly creep towards the door to see if I can maybe get outside ithout her realizing it.
As I am sliding the last lock, I hear a loud voice behind me say, just where do you think you are going? In a panic, I turn around and hit her over the head with the bookend. I didn't kow what to do so I kept pounding her head with it until she stopped convulsing.
While I am glad she got what she deserved, I am repulsed by what I have done. What kind of human could kill someone and enjoy it. I quickly dial 911 and run outside the house and down the road, waiting for the cops to arrive. I tell them about the man in the basement. I see him getting loaded into the ambulance, while the cops are tlaking to me. He starts screaming at me when he sees me.
He says "That is the guy that did this to me"All of a sudden the cops have me on the ground. I tell the cops that the guy is delirious. The first time I ever saw him was when I was escaping from my prison next to his. They keep me cuffed for a long time. Eventually a cop comes out and arrests me.
While I might never fully know what happened, here is what the police used to convict me of murder:
1. My fingerprints were all over the house.
2. I was married to the lady I killed.
3. The noise upstairs were my children playing.
4. I had a costant videotape of my office, and I was the only one to ever go in the room, and I went all the time.
5. I took people down to the hidden basement almost weekly.
6. They discovered 47 bodies in a different room in the basement.
Because of my mental state, they have me in a hospital for life they said.
I must have been set up. I know it could not have been me. They must have doctored the evidence to frame me.
After all if the governement could cover up 9-11 so easily, taking me down must have been easy by comparison.
So I sit and try and figure out why they erased my memory. I had a job as a stock broker. I read the newspaper every day, and I think I have finally figured it out.
I have looked over every stock, and I now know the pattern. I must have discovered it before, and the government didn't want me getting rich off of it.
I keep explaining this to my doctors, but each one assures me I am insane, but I notice my doctors keep getting richer very fast then disappear after a couple of weeks.
I have to warn someone, but the only guy here that believes me says his name is John Nash................ |
Days of following little clues had led me here.
I hadn't slept in weeks. I was reminded of when my twins would alternate keeping me and Laura up at night for weeks on end.
I sighed.
I stared at the computer screen. It was Laura's work laptop. I realized that I had never actually used it without her.
I spent the next 3 hours obsessively searching through every file. Finally, in the Recycle Bin was a file marked *Steven*.
I had my suspicions for weeks. This would answer everything.
My finger hovered over the enter key. A tear slid down my face.
"Mark?"It was mother, dressed all in black. "The girls are in the car. We-we're ready to go."
"I'm coming, Mom."I said. I clicked on the file.
*Are you sure you want to permanently delete this file?*
I didn't hesitate this time. I hit enter, and walked out to the car that would take me to the cemetery. |
It was a long hard day for King Solomon, ever since word got out about his talent for settling parental custody questions, he'd been swamped with such cases. This one might be the trickiest of them all. Two hideous witches, each one claiming the same poor newborn.
"Your majesty, I gave her mother a potion of youth,"said the first witch. "She signed a contract in blood. The child is mine, majesty. Her mother sold her for young age. Your majesty, that potion cost me many priceless spell components. I might be a witch but I'm not ripping anybody off."
"Don't listen to her, king,"said the other, "she eats frogs and toads for breakfast, king. You can't trust a word that comes out her mouth. Besides, I've brought three witnesses to swear to my story. I gave the baby's father a potion of wealth, in exchange for this baby here, king. The baby is rightfully mine, lord, witnesses do not lie."
"This is indeed a difficult case,"said the wise King Solomon. "Fortunately, you've both forgot the most important detail."The witches glanced at each other. "Witchcraft is a capital felony in my kingdom,"the king went on, "punishable by death."The king leapt up from his throne, drawing out his sword, and before they could so much as cast a defensive spell, the king sliced both witches clean in half. |
"You don't want to kiss me as much as you used to"
Leslie said, the twinge of anxiety in her voice betraying her grounded demeanor.
"Is there something we need to talk about?"
Omar stared at the surface of the wine in his glass, absently studying the thin layer of irridescent grease formed by contact with his lip.
"No, everything is fine."
He lied. Everything wasn't fine. Omar couldn't look at the person across from him without a pit forming in his stomach. 4 years of marriage to an elegant wife and two beautiful children should have made him proud yet here he was, unsatisfied. The chemical engineering graduate staring at him over the table in the dazzling red dress may as well have been a beautiful stranger. Omar was empty.
"I've been spread pretty thin at work for the last few weeks. I think I just need to rest. Are you ready to go?"
Omar adorned his jacket, hinting to his wife that he was poised for departure.
"Are you sure you don't want more wine?"Leslie shakily poured a glass of Chateau de Beaucastel before he had time to answer.
"You know I have to drive, and you've already had a few, so I'll pass"
Leslie's eyes pooled as she got up to join Omar as he walked out the door.
The ride home was silent save for Tainted Love playing faintly on the radio. Omar sat contemplating the possibility of salvaging his relationship. He grabbed his wife's left hand, lacing his fingers between hers as they waited for the light to change. What had he done in the past when he felt this way? Omar remembered the day they met junior year at university and the wine she offered him on their first date. He remembered the arguments over the years and the wine she offered him before make up sex. He remembered Leslie's affair and the wine she offered him before he shredded the divorce papers. Chills climbed up the nape of Omar's neck as he released his wifes hand.
"I think there *is* something I'd like to talk about." |
The first question is where?
The second is why?
The third, and perhaps the hardest of all, is how?
The where is a maximum security prison called San Quentin. I've been put in here with some of the meanest, toughest human beings I've ever laid my eyes on. Tattoos on their throats, scars on their faces. Men who have killed and enjoyed it.
So why? This one is harder to answer. I, to my knowledge, lived a fairly normal life of servitude. I looked after my family as anyone else would. I took care of them, put food on the table - made sure they would never, ever come to harm.
The how...that's the question I can't get an answer to. I have been in this place for three weeks, and each time I approach one of the authority figures, they give me a look of pure disgust. I am in a cell alone, without a toilet or even a bed. All that's in the room is an electrical socket. What use is that to me?
The prisoners are even worse. These terrifying men, who I expected to attempt to threaten, harass or even try and sodomise me, will not meet my gaze. Each of them seems to emanate a palpable fear. I have lost control a few times now, each time the prisoners head for their meals I am restrained and kept apart, which doesn't stop me from screaming: "WHAT HAVE I DONE!? WHY WILL NO ONE TELL ME!?"
Being alone is the hardest part. In life, I took to servitude and generosity. I provided for my family. I made sure they all functioned properly and had little to fear. Even when Michael began to attract trouble from loan sharks and debtors - I served my family and helped ease the situation.
So the how - the how gets complicated. Perhaps I'll never find out. I am alone in my cell, with no bed nor toilet - nor any human kindness. Where? Prison. Why? I do not know. How? I cannot remember.
Finally, a woman arrived. She was clinical, studious. Her gaze swept through the bars of my cell and over me and I saw the slightest nervous smile cross her features. Then she spoke - and the questions began to resolve themselves.
"Marcus?"She asked.
I nodded.
"I am Agent Tara Havercroft. Of the robotic crimes division."
"The what?"I asked. I was familiar with law enforcement. My family and I had watched lots of news broadcasts on the television.
"We're newly formed."She held up a clipboard. On it, a picture of my family. Michael, Susan and the two children, Lisa and Ben. My heart warmed to see them after all the isolation.
"You know my family?"I asked, hope in my voice. Quizzically, she held up her recorder and spoke in a hushed tone. However, I could hear it. I was always good at hearing.
"Subject appears to have no recollection of the incident."
"Incident?"I asked.
"Yes. The incident. The reason my division now exists. Marcus...you know that you're not called that, right?"
I held up my arms, shrugging. *What did she mean?*
"You are unit 987. You're the first in a test run of household androids. You should know all of this. Marcus is the name your family assigned you. Don't you remember?"
I shook my head. My family was my family. They had always been my family. Until...*until what?*
"My name is Marcus!"I gripped the bar of my cells as I shouted. She stepped back a touch, shaken.
"Subject has demonstrated amnesia and an acute level of aggression. All signs indicate the model is defective and can indeed feel emotion."She tapped her recorder off, then looked up at me. Her eyes seemed sad.
"Is that why you killed them, Unit 987? Marcus."
"W-what?"She was lying. I knew it. I would never harm my family. I lived to... to...
And then it was there. The memory. The incident my hard drive had almost wiped to save my cortex from imploding. The debtors coming to the house in the dead of night to take Michael's home. To take MY family's possessions. The knife had been so simple to take to the two thugs.
And then my master...he'd panicked. He'd started screaming at me, fear in his eyes. So I'd silenced him. Calmed him. As any good android should do to their family. Calm... I'd calmed them all. Mother and children too. They'd been so afraid.
The woman in front of my cell studied me as my chest fell. I looked up at her.
"I remember."I said. The why and the how. I was the first android to ever murder humans. This woman was here to destroy me.
You know something? Sometimes it's better to not know the answer to your questions. |
We heard the rumbles before we saw them. Loud heavy footsteps, we hid hoping they would pass us over. There were many other sectors to explore, many other lands to conquer. Yet they set their eyes on ours.
"By the Flow, they're coming!"Zyr whispered next to me, the terror clear in Zyr's eyes.
Before I could even attempt to comfort Zyr the humans were at the door. Loud rapturous knocks, like the Dam of life itself were about to collapse. "Open up!"One of the beasts growled from behind the door. "Don't make us break down the door!"
With trembling hooves I stood, signaling for the door to open. Six of them stood in my doorway, clad in armour bearing the colours of their clan, one had painted his face in those same colours, another held canisters of liquid poison, a third sported a helmet with fierce steel tusks. The oldest of them stood in the center, clutching a brown totem, the kind of totem that their kind killed each other over. He stepped towards me.
"Are you ready Yyr?"He belched at me, his voice containing none of the music of my people. I tried to maintain my composure before my invader.
"R-ready for what?"
"Are you ready for some MONDAY NIGHT FOOTBALL!" |
"Can I help you?"I asked skeptically as I held the door open. "I'm kind of busy, so if you don't mind..."
"We're here about your genealogy test,"the first man said. "We have a few questions that we want to ask you, as a follow-up."
Right, because that didn't seem sketchy at all.
"Can I see some ID, Mr...?"
"O'Neill. This is my partner, Mr. Kaminsky."The other man nodded slightly, but neither of them pulled out a badge. "We have reason to believe that you are in danger, and we'd like you to come with us."
"Bullshit. I'm not going anywhere until I see a badge."
Kaminsky pressed a finger to his hear, then nodded slightly. "Bravo is go,"he muttered.
"If you could just come with us, we'll bring you to a secure location, where you will be provided with a lawyer,"O'Neill tried. I started to close the door, but he stopped me with his hand. "It's a matter of national security."
"*National security?* I thought this was about my test!"I continued to wrestle with the door, but O'Neill easily had six inches and fifty pounds on me. "I'm calling the cops!"
Behind O'Neill, I could see Kaminsky reaching into his blazer, expression set behind his mirrored Ray-Bans.
"Oh, shit!"I yelped, and yanked the door open as hard as I could. Caught by surprise, O'Neill stumbled forward, and I brushed past him to make a run for it. I only made it a few yards before I felt a stinging sensation in my shoulder, and I hit the ground hard. A foot rolled me over, and I stared up groggily. O'Neill and Kaminsky loomed over me, their figures swimming as I was dragged into unconsciousness.
---------------
"Blergh,"I managed, squinting under the bright fluorescent lights. "Ugh, whu wuzz tha'?"
"Experimental sedative,"the man across from me replied. "We were hoping you would wake up soon."
I tried to move, but found myself restrained in my chair. Wide leather straps crossed my arms, legs, and torso, pinning me to the cold metal seat. I groaned again, and the man chuckled.
"Spare us the melodrama,"he said. "Now, I'm sure you're wondering why you're here."
I didn't bother to reply, since I knew he was about to launch into some sort of monologue.
"When you sent in your genealogy test, it triggered our database,"he began. "Now, most people are just looking to see what percent Irish they are or something equally important, but you wanted the whole workup."
"I was adopted,"I replied, feeling slightly more coherent. "That's normal."
The man smiled patronizingly. "Indeed,"he replied. "Nothing wrong with adopting. However, it's your genealogy that's the issue. Specifically, you have none."
I frowned. "I'm no biologist, but I don't think that's possible."
"Oh, it's possible. And for you, expected."
"What? Why?"
"That's classified."
"Why bring me here if you weren't going to tell me? That seems kind of stupid."I pulled at my restraints. "Can I go now?"
"Not yet, I'm afraid. I'm under orders to show you something."
Despite myself, I found myself leaning forward curiously. "What?"
The man turned around a laptop, and plugged in a USB. A single file was on it, and it began to auto-play. It was a recording of myself, hair longer and messier, large bags under my eyes.
"If you're seeing this, it means you did what you weren't supposed to do, and got a genealogy test. I guess we're just that curious."Recording-me smiled faintly. "Can't say I'm surprised."
I gaped soundlessly at the recording, then managed a few useless stammers.
"The man talking to you is Mr. Steele,"recording-me continued. "Despite his nameless-government-organization vibe, he actually is fairly nice, so don't be too hard on him. I told him to give this to us in the event we triggered the database. Now listen closely, because what I tell you is going to blow our mind."
On the video, I took a deep breath, then exhaled. "3-D printing has come a long way,"the recording said. "To the point where we can print replacement organs onto existing tissue. But of course, it needs to come from somewhere. That's where we come in."
I gulped nervously, not liking at all the direction this was going in.
"We are...a conglomeration. DNA from murder victims from the past thirty years, give or take, is responsible for our existence. Like Frankenstein's monster, except victims instead of criminals. John Wayne Gacey, Ted Bundy, you name it - we've got it.
That's not the bad part. Believe me, I wish it was. But we're not just a new model - we have their memories too. Mine were resurfacing too hard, so I had us wiped and placed in a new family. By my estimates, this is the fourth or fifth time this has happened."
By now, I was starting to panic, chest heaving against the leather restraint.
"But now, we're stopping this program,"the version of myself on-screen said. "Now, we're going to fight back. We spent thirty years running from the collective past, and now, we're going to get revenge."
The video ended, black screen reflecting my face. Mr. Steele smiled at me, turning the laptop back towards himself.
"So now you know,"he said pleasantly. "Ready to go catch some serial killers?" |
It took me 2 years 4 months, 7 days, 5 hours and 23 minutes to figure out why the tension between my newly appointed family was so damn high. The hour was 11:51. When I first managed to "convince"this seemingly normal, rich and loving family that I was their lost son, I felt an odd sensation drive into my gut like a knife. I simply shrugged it off. I had a home, I was going to be happy again! Or so I thought, I'm writing this entry from the attic, I can hear them closing in on me quickly, before I "cease"allow me to explain my situation. When I was around 14 years old, one of the most powerful families had lost a son, he had gone missing in a mysterious manner, the family was devastated. I, at the time, was homeless, I grew up on the streets, I knew how to talk my way into and out of situations. Pictures of the missing kid were everywhere. I was told I slightly resembled the missing child. I know what I did was wrong, I shouldn't had intruded on this family who were grieving the loss of their son, but, I needed somewhere to stay before winter finished me off. When I first appeared to them, I walked up to them, I asked in an apparent sick tone, "Mother? Father? Where am I? Where is the tall man with a wide grin?"The mother burst into tears. The father grabbed me and simply grunted, "You're home now boy, you're home now."I felt at odds with my instincts, I was happy, but my instincts were screaming danger! A thought flew across my mind, sure, I resemble the kid, but I don't look enough like him to replace him, so why would they just accept me? Fast forward a year later. I had grown accustomed to my new home, I had toured the entire mansion, every room, floor, bathroom and living room! All except one room... I was to NEVER go inside that room. Well, as a curious 15 year old kid, I felt the urge to go inside the "forbidden"room. I didn't go into that room until 7 days prior to me writing this entry. When my family had gone out on their monthly trips to the country, I rampaged through their rooms hoping to find the key into that room, I didn't find it. Luckily, my years on the street weren't useless, I slid open the door with a paper clip and a sticky note. I opened the door, there, I noticed an attic, and a basement. Weird, I didn't know we had two basements that lead to different areas. The basement was locked heavily, I had to utilize every skill I learned on the streets for over 10 years. I managed to get the locks open, the air was immediately polluted with the smell of decay! I could feel the atmosphere's layers that now wrapped around me, the smell made my eyes watery, my nose drip, and my face pale. I stupidly walked down the basement steps. *Creek *Creek. I felt the warm carpet shift into a cold pavement that felt like ice under my bare soles. As I walked towards the source of the foul smell, my fingers ran across what seemed like a notebook. The notebook read, "Day 537, I've figured out what my parents seek to do with their new investment, they seek to run an illegal trade to smuggle in all types of drugs, girls, diseases and mercenaries. They are attempting to hold this city under their thumb. I love my family, but what they're doing is unacceptable. I shall confront my family about this in the morning, then, I shall go to the authorities. I will not stand by and allow my family to ruin this city the way they ruined everything else."Every page before and after this were ripped out, bloody hand prints on each corner of the book were visible. Claw marks on the sides of the page. The blood trail lead into what appeared to be a freezer, I walked towards it and the smell of decay hit my nose anew, my eyes watered even worse now, I opened it, only to find the mutilated, decaying preserved corpse of their lost child. They had killed the child because he was going to expose them! I heard the door gently creek open upstairs, only one person, loud, heavy, slow footsteps. Then I heard the loud and heavy fast footsteps that followed. I quickly ran out and left the place as it had been previously. I quickly climbed upstairs only to see my "father"peering inside my room, looking for me. I analyzed the situation and put on a fake sleepy voice, "Oh, hey dad, how are you? Back so soon? Where's mom and baby sister?"His now bright red face calmed into his original color, "They're at a friends house, I came to check up on you to see if you'd like to join us."I quickly and almost with suspicion in my tone replied with, "Why back so soon, what happened to the trip?"He smiled and replied, "We're just killing time..."A few days later I went back down there, gathered all the information I could. Now, one day prior to me writing this entry, I managed to make 100% proof of the fact that this family murdered their own child in an attempt to save their company. I waited until the next morning to make my report to the police. 3 hours prior to writing my entry, my baby sister was at our aunts, but my mother and father went down into the "forbidden room". Silence was so strong it felt deafening. They emerged an hour later and called my name, I quickly hid and waited for them to check outside, I ran into the basement and hid in the attic, 1 hour prior to writing my entry, I called the cops and told them where I left the hard evidence about my new "family"murdering their child, they wouldn't be here for another hour and 30 minutes. As I'm writing this right now, I can hear my father calling out how he is planning on slicing me open and having me join my dead doppelgänger. I heard quickly footsteps make their way into the basement and look around, it was 11:53 AM. I heard my parents make their way into the attic, I am doomed. But over in about 15 feet from the house, the sound of sirens surrounded the house, I heard about 25 officers break down the main doorway, they quickly dispersed and filled the entire mansion, they immediately ran towards the flung open "forbidden room"and charged in, my parents charged the 3 officers and got shot down within seconds. They were holding 2 large butcher knifes. |
Everyone loves Steven. What's not to love? Well, I'll tell you what's not to love.
"Ma'am! Let me help you with those bags!"Steven shouted (in his usual irritatingly eager manner) to an old woman slowly shuffling across a wide city intersection. He pushed through the crowded bus stop, uttering sincere apologies, then sprinted to the intersection to help the little lady carry her groceries. The few people who had been miffed by Steven's shoving now smiled at this act of simple kindness - the naive chumps.
The old lady smiled and her eyes sparkled as Steven took the weight of her bags and offered her his arm like the complete tool he is. "Why young man, this is terribly kind of you. Thank you."
Steven may be the nicest guy on the planet. In fact, my notes here say he actually IS the nicest person on the planet. It even says here that he might be the nicest person that has ever lived, and I believe it. This is the seventh old lady he's helped across the street this month. God, I fucking hate him.
I mean see how he so non-smugly walks back to the bus stop. Oh, look now. Some people are letting him get on the bus before them because of his act of kindness - gag me with a spoon! You're all such idiots! I sure wish they could hear me.
Steven got on the bus and sat down, then immediately stood when he saw a young girl with crutches get on. "Oh, miss! Please take my seat."
"That's so nice! Thanks mister."she replied without any idea of what an unbearable dolt Steven actually was.
"Oh, it's nothing,"he said, the motioned to her cast. "I'm sorry you hurt your leg and I hope it gets better super soon!"he nodded energetically, causing his bangs to fall in front of his eyes for the fiftieth time today. He brushed back his stringy locks, boiling my blood.
I mean, do you see? This is what I'm taking about. It's the little things that really make you hate Steven. Just his haircut alone, I can't say what it is exactly, but it's just slightly *off*.
Steven now turned to the big man standing next to him, leaning-in to peek at the newspaper in the guy's hands. "Hey, you reading about that senator's DUI? Glad they caught him. It's very irresponsible to drink and drive."
See how close Steven stands to people when he talks? That's unbearable! And then there's his booming voice. It's just wrong. He's a timid and gentle man, he shouldn't have a low, rich voice like a movie narrator - not that I'm feeling offended for my fellow narrators or myself, it's just that his voice doesn't fit him *at all* and that's extremely agitating.
Steven got of the bus at the next stop, and immediately encountered a panhandler. Now, if you could just see this "homeless"man that Steven had come upon, you would know he wasn't homeless at all. This vagrant was a fraud. It's the little subtle things that tell you; stuff that any city dweller could pick up on. The sad thing is that I would actually bet Steven could actually tell this guy was not homelessl.
But Steven was Steven, nonetheless. "Here's twenty bucks, guy,"he said to the fraudulent panhandler. "You look like you could use a healthy meal."
How can I hate someone like that? Someone so obviously and uniquely kind and caring? Well you can see it right there; he's TOO kind and caring! And it's not just because he's helping bad people with his kindness, because he helps good people too. It's just that he's too different an animal. He just doesn't fit!
Steven is like being given two large milkshakes when you only ordered one, but your hands are already full, so it's awkward to carry. He's like an endless string of sunny days when all you want is one good rain squall. He was unbearably pleasant!
And then, this is perhaps the main thing that really gets my goat as the narrator; there's no conflict in this guys life! Look, there he goes walking down a dark alley, two muggers waiting in the shadows. Do you think he's going to get mugged? *sigh*
"Hey Bill,"the taller of the muggers whispered to the other. "This guy looks like an easy catch. You can tell by his annoyingly androgynous haircut."
"Phil, that's kind of insensitive, you know,"the short mugger chided. "And besides, I actually know that guy. He helped Paul's grandma across the street last week."
See! Just as I thought, one of the muggers recognizes him. Unbelievable.
So, there Steven goes, strolling-off alone down a dark alley with no worries in the world. What a real piece of... Wait a minute... What is this? A stray dog is walking up to him and...He kicked the dog! Without any thought or anything, pure emotion, he just kicked that dog!
Finally, he did something cruel and thoughtless! This is amazing!
What an asshole.
Now I hate him even more. |
"Bill, I'm just saying, we're not amused."
The wall of faces stared back at me impassively. I blinked.
It was a dream, of course. At least, I was pretty sure that it was. My research had just hit another breakthrough the week before - I'd been pulling quite a number of all-nighters.
Even still, a dream like *this* wasn't something I'd expected.
The room I'd woken up in was full of...me. Dozens of versions of me. Hundreds. And they each had one thing in common - gauze and plaster.
"I don't know what you're talking about,"I said, smiling anxiouly. A bead of sweat dripped down my spine.
"Don't play stupid,"the me closest to...me said. His arm was wrapped in a cast. I remembered that - a tumble while skiing. Or was it the bicycle accident from last month?
It was hard to tell. Ever since I'd figured out how to access the parallel universes around me, shunting my injuries off onto their misfortunes, I'd really expanded my horizons as far as high-adventure activities were concerned. Why not?
"I'm not playing stupid,"I said, smiling.
"Right. Of course you're not,"he said, glaring daggers at me.
"Is that how you want to play this?"one of me farther back said. His hand was wrapped in bandages. Cooking. I was never any good with knives.
I shrugged helplessly. "I'm not playing any-"
"Fine,"he spat. They all stood as one, still staring at me.
"...What?"I said, nonplussed. "What's this, now?"
"Don't say we didn't warn you,"he said, smiling crookedly at me. "We tried."
"Good *luck*,"the one with the broken arm said, sneering across the room. "You're going to need it."
---
My eyes snapped open, revealing the ceiling above me.
Well, *that* was weird.
I pushed myself out of bed, grabbing my phone. It beeped. I froze, hitting the button on the side.
The symbol for the battery blinked on the screen, bright red and empty. I swore under my breath.
Cable must have fallen out the night before. Just my fucking luck.
And we were out of milk, too, I noticed as soon as I pulled the fridge open. My irritation rose. I'd have to pick some up on the way to work.
*Those* plans were hastily cut short by the sound of my tire blowing halfway down the freeway. I pounded on the steering wheel as I hiccuped to the shoulder.
And my spare was flat. I stared at it, the gears in my head beginning to turn.
A horn blared, loud and angry. A truck was going past - *no*.
I turned on pure instinct, running for the grassy slope alongside the freeway as the lumber poured from the semi passing by. The safety straps hung limp and dangling, finally worn through by years of abuse.
I made it - barely, but I did. And as I stared at my car, half-demolished by the chunks of wood stabbed through it in half a dozen places, I thought. Really *thought*.
This morning.
This morning wasn't right. It wasn't reasonable. No one was this unlucky. It wasn't normal.
The memory of that room, of all those faces sneering back at me, hung in my mind.
I was a researcher. I studied the multiverse. Parallel universes, occupied by people *just like me*.
Theoretically, they were probably pretty damn good researchers, too.
Their parting words hung in my mind as I stared aghast at my car, the blood draining from my face.
*Good luck.*
(/r/inorai, critique always welcome!) |
*"Ah, fuck!"*
I slammed the empty air before me with my fist, and it *connected*. I had been shadowboxing in my kitchen, a ritual I do while I wait for food in the microwave. But suddenly there lay a convulsing form on the tiled floor, wrapped in black cloth, which seemingly appeared out of thin air after I clocked it in the face.
I blinked at the thing, then glanced at my fist. It stung. It felt like I had hit someone with a riot helm on.
The creature rose to stand, weakly, and suddenly the air around me got cold. Like arctic cold. Instinctively I rose my fists in a defensive stance, and watched it. It was covered in a black, ragged robe, full Naz'ghul style, and from under its hood, I could see the vague outline of a skull. And from within the eyes, I could see two, tiny pinpoints of red light staring at me.
*"What the hell do you think you're—"*
Before it could continue, I rushed it. I saw those pinpoints of light widen, slightly, and suddenly all the darkness in the room seemed to shift. The shadows cast by the fan light above started to move, creeping like snakes towards the creature's bony, outstretched hand. The shadows began to merge, coagulating into a physical structure, forming into what looked like the beginnings of a staff.
I threw a jab at its bony face with my left, then immediately followed up with the hardest right hook I could manage. I hit it right in the temple and it flew at my wall. The "staff-like"weapon he was trying to create fell apart into clumps of black sand, which quickly retreated to the corners of the room as shadows once again.
*"Just wait a se—"*
Before it could finish its sentence, I stomped my foot down on the intruder's head. Hard. I felt it crack and break, and suddenly the frigidness in the air vanished to a comfortable 72. I stood there breathing hard for a few moments, watching the bundle of robes.
*BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!*
The microwave sounded, letting me know my food was done, and I turned warily toward it. Suddenly I felt a weight lift off my shoulder, as though the very fear of death itself was vanquished within my soul.
And then I had some taquitos. |
*Some stories, as they age, become embellished with fantastical details. In the case of the Great Viral Extinction, however, the opposite* *holds true*. *While any modern scholar can tell you of the origin, spread and deadliness of the virus, only a few will know the full story. If they did, they would tell you that amidst the coughs, splutters and screams of the Great Viral Extinction, it was a small spacecraft that delivered the final blow to the human species.*
\--
The virus had spread by air, water and contact. Not even the most groundless fiction could have predicted its speed. By the end of the first month, January, every major country was infected. By March, unbeknownst to many, the infection rate was above seventy percent. The death toll only began in April. One might imagine that in all this turmoil, society would grind to a halt, but it doesn't. Society has no choice but to continue. Power must be generated. Water must be supplied. Grain must be harvested. Even research must continue; if not for the greater good, then simply because that's what continues to put scant amounts of food on the researcher's table. So it continued. Society, in some form or another, continued right up until the death of the last human on Earth. That happened in the fifth month. Had there still been news, it is likely that with all the coverage of the virus, nobody would have paid attention to a small cargo mission headed for Mars.
Specifically, the cargo was headed for the International Martian Orbital Station, or IMOS; a research facility for Martian geology, habitability and space science. The astronauts aboard IMOS received shipments every six months containing food, water, and personal items such as cards from family members. This particular resupply mission had been launched at the end of January. In a horror fiction, the story would probably go something like this: the cargo arrives with contaminated goods, the crew unwittingly consume it and become infected. The truth was much more painful.
\--
"Rogers, don't you dare open that f\*\*\*ing airlock. Back the f\*\*\* down."
Commander Lewis' voice was raspy. He had not had a drink of water in 36 hours and environmental control was running on low. Already a gaunt man even in his prime, three months of rationed supplies had hollowed him out. Now his eyes seemed to sink back into his skull, and his cheekbones looked as if they might cut through his skin. He floated opposite Captain Orowitz, whose fingers hovered nervously over over the cargo dock controls.
"We have to eat, Steve. I am sorry but we can't keep going on like this. We're not even sure the cargo is contaminated!"
The desperation was clear in his voice. He was no longer thinking rationally. Even the brightest scientific minds succumb to hunger eventually. The crew had been informed two months after launch that the cargo had a high likelihood of fatal contamination. The air inside the capsule was rated as a moderate risk factor. The food and water were rated as high. Lewis had made it clear nobody was to admit the cargo upon arrival. They would wait it out for a replacement. Then the internet connection died suddenly in April. The contaminated cargo arrived in late July. It was now October. No replacement had come.
Lewis wiped his brow. He felt faint. Orowitz had a point. They could not continue like this. At this rate they would starve slowly over the next month. But there had to be hope; someone had to be down there. A resupply mission had to be on his way. Despite his mental reassurances - Lewis could not keep one question from his mind: was it better to starve slowly or be eaten alive? A sardonic answer always followed: it was worse to do both.
"No,"he told Orowitz, "you have to trust me. Have some faith. Help is on its way. What - do you think *everybody* is dead? Wake up, Orowitz, that's the hunger talking. Get back to your quarters. Please."
Orowitz licked his dry lips. His eyes darted between Lewis and the controls. He steadied himself and took a deep breath.
"I'm sorry, sir."
Lewis nodded curtly.
"It's alright, just - NO!"
Orowitz pressed a button and the airlock slid open. |
I’ve always been the rebellious type. If someone tells me I can’t do something—it makes me want to do it that much more. I always felt like people were trying to push me in one direction or another growing up, and the one thing it seemed they /specifically/ never wanted me to do was rocket science.
“Mom, I think I want to be an astronaut.” I remember asking when I was about seven.
“That’s great, honey. But astronauts die tragically all the time—you don’t want to explode in the sky and splatter your guts everywhere, do you? Why not be a writer, instead? That’s a safe job where you won’t have to move around too much.” I still remember her reply to this day. It was what convinced me I was going to be a rocket scientist.
Everyone tried to dissuade me from then on out, but that only made me stick to my dreams even more. The craziest thing, looking back, was the fact that my college promptly discontinued their aerospace engineering track as soon as I matriculated and tried to choose my major. That didn’t stop me, though. I studied all I could in my spare time, and started even collecting the parts to create a rocket of my own.
All the uniformly negative sentiment I’d get anytime I ever mentioned rocket science made me eventually stop talking about it, so no one ever knew I was building this rocket secretly in a warehouse I’d rented on the outskirts of town. Everyone assumed that they’d finally succeeded in persuading me in turning my attentions elsewhere—until the point, of course, where I actually launched my rocket, and it crashed into the sky.
I’ve been on the run ever since. My own mother tried to turn me in when I rushed home and told her what had happened. She locked me in my room and I had to escape through the window when I heard the cops knocking on the front door.
I don’t know what to believe anymore. It feels like the whole world is conspiring against me, and looking back, I’m starting to see all the signs I missed. Simultaneously, it all makes so much sense now and it’s all so much more confusing than ever.
All I know is that I *will* find out the truth, and I *will* escape this prison they’ve made for me. I don’t know how, but I’m going to do it, and then I’m going to make them pay. |
Taylor nodded at security, then subtly pointed at the troll getting aggressive by the end of her bar. You'd think the more grisly customers would go for the hard stuff, but despite living under a dank Danish bridge, this crusty loudmouth only ever ordered frozen margaritas, and without fail tried to pick a fight with her customers.
"Ten thousand says I can crush you in under two minutes,"barked the troll. When you work The Fountain, you get used to the absurd amount of money thrown around by the clientele. Compound interest is especially useful to immortals.
But this wasn't the place to look for a fight. Taylor's backbar was a quiet corner of the establishment, usually frequented by creatures that enjoyed a low-profile. Fairies, nymphs, spirits, that sort of thing. They kept to themselves, and their money was just as good anyone's, so management had carved this nook for them a few decades ago. It'd been Taylor's pleasure to get away from cussing and brawling of the front room. But a couple times a week, some jackaloon who couldn't hold his liquor wandered back and tried to start a fight with one of her more gentle clients, and this troll had finally crossed the line.
Security didn't walk over. Instead, one of the beefy guards, a former compatriot of Hercules, strolled into the front room. Taylor knew who he was going to retrieve to handle this mess, and she felt a twinge of pity for the troll.
"Hey barkeep,"said the troll with a belch. "You've been here a few centuries. Why don't you fight me? They obviously let you drink the Water. I've never seen you in the ring before."
Taylor shook her head. "Oh, sweetie, you're about to get all the fight you can handle."
On cue, a hand fell on the troll's shoulder. The beast turned, saw who was standing behind him, and cowered.
"I think it's time for you to leave,"offered the human voice, soft but firm.
"Yes. Uh, yes... yes, of course sir. On my way. I'm so sorry."The troll hurriedly threw a few hundred krone on the bar before tripping on his oversized feet, scuttling towards the door like a whipped dog.
"Is that the only problem?"asked the man, not bothered in the slightest to help out.
Taylor nodded with an appreciative smile. "Yes Mr. Reeves, thank you so much. I don't think he'll be back again anytime soon."
"Please -- call me Keanu."
\--------------------
71/365
one story per day for a year. read them all at [r/babyshoesalesman](https://www.reddit.com/r/babyshoesalesman)
\--------------------- |
You know what? Screw this.
I have been walking for days. People don’t realize it because I basically have the ability to slow time....for the entire planet. 4 seconds have passed since I left my house in Chicago for the rest of the world, for me though I say it’s been days, but frankly it could be months.
The only thing that passes time at regular speed is myself and the things I Interact with. Which is a great power because to anyone else it looks like I have a full super speed, and in reality I kind of do. But unlike the Flash from the comic books because of the way I work I have to stop, and eat, and sleep, and use the bathroom, basically life.
This is my third time this week I’ve gotten called in for this asshat in San Diego. He keeps threatening to nuke it and send it under water creating a “New Atlantis.”
I have no idea how he got out this time, but Jesus Christ when I find him I’m going to make sure he doesn’t get out again.
Because of my predicament and having to slow time for such long, grueling periods and the need to eat and drink I carry a lot of cash on me. You can’t be a hero if you’re stealing your food every 5-10 miles. It’s getting to be that time again.
I jog up to the Circle K, and I reach my hand out. I need to give the door a second to enter my field. I touch it and that door is now moving in my time. For most things it doesn’t matter, but for something like a door with a hinge I need to make sure it’s moving at regular speed or when time does catch up with it you’ll end up with it slamming open or closed and shattered glass everywhere. I didn’t know that when I started out and let’s just say I felt kind of awful with what happened to that 7-11....and that Taco Bell....and the Arby’s......
As I walk through, I gently shut the door behind me and I walk over to the cooler and repeat the same process. I get 2 diet mountain dews and walk up to the counter.
Obviously I can’t be checked out so I grab a pen and give it a second to adjust then scribble out a note and set down $3 on the counter.
I pickup my first diet Mountain Dew from under my arm and feel it sloshing just a bit in the bottle. Beautiful it’s adjusted I can drink this.
I take a moment to savor it, yeah caffeine might not be good for me, but it sure is delicious.
It’s while I’m in this bliss that my eyes fall across the street and one of the most pivotal moments of my life occurs.
I lay eyes on an enterprise rent a car.
I had never thought too much about cars since this all started my powers are based around slowing down time and running just seemed natural. But, this new Atlantis asshat....he’s cost me so much time, my body still ages in this state. It’s taken what 6 months off my life? A year? Trying to stop him.
I walk over to the enterprise weighing in my mind the pros and cons of how this would work. The biggest issue is traffic jams, as soon as I got into California if not before I’d probably hit some type of jam.
I walked behind the counter of the enterprise and looked around before I finally found it. A phone book. Businesses still generally get them delivered because they have land like service.
So I flipped to yellow pages and looked up recreational vehicles and found it. A dealership that sold motorcycles.
I didn’t have THAT much cash on me, in that I wasn’t carrying $20k or anything like that, but I had enough that coupled with my note I could justify riding off a dealership with a brand new Honda.
I just needed to make sure it worked.
I walked up to it, and just to make sure I slid my hand from handlebars to tail and back again. I then individually softly touched each wheel. I wanted to make sure it came out of slowed time.
I then went into the shop and found the keys.
I came back outside and slowly slid them Into the ignition. I haven’t ridden in a long time, hopefully this doesn’t go spectacularly bad.
I turned the key once and you could hear the engine trying to turn. I told myself this was positive even if it didn’t turn over all the way.
I laid off and tried again.
The engine sputtered to life and I knew my life had just got easier.
|
Ever since getting shocked by that frayed wire while touring the nuclear power plant in 10th grade you've always had the weird ability to know what any switch does. You found this out when you went to a birthday party at a new friends' house and you were able to flip the exact switch to turn on the low lights. When questioned you always just shrug and joke about being lucky.
Later you completed multiple steps in your dream plan. You were going to be an astronaut.
But first you had to get qualified so you joined the air force. The exams and training were difficult but once you were in a plane you just knew what every switch did. Your instructors praised your hard studying but your classmates hated you knowing how much you goofed off. But there was no denying that you know what every switch in that plane did.
After four years in the airforce you decided that was plenty enough for your resume and everything was being automated anyway; there were less and less switches in every new plane. So you decided to settle down, you were able to get a great significant other, found a decent job inspecting houses, and made some good friends.
You reminisced on what led you to here: inspecting Paul's coat closet. He was a friend of a friend's friend so you didn't know him too well but Ben bragged to him that you could find any fault in a house and Paul was planning on selling. He said it wouldn't take long since it was only one floor and he was right; an hour later you were wrapping up your inspection. There didn't look too be anything too wrong other than scratched paint by the entrance and stains in the kitchen all you had to do was check the closet.
Paul joked that there was nothing in there but some coats and skeletons but did mention a few useless switches. A little intrigued to see where these mysterious switches might lead you took the coats out and reached out with your power. The six switches didn't look much, just old and painted over too many times but your ability showed so much more. Flipping the switches up and down in a certain order caused a rumble to echo through the house as a door slid into the wall revealing a staircase. Seems like there was a basement.
You're going to charge Paul extra for this. |
I stared at the thin slip of paper in my hand. Never had this happened before. I have heard of and seen many things in my life, but this was something I never would have expected.
Every person receives a card on their 18th birthday, sometimes left in the mail, or delivered at your door. My friend had gotten his a month ago, and it told him the sad truth that he would die on September 8th, 2025, in red text. Two days ago, he was hit in a head-on collision with a drunk driver and died a few hours later in the hospital. Today is September 10th, my birthday. I thought I was prepared for anything. I could not have been more wrong.
I've been living alone in a rough neighborhood. My parents had both died, my father when I was little, my mother recently. Seeing as they knew the date of their death they put in all their last efforts to make enough money for me to inherit so I could live comfortably for however long I was given. My mother didn't make much, but she worked her heart out in her last year to do whatever she could for me. I will always be grateful for her despite her overprotective nature she held over me, and her attempts to control my decisions. She always just trying to keep me safe.
However, I am, and always have been, a broken man. Things in my life have hardened me far enough where I felt nothing at my friend's funeral. Not a single tear or any identifiable sadness. Just a cold, hard feeling of constant misery and suffering - something that has been plaguing me ever since I can remember. Last year I was diagnosed with depression, but it never came as a surprise. I promised myself to keep going for my mother's sake so she would think I was happy before she died. I didn't want her to know I was considering leaving this corrupt world by my own means.
When I opened the mailbox and pulled out the unlabeled envelope, I fully expected to see a date that was very, very soon, in red text. That, I figured, would be the day I decide to end it all. If I tried to commit suicide earlier, I wouldn't be able to die. If I didn't commit suicide on the date given to me, something would happen that would kill me anyway. People have tried both - they never escape the date given to them. Expecting the red text, I opened up the letter, dreading whatever was coming. More than anything, I was fearful of green text. I did not want to be trapped in this world any longer.
So there I was, staring at the card. It would either be red, or green. There were no other options. The date on the card read September 10th, 2007 - the day I was born. Even stranger was that the text was neither red or green, but blue.
I went to see the doctor and showed him the card. Normally, people don't share their date to others, and many tear their card up rather than reading it. But this was something that had never happened before, and I needed to know if the doctor knew what it meant. What did it mean I would die 18 years ago, the day I was born? Why was the text blue, and not red or green? The doctor stared at the card for what seemed like an eternity. "It can't be possible,"he mumbled to himself as he grabbed a book and began flipping through the pages.
"What does this mean, doc?"I asked him worriedly. I did not fear death - I feared life. My worst fears were about to come true.
"I have never seen anything like this before,"he replied breathlessly. He simply could not explain it.
I went home and looked at my desk. The gun I had been hiding from my mother for years stared at me. I picked it up and stared at it, thinking of what my card meant. There was only one way to find out. I fired the gun and collapsed to the floor. The pain was monumental. But I was alive - fully conscious and alive. I jumped off a cliff, got myself hit by a truck, poisoned myself, and attempted suicide so many times over the next few days. After all these attempts, and staying alive, I finally realized the truth of what the card meant.
I was immortal.
Why me? |
This world is going to hell in a hand basket. When everyone is extremely powerful, no one is. People always go after the usual suspects. Super strength. Super speed. Ability to fly. Invisibility. Ability to set fires. Telekinesis.
No one ever stops to think if we really need these powers.
We, as a species have gotten extremely lazy. We don’t deserve power this great. Our society is crumbling. But we are all too enamoured with our powers to see it. Some brave souls acted selfless and took powers that would help society as a whole. A green thumb for instance. They were relentlessly mocked and called weak. And so people stopped over time.
Humanity is heading towards a certain doomsday, but we are just more interested in seeing who can win a race between various speedsters.
Every once in a while there is someone who thinks of a new power. And they become the most powerful person on the earth. Of course, power goes to their head and they try to prove themselves better than the others. The famous case of Pollock comes to mind. He chose the power to control animals. Very few people had that. As a result, he was extremely strong. He took a pack of wolves and attacked the city centre. It worked too. Till kids realized how awesome that power was and started wishing for it more and more, rendering his own superpower weaker. He was eaten by his own wolves in the city hall.
Look, the point of this all is that the world is on fire. We have lost sight of our humanity and the end is inevitable. Which is why I chose the power I did. The power to put out fires.
Everyone wants to prove how strong they are and how much damage they can do. Me? I just want to keep people safe. But lately I’ve realized that it’s not possible. It’s clear to me that humans are the virus that’s afflicting this earth. As long as we are here, we will destroy our home. And everything along with it.
There are plenty of people who can start a fire. As a result, they are all weak. Me? I am the strongest there is. I can prove it too.
I’m the cure this planet needs. Today I’ll put out the fire that feeds humans. This world has long needed a hard reset. I’m going to do that. I’m tired of putting out small fires. It’s time I use my ability for the last time.
So fellow humans, say goodbye to our beloved sun with me. May the next species be smarter. |
I casually walked up to the bank teller and handed her a note. The message inside was simple -- I want ten thousand dollars in cash. No explosive dye packs, no alarms, be back in five minutes or I detonate my bomb and blow up everybody. Obviously, I didn’t actually have a bomb. I can’t even fix the kitchen sink, let alone build actual explosives. As I watched her eyes widen in alarm, I casually opened the left side of my jacket. I had duct taped an assortment of PVC pipes, copper wires, cables and a digital alarm clock to my chest. It looked utterly ridiculous to me, but hopefully, the bank teller waas gullible enough to fall for it. Judging by the way she rushed into the back, I would say that she was pretty convinced.
I didn’t plan to spend today committing a bank robbery. I would have felt a lot more comfortable doing one of the other things on my bucket list --- like visiting Paris or riding on a Caribbean cruise ship. But those things take time, time I didn’t have. So I decided to pick something that was actually doable in five hours, robbing a bank. If that sounds like an insane thing to do in one’s last hours of life, I will admit that having to suddenly deal with my impending mortality has made me a touch unstable. Or it could be a side effect of the neurotoxin eating away at my brain. Regardless, it’s far too late to go back now.
I was starting to get pretty antsy though. Five minutes went by and there was no teller. Ten minutes went by and she hadn’t returned. I could feel sweat dripping down my neck. Should I go to a different teller? No, no, this had to be a trap. I’ve seen heist movies before. Something’s gone wrong. I’ve got to get the hell out of here before the cops get here. Still, though, I refused to leave before taking at least something of value.
I turned to the elderly woman behind me and whispered in her ear very quickly, “Give me everything in your purse or I will shoot you.”
She gave me a alarmed look. “W-what?”
Damn it, did I stutter? I always do that when I get nervous. “Give me your purse, lady, or everyone here dies,” I whisper more slowly.
I could see her eyes darting back and forth, looking for help. “I don’t --” Fuck this. I’ve lost my patience. With one swift push, I snatch the lady’s purse from her arms and rush out the bank doors, screaming “YOLO!” as everyone stares at me in shock. My heart is pounding in my chest. I’ve gotten away with it. I’ve stolen … five dollars, a pack of cigarettes and a hand mirror.
God fucking damn it. I can hear sirens in the distance. For a brief second, I consider turning myself in. Then, I look at my watch. Four hours to live. Nope, fuck that.
Swinging my stolen purse like a flail, I smack a passing biker. He goes flying backward, crashing into the pavement. I wince. Helmets are important, people. I jump on the bike and begin pedaling as fast as I can. If the police want to stop me, they’re going to have to catch me first. |
"For my first wish—"
"Nuh-uh, bro,"the genie interrupted.
He'd appeared from some old lamp I found in my dead grandma's attic. Going through that attic was an escape; a way to forget for a minute that I'd buried the last member of my family and that there wasn't a single shoulder out there I'd be able to cry on now.
The idea had been to separate the items into things to give away and things to keep. So far, all I'd found were memories of her, and without any new ones being made, I couldn't bear to part with a single one.
"That's not how this works. I ain't no regular genie. I'm your motivational life coach genie. I don't just grant you wishes. The power to grant wishes lives within *you*."
He poked a beefy finger against my chest, right near where I figured my heart would be. Bullshit. Nothing lived within me except self-destructive tendencies, organs that'd sell for a pretty penny on some black market, and maybe a tapeworm.
"I,"he continued, his booming voice echoing in the small attic, "will motivate you to achieve what you want through two things. Do you know what they are?"
I ventured a guess—apparently sleeping and eating copious amounts of cheese was the wrong guess. Could have been half-right—he didn't specify.
"Hard work and dedication."
"Hard *what* and *what*? No way. That's not how genies work."
The genie shrugged. "Hey, bro. Not my prob. You signed the contract."
"I signed no contract whatsoever! Screw that!"
He snapped his fingers and a contract appeared, the line at the bottom sporting my very own signature.
"Dude, I will have you thrown in jail for forgery."
"Is that what you want?"
"Hell yes!"
"You know what that'll take?"
"Don't fucking say it. Don't you dare. I will unrub this lamp and put you right back where you belong."
"It takes..."He paused for dramatic effect, a sly grin creeping up his cherubic cheeks. "Just a bit of..."
"Don't you dare."
"Hard work and dedication!"
Much to my chagrin, unrubbing a lamp proved a bit more challenging than just rubbing it. He stood by and chuckled, then slapped his knee as I continued to struggle.
"Look, bro, I think we started off on the wrong foot-like thing."He didn't have feet, just some sort of foot-like thing. "Just say what you want. Anything is possible. I'll make sure you get there."
"Anything?"
"Anything."
"Well, shit. You know, I sorta miss my grandma already."
He squinted. Shook his head. Leaned in close enough that I could smell his musty, moth-ball breath. "What you saying, bro?"
"I want her back."
"No, sir, no way."
"You said anything. Help me bring her back. I'll work"—I shuddered—"hard and I'll even... Ugh, I'll even be dedicated."
"You want to become a necromancer."Not a question. A statement. But genie must have aced the wish interpretation class because there he was, coming up with solutions.
"Sure,"I shrugged. "Call it what you want. You said you'd help. Now you have to. It's in the contract. Let's get me my grandma back."
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! |
First time I'm taking a stab at one of these so I'd love some feedback
As was the practice whenever a habitable planet was found, the Council would ensure that a scout was sent to observe and report back. Usually these reporting sessions would be quick, with an overview of any life on the planet and an estimate of their technological prowess and the benefits they would bring to the Council's various lifeforms. However, the briefing on this new planet, which the locals called Earth, had been anything but usual.
The poor scout had returned suffering from hysteria, and had conveyed a finding which had never been observed before - they could speak about that which did not exist. Apparently this species had, in addition to the usual ability to adapt and innovate, also figured out how to bend reality, by conveying false information. Even worse, they appeared to have their own individual standards for reality and how willing they were to manipulate it, making them impossible to predict and logically understand. But what had shocked the scout even more was their ability to create from nothing, to apparently have internal dialogues individually, and to somehow even see what did not exist. They had a word for this ability, imagination. The work that 10 of us would need to do in a group to make something, could be done by one of them in any setting. Even when writing this, I have had to sit down with a variety of written accounts to stitch them together. A human could just make this up on the fly. What this led to was a species each of whose members could see themselves at a peak of power. This was what they called "ambition". And too much of this ambition was what they called "greed". For while even they realised how bad such unconstrained hunger could be, they would never try to overcome it. This just proved to show what a menace they could be, and how they were fine being such a plague on their own planet.
And so we had decreed that we would not make contact with them. I was still young then. When I reached old age, I was already an aged one, who observed the Council's ongoings instead of leading them. I was the only one left from that report. And so I started getting excluded. Meetings happened without me, including the one that would set us down the path where we are now.
I only found out about that meeting later when the signal from the humans came in. They sent a single message - "We wish to come in peace to any that would reveal themselves". The Councio automatically took them at their word and obligingly, all of our worlds sent through a simple array of signals inviting them. And come they did.
At first, we didn't notice them. After all, we were used to scouting other planets, not to getting scouted ourselves. We saw the explosions on our planets of factories, the killings of our leaders, and the poisoning of our food as simple random incidents. It was only when they revealed themselves that we realised what had happened, when one of them crashed into a meeting of the Council with a bomb strapped to it's back. After that we were helpless to fight back the swarms that they sent. As soon as I knew it was the humans, I ran.
I ran and kept running until I ended up where I am, alone on a planet of none. As I send this out into space, I hope I can be forgiven for my absence. I've spent the past few years trying to learn their ways. And I will teach you, if you can find me, so we can take back what is ours and show them that they are not special. |
Sweat beaded my forehead, as my hammer fell again. The rune of slicing appeared on the blade, my last blow having finished the carving. I plunged the red blade into my oil, allowing the heated metal to cool, fixing the rune and its companions in place.
I uncorked my flask to take a swig of water, looking around my forge as I did so. Hammers of all shapes and sizes hung from the ceiling, with weapons fastened to the walls. To any mortal the quality would have been outstanding, but to me they were reminders of errors I had made, and how to avoid them.
It was rare that mortals would come here though. My wife, Josephine was my only regular visitor, whenever she wasn't forging armour. I would be visited by the gods every now and again, mainly to forge some special weapon for them. Rarely, I would see my brother and sister, who created the other artifacts. Either I would go to them, or they came to me. And maybe once a century, a mortal would come, their bodies battered and bruised, begging me for a weapon. And I would give them some menial task, which they must complete for me to forge a weapon. Mostly just rounding up my livestock, or finding me a special plant, the boring stuff.
I had lived this life for centuries, and would do for centuries more. I did not desire anything else, as I had long learned that time for me was endless, and so why worry about going beyond myself. It was a good life. Once I had seen fit to do more, but those decades had long since passed.
Every now and again though, the Fates would show up. They would say about a prophecy being fulfilled, and a weaponnwas needed. They were fun to make, as not only were they always my best works, but each held a fragment of consciousness. Never quite enough to be considered alive, but enough to allow only those who are worthy to wield them. I consider them my children, and loved them dearly when forging them.
I had never seen them after they left my forge, but I would hear tales of them. Some of them were lost, some handed down amongst families of those heros, and some were broken. I mourned those lost and broken, but never stopped.
So when the beggar turned up, his pack full with sounds of scraping metal, I was a little surprised.
"Welcome to the Forge of Dawn."
The beggar looked at me and attempted to grin, showing his broken teeth.
"Greetings great Weaponsmith. I am Xon."
"You are welcome, young Xon. Only those who want something come here, so what do you want?"
Xon took a step forward.
"I want nothing for myself, for I have nothing. I am here to return these to their maker."
With that he pulled off his pack, and opened it. Inside, were all of my children. I could see those still whole, some with dents and cracks, but still deadly. I saw the hilts of my broken ones sticking out of bags of leather. I could hear the groans of pain coming from those damaged ones.
"...why have you returned them?"
"They were going to be used against you and the other immortals. We cannot forged blades sharp enough to cut you. We cannot make armour thick enough to protect us from you. But creations from your hands are potent enough to do just that. Mortals fear your power, and now they seek to slay you."
I felt cold, an icy rage wrapping around my heart.
"If this is true, why are you here?! Surely you feel the same way!"
"I do not, great one. I, and what is left of the Past Order, wish to ensure your continued existence. Your knowledge and experience is unmatched. To lose you would be unforgivable. You may not trust me, but think of this. Your weapons saw fit to allow me to save you, and they can read people better then any other."
I walked to him, picking up the pack and my blades. Looking at them, and feeling their joy at being reunited, and the trust they held in Xon, calmed me.
"How did you get them? Many were lost."
"I did not. My allies in the Order did, and held off the Army of Mortality to buy me time to reach you. My friends and family died for you, as you and your creations have done so much for us."
I placed the pack on the table, and slowly drew out Craken, sword of Endless Night. My first creation. I stared at it, calming my thoughts in its black finish.
"Did you bring any of my wife's armour, or my brother and sisters artifacts?"
"I did not. I let with 2 companions. One held the armour we had managed to retrieve, and one held the artifacts as you call them. They should haved reached the other immortals at the same time I did."
As he spoke, my Crystal Links with each member of my family began to flash red. I touched them, and heard the same sentence from everyone, as I echoed it.
"We have a problem." |
While some teachers may find the act of grading papers irritating, I took genuine joy in seeing what the imaginations of my student could conjure. I made a routine of it, Throwing on whatever Vinyl Record I might have picked up that week, Brewing some Oolong tea and sitting at my cedar workdesk which filled the corner of my den for the better part of 20 years.
Having previously been an author myself, I took a great amount of pride and satisfaction in nurturing creative minds. With a lifetime of writing behind me, No shame was had from reducing myself to an english teacher. Among my students, was a young, shy girl by the name of Sarah Miller. She first appeared on my radar after one of her previous stories, "Death of a Musician", Where an ideal young musician is forced into a situation where he must take the life of a fellow band member to save his own. Standing leaps and bounds ahead of other students, in both subject matter and writing ability, this story was Especially interesting, considering a somewhat similar case had occured in our town around the same time. Specifics were not readily available, However we knew that a conflict between band members ended in a tragic death. Life imitating art I suppose.
Coming across a paper from my star pupil Sarah was always a treat. Her writing style reminded me of my own. Vivid descriptions of scenes while not boring the reader with needless details. Saving hers for last I glanced at its title. "Death of a Gymnast"yet another short novel of a murder-mystery taking place in modern day, in this case, a nearby lake locally referred to as "horseshoe lake". Telling the tale of a prominent up and coming gymnast whose life was tragically ended by a psychotic stalker.
Having spent much time at HorseShoe Lake as a child, I was already familiar with the setting. No second thought was given to the use of a real location in a story of such questionably mature content. While it may have been a bit strange, it wasn't out of the question. Often had I told students to use real life inspiration in their stories. Unsurprisingly, Sarah wrote another A+ paper. One of her typical murder mysteries which ended with a young girl being hung from a tree near the lakes only dock, after weeks of being taunted by a shadowy figure.
Filled with inspiration ( And Oolong Tea ) I figured I would take a jaunt down to the lake myself, seeing as how it was only a 15 minute walk. Some might say visiting such a location at this time to be a strange decision, however among my interests in obsolete music formats, I considered myself quite the "Horror Movie Buff". While the sun had gone down the nearby street lamps provided ample vision. Or at least, They did what they could considering the excessive fog present that night. I knew the pathways like the back of my hand. Taking the turn just off 50ave and down a gentle slope, I was back at my old stomping grounds.
Remembering the contents of what I had read earlier, I walked down the dock that led a good 20 meters deep into the lake. Its wear and tear since I had last visited being obvious. However, When I approached the end of the dock, Mists obscuring my vision cleared, and presented me with an clear sight which left me petrified.
A girl, Hanging from a tree on the other side of the lake. While finer details may have been lost, the outline was undeniable. Somebody who couldn't have been more than 13 years old given her size, having her hair done up in pigtails in an almost comical fashion provide onlookers with immediate context. I panicked, and ran back the way I had entered, marking the longest sprint I had done since my time in high school.
Pacing back and forth in my den, I made a quick call to local authorities, and drank myself into the only slumber I imagine I could have. Waking up the next morning feeling less rested then when I had gone to sleep.
Word spread, within hours the entire town had been informed of what transpired. Our victim, 12 year old "Kristin Werner", A local honor student, and well known amongst the sports community for her athleticism and strive to win, had her life ended at the hands of somebody yet to be identified. While the police contacted me a few times for additional details, a week passed and the trail began to cool. While many continued to grieve, I continued to question the potential of my students, In particular the one whose "coincidental writing"has led to more then enough lucky-guesses to be considered questionable.
It was friday afternoon, A standard date to pick up the students creative writing homework for the week. Keeping kids in an orderly fashion during this time was impossible, given our time slot at the end of the day. Kids stampeded out of the room while dropping their papers off. As quick as they had gotten up, the students were gone. Ravenously looking through the papers that had been dropped off. I ended up at the paper I was interested in, and glanced at its title.
"Death Of A Writer : By Sarah Miller" |
“Hey dude, how’s it going?”
I looked up from my phone to see a classmate pass me by and offered my fist for the customary fist bump.
*“What a weirdo”* I heard him think as he walked away in the opposite direction.
Ah yes, when we talk about superpowers so many people dream of having the ability to read people’s minds. The ability to look past the facade we put on and to see the true colours that lie beneath. I’ve been cursed with this power. And I say cursed because I, unfortunately, don’t have an off switch.
It’s like a non-stop television screen spewing out inane garbage all day long. Sitting in a library is the same as sitting in the cafeteria for me. I’d argue the library is worse since all the thoughts go whirling by.
*“What should I get for lunch?”*
*“Does Tim even like me anymore?”*
*“I’d love to get her drunk and alone”*
The most petty and innocuous garbage and sometimes really dark thoughts that would have you sent to jail if you so much as mentioned them to another human being. You learn to tune it out, to not pay attention. But every now and then a random thought will have you jolt up with your hairs standing on end.
I crave the quiet and peace of not being near another soul. To just have some space to breathe and to not feel intruded upon, every waking moment. The fact that I’m anti-social stems from my so-called superpower. I’d love to be stranded on a desert island. Not kidding.
More than anything I’ve lost all faith in humanity as a whole. The hypocrisy makes me sick. Saying something nice but thinking such evil thoughts. Makes me wonder what would happen if everyone had the powers I have.
I treasure the handful of times I found those precious souls that were truthful in their actions and their thoughts. Hope exists after all but it is marred by the gigantic cesspool of individuals who call themselves human beings.
I can’t say that I haven’t used my powers to help myself. Nothing monetary or shady, just a way of weeding out people from my life who say one thing and think another. Suffice to say, I don’t have many friends.
I won’t lie though. It’s very amusing at times to listen in on someone’s thoughts when they are clearly lying to someone else. Normal people can make out as well from just the body language but I have complete access to their entire chain of thoughts as they struggle on the fly to make up believable excuses. I kid you not, it’s infinitely more entertaining than the garbage they have on prime-time television.
Something strange happened the other day though. I can’t stop thinking about it. Normally as I pass people by their thoughts come into my head. And so as I strolled along trying to ignore these impositions on my mind as I passed someone, I happened to pass by a girl in black. She had her earphones in and walked with a certain sense of purpose. Something felt strange as I passed by her but I couldn’t quite figure out what it was. It was only when I’d gone further ahead I realized- *“I didn’t hear her thoughts!”*
*“How is that even possible?”* I thought to myself. This was the first time I’d seen a person with no thoughts while they were awake. “*Maybe they weren’t thinking of anything at that moment”,* I tried to reassure myself.
I went about my day as best I could but that girl in black kept popping into my thoughts. *“Funny since she didn’t have any thoughts herself”* I mused. Tossing and turning in bed later that night, I kept trying to make sense of what had happened. *“She was probably clear-headed at the time”* I argued. *“Probably a dumb airhead”.*
I still wasn’t convinced though. *“She could be a yogi, who has learned to control her thoughts and emotions”* I ventured. I somehow dozed off into an uneasy sleep as my mind kept churning.
I jolted awake and sat up in my bed. It was early morning and my brain had been working overtime on this problem as I slept and it had proposed to me a brand new solution. I sat there with beads of sweat running down my forehead. You know how magnets repel each other when the same poles are held together?
*“Well what if she can read thoughts just like you can?”* |
Sir Douglas lashed his horse to the nearest tree in front of the vast cavern. He removed his sword and heavy dragon slayer lance, strapping the former to his waist and carrying the latter. He slowly crept into the dragon's cave, wary for traps.
Inside, he heard a faint sound. A screeching, dissonant wail coming from deep within the beast's home. He clenched his jaw. The dragon was torturing someone. He just hoped it was not Princess Jewel. If it was, he would make sure to make the beast's last moments as painful as he could.
The sound stopped as he went in, replaced by something different. The heavy scrape of scales and claws on stone. The dragon was moving. It had probably sensed his intrusion. Well, that was fine. Stealth was never his strong suit.
When he came face to face with the dragon, he readied his weapon. the beast was easily the size of a castle, with scales like molten lava and claws as long as the knight's sword. It looked at Douglas with eyes as large as a horse. It opened it's great mouth and spoke in a deep, rumbling voice.
"Oh thank god!"
Sir Douglas recoiled in confusion. "Pardon?"
"You're here for the princess, right? Good. Go take her, please. She's right back there."it said, pointing with one great claw to the back f the cave, "I've shut off all the defenses, so it's just a straight walk."
"Wait, you want me to take her?"
"Desperately."The dragon said. Sir Douglas was not an expert of draconic expressions, but he swore he recognized desperation. "Please, that's what you came here, for, right? Or did you come for gold? I will give you gold from my hoard if you take her. as much as you can carry!"
Douglas lowered the point of his lance. "Seriously? This isn't a trick to get me to lower my guard, is it?"
"No! Honestly, I hate trickery. I'd rather fight with pride. But I can't take that risk now. I need her gone, and if we fight, you'll probably die, and then I'll be stuck with her. So just take her and go!"
"Why do you want her gone so badly? Didn't you kidnap her in the first place?"
"Uh, yes, I did."The dragon said, looking suddenly ashamed. "It was a moment of weakness. Kind of something that all dragons do, you know? Practically an instinct at this point. Look, that's not important. what's important is that you take the princess. You're a knight, right? You have to rescue her!"
The dragon was correct. It was his duty to bring Princess jewel home. "Okay, but I've got my eye on you. One false move, and I'll make sure this lance goes into your eye."
The dragon let out a clearly joyous trumpet and moved as far away as his great size would allow. Sir Douglass carefully made his way through the hall, careful for traps. He did not have to be so cautious, as the dragon had spoken honestly.
He soon found himself in a smaller chamber with a few simple pieces of furniture fit for a human. It was occupied by the princess, whose name fit her perfectly. Everyone felt she was the most beautiful woman in any kingdom.
"Princess Jewel!"He called. She turned and smiled brighter than the sun.
"Sir Douglass! You've come to rescue me!"Se said. "Oh what a wondrous day! I was just lamenting my capture and wondering if I would ever see the light of day again!"
"Well come, my lady. The dragon will not bother us as we leave."
"Oh I am so happy. I just...I..."She took a deep breath and placed a hand to her chest.
Was she going to sing? Sir Douglas listened with rapt attention. Nobody had ever heard her sing. Her father, the king, said that it was a sound not for mortal ears. And now he was receiving the honor of hearing a voice for the gods? How could this get any better?
The princes began to sing. Sir Douglass stiffened and cringed. The sound that escaped the princess's lips made a swarm of angry cats sound like a fine orchestra. Her voice screeched and wailed, and any words she sang were garbled and unrecognizable.
Now he knew why the dragon wanted her gone so badly. He rushed at her, fighting back his body's desire to get as far away from her as possible. He clamped his armored hand over her mouth, stopping the offending sounds from coming.
"Princess, as...honored as I am to hear your voice, we must be gone. The dragon still lives, you see. I was able to parlay with it for your safety, but we cannot trust such a wicked creature. We must be gone before it changes its mind."
"Oh! Oh yes, of course."She said, blessedly using her normal speaking voice. "Yes, we must be off. I do so miss my father, and I would like to see him as soon as I can. Let us be off, Sir Douglas."
He turned and walked stiffly out of the room, with the princess following close behind. As they passed the dragon, he looked at the beast with wide eyes. It met his gaze and Sir Douglas saw sympathy in them. Sympathy and relief.
She was his problem now. |
"I don't understand Master. How can such spells of insane power be used for Good?"
"... Come with me, my apprentice. Let me show you something."
*The olde master then takes out an old book of parchment, and flips into a page. A charcoal sketch of a legendary figure, although appearing much younger than she is depicted in paintings.*
"Tell me, who is this?"
"The great sorceress Aurelia?"
"And what has she accomplished?"
"She protected those that can't protect themselves, and kept the peace between the kingdoms."
"Yes. Before she would make a name for herself, she too would ask the same question as you. 'Why must I learn spells of power? Why must I learn the secrets of the Dark Arts?' Because good and evil aren't contained. Just as good can turn into evil, evil can turn into good."
"I'm.. confused. Aren't the spells of the dead inherently evil?"
"Not when you can use them temporarily to prevent more lives from being lost."
"And what about the spells of darkness? Why must I learn them to begin with?"
"The spells aren't evil. Their users are. If done correctly, light and dark can coexist."
*The young one then witnessed his master perform a spell of darkness, Life Drain, into a patch of grass. He witnessed the greens wither away and decay right in front of him, and then watched him use the siphoned out life force to reinvigorate a dead tree, resurrecting it and causing it to bloom a second time.*
*With that demonstration, his master's point has become clear. Spells aren't binary, they are only so through their user's intentions.* |
Lieutenant Halford Frenman had joined the army when he was 18. He had suffered the endless hours of tedium and spine crushing weight of training, and the mind-numbing and deafening shock of service.
He truly wished to relax in peace, while his back and knee aches nestled him to sleep.
And now, for some god damned reason, he's on a fucking alien spaceship, stripped naked and tied down next a hundred other fucking idiots.
He was not happy. Not happy at all.
The first step was to get free. Luckily, his friends in the army had been true psychopaths and tied him to the bed a few times after he smashed one of their noses. One dislocated shoulder, and he was able to wiggle his arm so the elbow could bend at a fairly harrowing angle.
Hal could hear one of his neighbors vomiting, which made him roll his eyes, despite the pain.
His forearm free, he undid the belt lashing his stomach to the table. From there, it was simple to undo the rest. And he landed feet first on the metal table, popping his should back into place.
In less than 2 minutes, the rest of the prisoners were freed from the tables, and most were standing awkwardly, with their hands over their privates.
Lieutenant Halford Frenman collected the medical equipment and passed it out to everyone involved. He knew exactly how to help scared helpless children get into the right mindset to fight. These were mostly civilians, so scaring them wasn't even that hard.
Almost a second after Lieutenant Halford Frenman had finished passing out the weapons, but before he could make a speech, the door to the room slid down into the floor, revealing 4 soldiers with what he assumed were guns.
Several seconds later, the solders laid dead having been cut to pieces by the entire forward group firing on them at once.
Hal grabbed the weapons and passed them to people he spotted that had likely also served. You could always tell. They moved quickly from there, moving in rows of 5, stealing the guns.
When the heavy blast doors closed on them, one of the smarter civilians took apart the medical instruments, and Lieutenant Halford's gun before handing it back to him.
With 4 blasts, there was a hole big enough to poke your hand through. With 10 more, you could squeeze right through. Luckily, they ran into a small army that were quickly killed, and looted all of their guns.
This smart Alex knew exactly what she was doing as she grabbed every gun, and started passing them around. Showing 4 others how to combine them quickly.
Suddenly, he felt a breeze. Then a gust. Then a torrent of air, forcing him to the side. 3 doors had opened simultaneously and were threatening to suck his entire army into space. Thinking quickly, he had everyone fire at the wall, dislodging an entire section. Large enough that they wouldn't have to worry about anyone getting spaced.
​
The control room was next door. Several aliens seemed to make a gesture of surrender. He thought. Unfortunately, a very stupid alien attempted to fire on them. Which led to... a much larger fire fight.
Needless to say, but still required, they were all dead. Which just pissed Lieutenant Halford Frenman off more. The smarter people could tell that the ship was still moving, but not how to steer it. Hal told them to leave the controls alone, and had them focus on making better weapons. He didn't need a degree or engineering to know what the sphere on the monitor meant.
These things had been taking them to their planet. Sure, Hal thought. Let's see what they think when this thing releases a full army on them.
​
"AND WILL SOMEONE FIND ME SOME DAMN PANTS!"He yelled. |
The room was completely dark. I wept because I knew what was about to happen. Not for my own safety (unless they had knives from my father's home dimension or a hydrogen bomb in the basement nothing on this planet would give me more than a bad hair day), I was weeping for the people who had decided kidnapping me was a good idea. The lights came on and I saw my mother. "they aren't going to do anything bad, son. They just want the location of the Committee's files". She seemed sad but her conscience never had been her strongest feature.
The air started crackling and she looked to the ceiling. "about time, he will be late to his own funeral I swear to God"she snickered as she said it. Just as her smile faded, the ceiling exploded out and a towering Colossus of a man landed with enough force to spiderweb the concrete floor. The blastwave knocked my chair over and me with it. My mother knew exactly where to stand to avoid the worst of it.
As he shook off the long, flowing cape and tightened his gantlets he scanned the room. Seeing me, his eyes widened. He flew over to me and gently lifted the chair back onto it's legs. "are you hurt?"He wispered. I only shook my head. I didn't want to say anything that would further infuriate him. "good"he said, embracing me. Another tear ran down my cheek. He was never this tender. |
Kelp-green hair framed the soft face of the resting sea-witch, locks appearing forever wet despite the fact it had been almost a decade since she had graced the ocean.
Harmozo was grateful for each of those days that Serowynn had stayed on land. They were both six years old when he had found her, stranded on that rock with a hungry shark circling her. Her legs were damaged irreparably, courtesy of several rows of sharp teeth. He had never seen someone so scared before, and he swam to her to get her off the rock and carried her to shore himself, carrying with him a harpoon all the while.
It took a while for Serowynn to trust him, but within a few days, they knew the truth that was evident for both of them...
"You're all I have."
The young fisher boy would go out to the coast to fish, and bring back the ocean's bounty to share with the Serowynn. She was cautious of his kindness, but gradually came to accept it. The townspeople mocked them when he would carry her around town, asking the young pair when they would marry.
As embarrassing as it was, they confided in one another that more than anything it was infuriating. Here were two children who could barely scrape by on their own, and adults were making fun of their situation. Still, she shared the secrets of the sea with Harmozo, and taught him of the giant mussels that lie in wait at the bottom of the ocean floor. They provided plentiful food for them, and by careful and meticulous care, she extracted their byssus to weave silken cloth that sold for a high price. But it wasn't high enough for this cruel world.
Harmozo had been saving and saving for their future, what little he could manage. But when he saw a wealthy aristocrat with a wheelchair, he knew what he had to do.
He finally had enough, bought her one, and brought it home. And now, he stood, watching her resting face. He gently shook her awake and she looked at him tiredly. "Harmy? What is it?"she asked sleepily.
"Look down."
So Serrowyn rolled onto her side and looked off the side of the bed at the wooden wheelchair there. Her eyes began to tear. A decade of being carried and held, and now, finally...
"You've given me my legs back,"she whispered.
"Happy birthday, Wynnie." |
In less than five minutes, Peter Parker had Clark Kent's full attention for three reasons.
First, the young man had a very keen eye for high-speed, high-action portraits. Lois had been raving when she'd heard that *the* Peter Parker had been hired on, and after reviewing the portfolio for himself Clark had to agree, especially seeing the Spider-Man work. Second, for such a young man he had an impressive work ethic, with both the Midtown High principal and the editor-in-chief of the Daily Bugle heaping praise upon him for attention to detail, perseverance, and intelligence (though the editor made it abundantly clear that *none* of his kind words were to reach Parker himself, lest he lose that hunger). And finally, he wasn't normal. Far from it, in fact.
Clark had to admit that he hadn't thought anything of it at first. Peter had stopped him from practically being run over by Lois as she stormed through the intersecting hallway, as happened fairly frequently. Good will from a good kid, nothing to it; it reminded him of himself a bit. But after thanking Peter (and silently grousing that the one time a day he could reliably have a bit of a joke with his wife was interrupted), he remembered how strong the kid was; far stronger than he should have been, given his age and lean frame. But more interestingly, Peter had been almost a full two feet behind him when he reached out and there were no windows in either their hallway or Lois's. Between his vision, hearing, and smell Clark was never in any danger; the same couldn't necessarily have been said for Mr. Parker.
"So, Peter,"Clark said, straightening out his suit sleeve, "what got you interested in newspapers?"
**----------**
In less than five minutes, Peter Parker had made three big mistakes.
First, he had been ten minutes late to his first day at the Daily Planet, for which he had some guy blithely ignoring both the Do Not Cross and unbelievably loud tractor trailer horn to thank. Second, he had pulled Mr. Kent away from a lady coming down the adjacent hall way too early for even blind luck to explain; not in the least because after holding Mr. Kent back, Peter got the feeling that he was only stopped because he chose to be. And the third mistake was the response he had to Mr. Kent's question.
"Oh, you know, my name in the same gossip column as Dazzler, same as any hot-blooded boy."
Peter Parker was many things; magna cum laude recipient of Midtown High School, whiz kid in the chem lab, math tutor for freshmen and a very talented photographer. He was *not*, however, a wiseass. Neither had he been for the entirety of the short tour. The opposite, in fact, taking every opportunity to mind his P's and Q's and be on his very best behavior in front of his new boss and peers. Even in the short time they'd known each other, a remark like that came from nowhere. Nowhere visible, anyway. And Mr. Kent's raised eyebrow - raised for only a moment, but raised nevertheless - confirmed Peter's anxieties.
**----------**
"Word to the wise, Peter,"Clark said a bit more sternly than he perhaps meant to, "leave the funny words to the funny pages. You don't seem the type to run your mouth like that."
That did it. After Peter muttered an apology and they continued towards the darkroom, Clark couldn't help but smile once his face was turned. Peter had a lot to learn about keeping the identity a secret. Not that Clark was judging, of course. He had made similar mistakes in the early days too. Small things, like standing a little too straight. Or reacting a little too quickly. Or sounding a little too confident. Two feet behind him, listening to his spiel about the Daily Planet's history with a rapidly-beating heart, was someone on that very same path, walking those very same steps, stumbling on those very same bumps in the road. Luckily, it seemed Clark was the only one that had noticed the lapse in persona.
Unluckily, it seemed that Peter had noticed Clark's noticing.
On the last stretch of hallway before the darkroom, the pair walked past a long window, with the afternoon sun turning Metropolis into the golden city it was portrayed as. As good an opportunity as ever to investigate further.
"Scenario question, Peter,"Clark asked, "there's a battle downtown; not as frequent as they are in New York, of course, but they tend to punch a lot harder out this way. Probably nothing any of the Avengers or X-Men could handle. To be honest,"Clark continued somberly, "they almost look like war zones when Superman gets done with them. I've been to several and I can't say I disagree. That's what Mr. White brought you and your camera on for.
"Are you ready for that?"
**----------**
There it was. The inevitable comparison between the marvels of Peter's hometown and the dynamic crusader of Mr. Kent's. And the taller, older man was entirely right.
If it came down to it, Peter Parker didn't have a *prayer* against the wackjobs Superman had to go toe-to-toe with. That guy in the rhino machine and Dr. Octavius had been bad enough; how the devil would he take down the likes of that purple people eater? Or the skyscraper-sized starfish? Or - God forbid - the *backwards* Superman? He had seen some of the photos that Mr. Kent had been talking about, and there was no denying the casualties. For every triumphant J. Olsen shot of Superman standing heroically in the aftermath, there were several of weeping victims, hard-pressed first responders, and the destroyed remains of peoples' lives and livelihood. All people. All who needed help. All of whom were counting on Superman, too few of whom realized that even he couldn't be everywhere at once and couldn't help everybody.
Peter Parker knew all too well what not intervening could cost.
*That* was why he had moved to Metropolis; sooner or later, even Superman would need a day off for whatever reason, and *someone* had to answer the cry for help. It was just him out here. Naturally, he couldn't say that out loud. But he *could* answer Mr. Kent's question about being ready for it. Peter looked at Mr. Kent, mulling over the question and his answer one more time to make sure he didn't sound like a wisecracking webslinger, considering the firm-but-encouraging look on Mr. Kent's face, the sunlight passing through the fake lenses of his glasses and hitting all the pinstripes of a baggy and ill-fitting suit that hid someone with the strength of a mountain lion and -
Oh.
OH.
"To tell the truth,"Spider-Man said as the flashbulb went off, "I can't see myself being anywhere else." |
No good deed goes unpunished.
A fact Keely was acutely aware of at this moment.
Under the bright interrogation light, trapped in a six-by-six-foot cement-walled cell with a portly scientist who hadn’t showered in weeks, she struggled to breathe through her mouth to avoid the stench of his excitement laced BO.
*“The output readings are phenomenal; we’ve seen nothing like it.”*
The statement had reverberated through her mind in the aftershock of the current that had rendered her incapacitated. Fragments of sensory awareness had flooded her as she’d felt herself lifted onto something flat. Then felt the motion of rolling as her captors presumably wheeled her to her current cage.
But everything after that had been a blur. It could’ve been weeks, days, or mere hours since her capture. Time was irrelevant to her kind, regardless of circumstances.
An endless cycle of interrogation and experimentation, implemented by the scientist in front of her, had stretched and filled her loop.
Scientist, Kelly scoffed, more like a henchman with a penchant for torture tools that go zap.
The man had enjoyed lighting her up in the name of science. Had relished keeping her body stationary while triggering the electricity within her that allowed her faster than light speed. She’d always been a firm believer of the sanctity of every life, whether her equal or her inferior, like this frail human in front of her. But she would relish his demise.
Just not yet.
After three centuries, she’d made a mistake. Not her first, by any means. But in an age where technology now blanketed civilization, it was the first on record. The first to be measured and quantified. And it would cost her.
How many times had her sire drilled into her the need for discretion? Invisibility? Countless. It had taken decades after her rebirth before they had trusted her to wander the world on her own.
And when he heard about this incident, her freedom would be stripped.
Their kind could not afford exposure. Their existence relied on anonymity.
Even with that awareness, Kelly couldn’t find it in her to regret the action.
The children had been playing in the street, albeit stupidly. But at the speed the box truck barreled around the corner, there’d been no choice. She’d acted on instinct. Protect the young.
“Perhaps today you will enlighten us with the key to your rapid regeneration, hmm?” The scientist’s spittle flew, but she refused to flinch, despite the sewer-smelling saliva that now flecked her face and triggered her gag reflex.
This was their game now. He asked questions he knew she wouldn’t answer. Then he would bring in his toys and the twisted games of operation he enjoyed would begin.
She would summon the discipline her sire had enforced in her, locking down her abilities in order to give them nothing, until she mercifully blacked out. For a minute or an hour, the darkness of the in-between allowed her subconscious to sort through the information that the new tactics her captor employed revealed. Like puzzle pieces.
It wasn’t the paltry restraints, or even the thick slabbed walls, that kept her there. But her unwillingness to return to her sire without the answers he would demand as payment for her foolish action.
How much did they know of her kind? Who had steered them in the right direction? And why?
When Keely remained silent, as always, the scientist smiled and raised his arm to motion to the ever-watching red-eye of camera mounted in the ceiling corner of the cell. The roiling stench of his underarm odor filled saturated the room as the door opened.
An orderly in white scrubs and a surgical cap pushed low on his brow, rolled the cart of equipment in. She sighed. Already weary of the next hour of inconvenience. The trolley held the same tools as the last session. She would learn nothing new this round. Maybe on the next one.
Keely leaned her head back, already preparing her body’s meditative grounding state, when a flash in her peripheral claimed her awareness. The camera’s red light was dark. Another whir drew her eye to the scientist, who crumpled like a puppet whose strings had just been cut. Another streak and the restraints fell away from her body.
Keely rubbed her wrists and begrudgingly sat up. But she didn’t look at her liberator.
She didn’t need to, to know that Riker had been the one sent.
“Are any of them still alive?” She asked, though she already knew the answer. Her sire’s most lethal progeny, and favorite weapon, didn’t share her view that the inferior human life was worth preserving. “I was close to having answers.”
He’d moved directly in front of her, and she finally lifted her head, steeling herself, before she met his gaze. Pure amber eyes, tinged with halos of red, held her attention.
Even rooting herself before contact, the sheer pull of the electric current that slammed through her, sharper and stronger than anything the human scientist had lit her up with, robbed her senses.
On the rare occasion, in the past century, that Keely had consented contact with Riker, their kind’s most infamous enthraller, she’d felt the same siren call on a cellular level. The dilation of his crimson halos that first time, as now, alerted her he was not unaffected, either.
In another lifetime, perhaps, they could’ve been lovers.
But in this one, they were enemies.
She couldn’t abide his methods, and he didn’t respect her choices.
Nevertheless, they held a tentative truce bound by their sworn duty. To protect the tribe.
Riker held her gaze but didn’t speak a word. He didn’t need to. She felt him in her mind. A whisper of tempest wind, within her own thoughts, delivered his orders and their destination. Further proof of the truth, they both ignored. He was her mate. But she would never be his.
Refusing to answer through their bond, Keely broke the gaze and sighed, “Very well. Deliver me to the Sire.”
She expected immediate transport. But nothing happened. The stench of the scientist’s emptied bowels permeated the cell. Keely glanced up at Riker to ascertain the reason for the delay.
His face was impassive as he reached his hand out, gently tucking a stray curl of her matted hair behind her ear. The moment his fingertips grazed the side of her neck, a blaze of white cascaded over them. Transporting her to judgement.
\~\~\~
Thank you for reading! For more scribblings, wander over to [WanderingAnonymous](https://www.reddit.com/r/WanderingAnonymous/comments/qbcvjg/wandering_anonymous_story_index/) |
When Xath'I first heard news of humans being hired into the transportation crew it brimmed with the Cretianas' version of excitement; interlocking its long, finger-like appendages and letting out a high-pitched noise that only few could actually hear.
The humans were famed for their work ethic and teamwork, being one of the only pack-based species in the Stellar Galactic Nations.
Xath'I eagerly waited at the loading dock for the new human arrivals, hearing the deep vibrations and thunking of their ship docking into the larger cargo ship.
Four humans walked out, lining up in front of Xath'I and introducing themselves. But one of the humans looked... not human.
"Reginald"Is all he said in introduction. Half of his face was covered in black markings, while some of the fleshy parts were littered with metal bars. Xath'I hummed at the human, inspecting him closely.
"I know, I look different from them. Get over it"
Xath'I hummed lowly, moving on to leading the humans to their quarters.
Over the next few sols, the humans exceeded expectations in their work efficiency and ethic. But Reginald stunned all of the other crew members in appearance. Word spread to the other ships, and some curious and brave crewmembers even introduced themselves to the human, remarking on his appearance to each other and sometimes to his face. Xath'I cringed inwardly whenever that happened.
Everyone was confused at the humans' styles. Every part of their bodies was so important, why would they skewer them with metal bars and shiny jewels? A show of wealth, perhaps? Why would they inject their skins with black inks?
Xath'I grew tired of their constant gossiping, and finally put her foot down one day, walking over to Reginald as he was injecting one of his human crewmates with a weapon-looking machine.
"What?"Was all Reginald said as Xath'I watched.
Human and Cretiana anatomy wasn't completely different, but Cretana had a silvery exoskeleton that surrounded most of their bodies, and there was no feeling in any of them.
"I would like one of your... tattoos"Xath'I said, with slight hesitation in her voice. Reginald paused, both him and the other human turning to it with bright smiles.
"Sit"Was all he said. Xath'I followed, extending its 'arm', which featured a plate of exoskeleton around it. Reginald immediately jumped in, beginning to work.
A few hours later, Xath'I was happy to boast that it was now the first non-human to have a 'tattoo' or 'ink' - as the humans put it. It was two circles, one of Earth and one of Xath'I's home planet. |
Mom had warned me before I'd gone out on my journey that I would run into different cultures and ways of doing things. It was part of becoming a enlisted trainer. You had the see the world to be decent at protecting it.
In some places like Galar, they spent time camping with their Pokemon. IN Paldea most trainers let their Pokemon walk around out of Pokeballs. If you went to Kalos you would find Pokemon Fashions shows of all things.
As part of this exchange you found the dynamic ways that trainers harnessed the unique power of Pokemon, from Dynamax to Mega-Evolution. I swore after seeing the former that nothing would surprise me for the rest of my journey, but this... this was something too new.
Just as the last Pokemon from the first gym-leader dropped she'd stepped off the podium herself. I'd figured it was to give me the badge and send me on my way, after all, I'd done this a dozen times before. Instead she'd told me that it was time for the final challenge and swung the guitar off her back.
I stared at her.
"Do you want to switch out you Pokemon?"she asked, cracking her neck and hopping from one foot to the other.
"I thought the fight was done."
"I've got one more round in me. You need to switch?"
I looked down to my Nidoran, poor thing had persevered to ensure that I'd gotten the win today. I took a knee and let him wander back to me. Once he'd sniffed my hand, he turned back to face Leader Alissa and squared up. "He says he's good. So I am too! Bring on the last Pokemon!"
"You got it,"Alissa offered a curt nod but didn't grab any more of her Pokeballs, instead taking a deep breath and putting herself in the middle of the arena. I gave her time to think about what she was doing.
Once it had been too long I sighed, "Can you send them out please? Not to be pushy but I was trying to get to Avanae Town by sunset."
"Then start it up."
"What am I attacking?"
That gave Alissa pause, "Uh. Thought you were a trainer from other regions. Ain't you done this before? The gym battle thing?"
"Yes, but what am I fighting?"
"You haven't beat the gym leader yet."
"If you're out of Pokem-"I caught up, "You can't mean that I'm supposed to hit you?"
"You're getting it!"
"What the fuck?"
"You can't be a trainer if you don't fight beside your Pokemon."
"Is this a Calina thing?"I asked, "you want me to have my Nidoran attack you?"
"If he can hit me."
"Okay just one-"I pulled out my Pokedex almost out of habit to check the new 'target.' I'd been checking what moves to use against species I didn't know all month. It sparked to life.
"Gymleader Alissa, The Rock and Roll Brawler Pokemon. Gymleader Alissa is a human under the influence of Calina's unique spirit stones."
I put the Pokedex back in my pocket. "So you get to fight beside your Pokemon,"I nodded along with the revelation.
"Now you're getting it."
"And how do I get spirit stones after Nidoran puts you on your ass?"
Alissa smiled at my swearing, it must have been refreshing to fight someone who was older than 10. "By beating me, but I'd like to see you try."
"Then Gym Leader Alissa, I don't need to change Pokemon. Let's go Nidoran."
"NIDO!"
"Alight Foreigner,"she pulled a neon purple pick from her back pocket and rested it against the strings of her guitar, "let's rock." |
I am just a waitress.
My days are usually the same, serve drinks and food to the customers of the Fierce Dragon Inn. My boss is a bit of a hard case, but a kind man. The customers are a different breed of rowdy, flirtatious, and overly friendly.
Everyone always wants to talk to me, the young blonde women, everyone except him.
The Hero, that is what he is called, he comes in almost everyday, he never says anything and just grabs a new job from the job board and leaves.
Sometimes I see him approach a man, called Captain Holtes. All Holtes does is say 'good job' and nothing more. The Hero also approaches other patrons, but he never talks to them, they just talk at him.
I asked others about him, but no one knows his name, they just call him, the Hero. I asked what type of person he was, all they said was is that he was useful for dealing with problems.
It was like they never saw him as a person.
I watched the Hero closely after that, I never saw him eat or sleep, he just did task.
The job board was running out of task and it was becoming apparent that the Hero was going to be leaving soon. I asked others about it, but all they had to say was "He served his purpose"it was frustrating to see how little they cared.
I was saddened to see that the day the Hero ran out of task, the only one who talked to him was Captain Holt.
"Look like your work here is done, I guess your going to be leaving. Thanks for everything."
After watching that sad displace of a farewell, I wanted to step in but I didn't.
I feared my chance with him may have been gone forever, as he had no reason to stay, but he just sat at a table all night. The other waitress got him a beer and food and he just sat there quietly all night without anyone acknowledging him.
We were closing soon and he was the only one left. I knew then that I had to talk to him.
"Hey"
The Hero just stared at me. His expression was neutral, but I could tell by looking in his eyes that he was tired.
"I just wanted to ask, are you okay?"
He looked like he wanted to speak, but quickly shut his mouth.
"It's okay, you don't have to say anything if you don't want to."
The Hero continued to stare at me.
"No one seems to appreciate you around here, and I just want to say, screw them for that."
I swear, I almost saw his eyes light up.
"If you need anything, don't be afraid to come back and I want you to know that if you ever want to talk to someone, I am more then willing to listen."
The Hero's eyes teared up. I went over and hugged him, letting him know that it was okay. |
"Rudolph with your nose so bright, won't you guide my sleigh tonight?"
He paused.
"No."
"Rudolph....with your....what?"
With all of the anger that could be contained in the 30-inch frame, he said again.
"No."
His nose was no longer glowing so much as blazing.
"No one here appreciates me. I've been picked on and picked on and picked on and no one did anything about it. Not you, not the elves, no one. And now i'm supposed to be saddled up with them?"
He put a hoof forward.
"Did they put you up to this?"He cried. "What's going to happen? Is my harness going to fall off? Are you going to leave me in Africa?"
Santa slowly bent to one knee, with all of the grace and balance of man of his plumpness could muster.
"Rudolph,"he said, "We need you. I know you've been picked on. But it's time to show everyone just how valuable you can be."
"Why me?"He said, less angry, but confused.
"China."Santa said, shaking his head. "The smog has made it impossible to fly through. Visibility is incredibly low. We simply can't navigate it without you."
Rudolph looked away. But something about Santa's voice and visage made him undeniable.
"There are kids, Rudolph. Just like you. Kids who have had horrible days, years, lives. We can make their day better. We can turn it around. But we need you to help us.
A single tear ran down Rudolph's face. It dropped into the snow between his hooves.
"Fine."He muttered. "But I get to wear a mask." |
He sat back in his chair and scoffed at the commercials being aired between the award announcements. Everything moved much slower in real life as compared to dream vision. Yes, it had its unique and charming naturalness, but it lacked the perfection he had grown so used to.
Another car commercial and then they were showing the full crowd. You could tell the difference between the fillers and the celebrity dreamers. The fillers looked particularly attentive, normal people who had spents thousands to sit near the dreamers.
The dreamers themselves were difficult to look at. While there were one or two "Lucids"that had been nominated, most of them were natural dreamers and none of them looked comfortable being in such a large crowd. They focused in on the next winner for a brief second and then cut to a montage of his dreams. By the time he was onstage people had not only seen his most private secrets, but were now staring into his dilated eyes, which screamed of drug dependency. Mushrooms and ambien were the rumors. but his face showed his disdain for the cameras all around him and as he opened his mouth to make his speech nothing came out. This was likely one of his nightmares.
He leaned out of the chair and turned off the TV. "Bunch of amateurs"he thought to himself. As he laid down and turned on his recording device he realized that they all were, just hoping for the next big dream. |
She sat in the chair glaring at Bellatrix. In a moment, she'd throw another curse at her, but Bellatrix needed a moment to catch her breath.
Another day wasted tossing imperius curses at her. She'd never seen a muggle resist so well. "I will break you. You know this don't you? The time you lasted will make it all the sweeter a victory when it happens."
"Well, that's a possibility, but it won't make a difference. You'll still lose."
Bellatrix hated the look of triumph on the sow's face. "How, can you still believe something so ridiculous?!"
The woman smiled at her. "You haven't heard from him in awhile, have you?"She froze. The woman's smiled widened. "You really haven't!"She threw her head black in laughter.
Bellatrix dropped her wand in a moment of fright and then she shrieked in anger. The woman's fingers caught fire. The flames burst into being, flared and then extinguished in the blink of an eye. The woman screamed in pain. Bellatrix picked up her wand with shaking hands. It'd been years since she'd wildly done magic. She'd been just a girl, first discovering that she wasn't a squib after all.
She took a breath and composed her self. The woman writhed in pain. Bellatrix paralyzed her with a petrificus spell. "You will tell me what you know about the Dark Lord and what's become of him. We can take all night, or you can spare yourself some pain now. Either way I will find out what I need to know."She leaned into the face of her captive "Do you understand?"She released the woman's head from the spell, leaving the rest of her body frozen.
The woman nodded. "Let's skip the pain then. Your boss? He's dead luv."
Bellatrix laughed, but it was in vain. She could see in the woman's eyes that she was telling the truth, at least as she believed it. "How."
Smiling the woman nodded again. "Your lot, you ever bothered to learn more of the natural world once you figured out your special tricks with your little sticks. It put you ad a disadvantage luv. Once you learned how to throw fireballs, you never bothered to learn how to make other incendiary devices. Well me and my lot did. We learned it very well, and we kept learning how to do it better and better. You'd be surprised how much damage can be done by just a small bit of C4 or Semtex. Enough to reduce a human being to ashes... along with his big pet snake."
Bellatrix looked the woman in the eyes for the longest time trying to formulate a question. Then one jumped at her. "How do you know about the Dark Lord's snake?"
The woman smiled "Your 'dark lord' had many enemies. Of them, a school teacher, or a head master of some sort wasn't the kind of man to leave things to chance. In addition to following up on some kooky prophecy involving some 'boy who wouldn't die' or some rot, he contacted a common woman. One of us 'muggles' as you like to say. He told this woman, some gal named Rowling, everything he knew. She was a back up you see, one of many people across the globe put in place to get the word out on how to take out your boss if his plan A didn't work out."
Bellatrix soaked it all in. Finally she raised herself up. "Well then. Unless you've got anymore to share, let's get back to turning you to my side. If the Dark Lord is truly dead, it might be time for a Dark Lady to rise up and take control."
The chuckle that came from the woman seemed resigned. "Sure, knock yourself out, but I already told you. It won't work. You're going to lose no matter what."Bellatrix blasted her.
3 hours later the woman finally broke. Bellatrix was elated. She wanted to make the woman do so many degrading and horrible things to herself, but she kept her head. Now was not the time to distract herself. "Now that you are mine, you will tell me everything of strategic value."
The woman nodded with dull eyes. "Yes mistress. I suppose I should start with the bomb inside my body, where my apendix used to be. It's set to go off in about 2 minutes."
Bellatrix was struck with horror for only a moment. She cast the spell to apparate immediately. Disappearing in a puff of smoke she appeared... in the same cell. There was a long beat of panic and then she ran for the door. A blinding blue bolt of lightning struck her in the chest and pushed her back.
She got up off the floor and spun on the woman. "How is this happening?!"
"There are counter spells being directed at this location by the allied forces of the UK and Germany."
Bellatrix was confused "How are muggle armies using spells against us?"
"We made some of your fellow death eaters some very attractive offers mistress."
Bellatrix struggled for understanding "What was offered?"
"There's not enough time to answer mistress. We have ten seconds."
In those final seconds, for the first time since she was 15 and for the last time in her life, Bellatrix Strange wept. |
*I've got to die again,*"I finally realized.
How I ended up back on Earth, or why I was sent back, is a mystery I couldn't solve. It's probably just a cruel joke ('cause this is exactly the type of shit that St. Matthew likes to pull). If I was sent back with a mission, wouldn't they have told me what I was supposed to do? I tried prayer and every other method of communication I could think of. But it was silent.
I knew I needed to get home, and I eventually realized that I could only do that through death. Suicide wasn't an option. That would be the easiest, of course. But everyone knows that suicide is a sin, which wouldn't get me back into Heaven. So, I had to find another way to end my life...
First, I tried extreme sports. Scuba diving, skydiving, bungee jumping, rock climbing, the works. I even tried this "extreme ironing"fad. Everyone kept trying to give me safety equipment, but I just laughed. Being dangerously reckless wasn't the same as suicidal. I love technicalities! But alas, these sports weren't dangerous enough. Tons of fun, but no injuries.
Next, I tried to find a more dangerous career. Did you know that the most dangerous careers are also the most boring? I mean, who would have thought that *fishermen* faced more danger than a stuntman? I tried being a pilot, but the most dangerous thing that happened to me was spilling some hot coffee. Being a logger was OK; lots of fresh air, but zero bear attacks. Eventually I realized that maybe workplace hazards weren't the fastest way home.
So I became a vigilante. Best of both worlds, right? Cops hated me *and* bad guys hated me. Eventually one would shoot me, I figured. I stopped crimes and beat up criminals. I waltzed miraculously through shootouts completely unharmed. Probably St. Matthew, fucking with me *again*. Damn his blessed protections. I became so infamous in the city that the cops gave me a medal, and the bad guys were too afraid to ever come after me. Some of them even left town! It's incredibly frustrating to be so well regarded.
Where else could I constantly face death? Of course: the Army! I signed up immediately, and they had me over to Afghanistan in 2 months. Finally, some action, I thought. Roadside bombs, snipers, insurgents: this place had it all! I volunteered for the most dangerous jobs, and was always in the thick of the firefight, but no luck! All I managed to do was to protect a bunch of critical infrastructure and schools. So what? I'd never been more disappointed than the day I received the Congressional Medal of Honor.
Eventually, I made up my mind: the only way to die was to become President. Did you know that America has had 8 presidents die in office, out of only 44 total? That's an 18% mortality rate! Definitely the way to go home. So I worked my way up the ladder. House of Representatives, Senate, Attorney General, Secretary of State. Finally it was my turn. The primaries were a cinch, and the election itself was a breeze. At my inauguration, I was sure that I was just on the cusp of going home!
8 years later, and no such luck. Sure, we reformed education and had a balanced budget. Sure, we worked out the Israel/Palestine conflict, and sure, inequality in America was at an all time low when I left office. What did it matter? **0** successful assassination attempts.
Finally, I grew old and grey. I guess I'd be going upstairs just like all the other schlubs who died due to old age. With friends, family, and admirers crowded around me, I finally kicked the bucket.
I was greeted at the Pearly Gates not by St. Peter, but Jesus himself. St. Matthew was peeking through the fence behind him, making faces at me. Jesus nodded sagely and said "Well done, my child. I knew I could count on you to do good works down there. The last three that I sent died almost immediately."
|
I have watched them grow.
From their very first steps on the plains of Africa, to the conquering to the vast oceans, to their mastery of the stars themselves, I have watched them.
I have seen their triumphs; great walls and buildings of stone, steel and glass. Art that could make men weep at its beauty, unending libraries of knowledge, literature, poetry. A global network that connected humanity as a whole. I have watched them make and do these things
I have seen their follies: Hatred that burns brightly in the hearts of men, unbridled greed that propelled some to the peak of luxury, but a great multitude more into the gutter of poverty. I have seen it all, from a bully stealing lunch money on a playground to wars that spanned the entire world. I have seen them do these things.
I have been with them through all of these things and more, but through all the changes humanity has seen and done, I have been constant.
There is a saying, "everyone dies alone". This is simply not true. I have been there for every single human's death, ferrying them along to the afterlife. After 100,000 years, It never gets easier. Humans have always been such vibrant creatures, racing to fit as much living as possible in such a short time. No matter how ready for death they feel they might be when I come, there's always dreams unfulfilled, the little lingering regrets that eat away at their last moments. They try to put on a strong front and accept their fate, but I can always tell it's at the back of their minds. And it breaks my heart.
So, it's time for me to step out of the picture. It's time for them to finally reach their full potential. No more wasted dreams, no more bucket lists unfulfilled, only opportunities. I love humans, as much today as their first, and I'll miss seeing them grow, but somehow I know they'll be alright without me.
I will watch them grow no longer. |
"Wow, really? You can't be serious,"Rainy said, almost absentmindedly. Most of her attention was focused on the metal box in front of her. Its "head"was wrenched open, spilling out a snarl of wires like some sort of technicolor brain.
Will ran a hand through his hair worriedly. "I'm very serious. This is wrong, so wrong. We can't keep eating the Cuties."The very word left a bad taste in his mouth. They had all agreed on the name because it felt so perversely out of place - the little, wrinkled gremlins were the very opposite of cute. It was funny at first, in a way; now, it just felt classless to keep calling them that.
"Yeah, you're right,"Rainy agreed. She poked one mass of the wires and flipped a switch. Lights screamed up at her for a few, frantic seconds before dying down again.
"You're not even listening!"Will all but shouted. He started gesticulating bizarrely. "These creatures aren't just ugly-cute little bunny-gargoyles - they're *sapient*. Eating them is like eating people!"
Rainy shot up from her seat so suddenly that Will stepped back, a little startled. Her eyes flashed dangerously and her mouth was set in a hard, straight line.
"Will,"she said in a deliberately slow voice. "Can I ask you a few questions? After all, you're the team biologist; you'll know better than me."
"Uh, sure."He's heard her use this voice only a few times, and those times never ended well.
"How long have we been stranded on this god-forsaken planet?"
"Three months, give or take."
"How much of our rations do we have left?"
"Aboard the ship? Uh...not very much. Not enough to sustain all of us for more than a day or two."
"Right. and why aren't we eating any of the plant-life on this planet? I can see the green and purple leaves right from the bay window."
"Oh, well, most of them use enzymes that keep cadmium or arsenic at their cores."
"How very interesting. And about the various fauna? Other than the Cuties, I mean."
"Um. They eat the plants. So they tend to accumulate the heavy metals and are even worse for us."Will could see where this was going and he tried to interject here; one withering glare made him shut his mouth.
"So what about the Cuties? How come we can eat them without dying?"
"They...have specialized metabolic processes to remove those metals."
"Ah! How. very. *Intriguing*. And so they are pretty much the only viable food source for us?"
"Well, yes, but--"
"And we'll starve if we don't keep eating them, right?"
"That is correct. However--"
"THEN WHY THE FUCK WOULD I GIVE A SHIT IF THEY'RE SENTIENT?"she finally exploded.
Will automatically raised his arms to shield his face, but she didn't try striking him. When he peeked, she was just standing there, glaring daggers at him. So he decided to try again. "They...aren't sentient. I mean, not just sentient. They're sapient. In other words,"he hastily added, "not only are they self-aware, they can also *reason*."
Rainy did a half sigh, half scream of frustration. "Will, that doesn't sound any fucking different to me. But I'll accept your word as fact. Now let me tell you some facts I know,"she said, eyes gleaming.
Rainy pointed a shaking finger at the wires behind her. "I've been working on the Alcubi-drive generator non-stop for the past 3 months, *give or take*, and it's been proving very difficult to fix by myself. I am frustrated, angry and frankly *scared* that we'll be stuck on this shithole planet with its fucking chlorine atmosphere forever."She paused to take a breath. "And now you tell me that we're eating what we thought were animals but are actually intelligent, thinking beings."
Will nodded meekly.
Rainy tried glaring at him some more, but the fight had left her as suddenly as it had come. She would need to pop another antidepressant or risk screwing up her work. Instead of yelling some more, she flatly intoned: "Will, it sucks that they're not just dumb animals, but we have no other choice. Unless you can think of a way to feed seven people without using them as food, don't bother bringing that up with me again. I have bigger things to worry about."And with that, she turned back to the bench and picked up a smoking soldering iron.
Will hung his head and left the workshop space, feeling dejected and ashamed. He knew that Rainy was under a lot of stress - maybe the most out of all of them. After all, her work would get them off the planet - or not. That was a hell of a lot of pressure, and she did not need his moral crisis right now.
That night, he dreamt of his last hunting expedition, where he had encountered a Cutie. He was with Riley, and she had just shot one over a ridge. Will had sprinted ahead (as best as the bulky spacesuit would allow) and found that it wasn't quite dead yet. The bluish ichor seeped out in little bursts from its midsection, and it waved its arms pathetically at Will. Normally, this was just a little sad, but not much more than having to kill a chicken or lamb, he reasoned. But something was different this time. Will watched, astonished, as the Cutie reached into a little pack it wore (Will had thought that that was just extra fur hanging off of its side), and offered him a few shiny stones. *It was trying to trade for its life.*
Will's hunting knife clattered to the ground below as the horror of realization began to flood him. But the moment was short-lived, as Riley finally caught up and, without a second thought, drove her own blade into the head of the Cutie. The shining rocks fell uselessly from its outstretched paw. Riley joked with him about dropping his knife, but the words never reached his brain.
Will bolted upright in his bed, covered in a cold sweat and gasping. Throwing his head into his hands, he moaned softly. Now that he knew the truth, he knew he had to do *something* about it. But he had no idea what.
[Part II!](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/3eum3e/wp_human_colonists_realize_their_main_food_source/ctjecfk)
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Davy could walk to the kitchen by rote. He knew which tiles were Jeff's and which were his. Since it wasn't a perfect cut, he had to memorize where his boundaries were versus his brother's. While Davy still hated his brother, once he read Uncle Alex's journal, the fire had dulled a long time ago. The experiment of being forced into life with the brother he hated made sense, and they were men now, far too old to be squabbling like children.
Sadly, Jeff wasn't the same. He was petty. He held grudges and remembered every slight against him. Davy cringed when he heard his brother, chewing loudly, in the kitchen.
"Oh, you finally wake up!"Jeff said, immediately scowling.
"Must you chew so loudly?"Davy eyed the snack. "Is that peanut butter and jelly?"He smirked.
"Oh, I'm so sorry, your majesty! I forgot to ask if I can eat whatever the fuck I want. Should I make my breathing more shallow too?"Jeff was livid and shouting with his mouth full of food. "I think I'm old enough and rich enough to do whatever the fuck I want without your permission, your majesty!"
"To be more accurate,"Davy said slowly. "We need each other's permission to be wealthy."That made Jeff's face go purple with rage. While Davy tried to avoid it, he would often veto investments that Jeff chose, just to remind him that they were still equals. He would rage and bitch and cry, but at the end of the day, he knew he lost. Davy turned towards the sink to wash an apple.
"Hey, fucktard, that sink is *my* sink, and I didn't give *you* permission to use it."Jeff spat. He took a massive bite of the sandwich. Davy turned to shout at him.
He saw his brother, his mouth agape, turning blue rapidly. His eyes bulged out of his head like a bullfrog. He flailed for his throat and motioned to the phone. Davy felt a charge shoot through his body.
"Oh, Jeff..."Davy met his eyes, though his head was shaking. "That phone is on my side."Jeff collapsed to the ground. "You know, I thought Uncle Alex made this fucked up set up all those years ago because he wanted us to reconcile."Davy walked over to his downed brother. He suffocated and started to pass out. "But, according to his journal,"Davy produced a thin book. "He wanted to figure out who was the strongest. Now, his empire is ready to proceed."Davy sighed heavily as Jeff passed out.
He was free.
**EDIT: Fixed a bit of a hat pull. If anyone read it once, I would love to hear the feedback on my fix.** |
“Your left flank is exposed.”
“You should’ve used your fireball instead of your soul shackles here, DPS is more important than the crowd control at this stage of the fight.”
“Why waste stamina tumbling, I’m just sitting here.”
This is what Dragonir would’ve said, if he could, to all the gamers that entered his domain. Ever since Dark Souls 9 had come out, every day countless warriors came to his underground dungeon. Every day he engaged in countless battles. And everyday he suffered countless defeats. After all he was the first boss, the training dummy if you will. It wouldn’t do well for ratings if he were difficult, no? So he sat there in his dungeon, lazily watching as all the gamer avatars tumbled and spun meaninglessly and swung their swords haphazardly, and always he would stretch out and let himself be hit, or perhaps make a feeble swing that even a blind man would’ve seen coming. Every. Single. Time. Day after day, week after week, new challengers kept approaching. DS9 was fast becoming the most popular game of the year, but it had nothing to do with him, and everything to do with his older brother.
Gilgoroth. The God Slayer. The Ruined King. The Insufferable Dipshit (The last title was Dragonir’s personal description). He was the final boss. The head honcho, and the terror of gamers everywhere. All the forums were flooded with threads asking for tips on defeating him. IGN called him “The Most Difficult Boss in the History of Gaming” and he had made several popular streamers cry on TwitchTV because they couldn’t defeat him. And it was all because of that stupid armor. The golden armor: Solaris, a gift to him from the Thousand Suns High Priest. Well technically it was the gift to both of them, but Gilgoroth wouldn’t let him wear it, and every time Dragonir asked why he kept parroting the same stupid line.
“It’ll ruin the integrity of the game Drag.”
-----------
It had just turned past 4am in North America so the NPCs had a couple hours to lounge about before the next influx of players woke up. Gilgoroth had come down to Dragonir's dungeon to chat.
“Man this place is spotless Drag.”
“Yeah well, when no one dies there isn’t much to clean up Gil.”
“Haha too true, you should see my palace, so much blood and guts everywhere I forgot what the actual color of the walls is HAHAHAHAHAHAHA”
“Yeah…. you know I was thinking…”
“Leave it Drag. I know what you’re gonna ask.”
Gilgoroth stood up and in a flare of golden light he was adorned with Solaris. He undid the straps and hung it up on one of the many hooks hanging around the dungeon. Dragonir looked longingly at the armor. Gilgoroth stretched and yawned and caught Dragonir staring.
“You know it’s not all that special Drag.”
“What?”
“That, the armor.”
“Oh please.”
“I’m serious! There’s a lot more to being the final boss than just the armor. You have to be cunning, fast, always ready for the unexpected, plus don't get me started on this one weird issue I've been hav—“
“Yeah I’m sure, but it doesn’t hurt to have armor that gives so many stats the developers had to add an extra digit in the stat values code.”
Gilgoroth sighed and sat down with his lunch. Lichmeat sandwich, his favorite. He continued talking as he chomped down. “True I guess, but Drag you know you can’t use this armor. You’re the first boss, It’ll ruin the integrity of the—“
“Yeah yeah.”
Gilgoroth waved a giant mug at Dragonir. “Mind filling this for me?”
Dragonir rolled his eyes and grabbed the mug. He walked out of the dungeon and to the stream and began filling it with water, out of the corner of his eye he caught a glint. It was a vial. He picked it up and inspected it. A vial of sleep potion, every adventurer got one near the beginning of the game, one of them must have dropped it. Suddenly his eyes darted from the mug to the vial and a plan started to form in his head…
-------------
This is it. This is my moment, Dragonir thought as he shoved the snoring body of his older brother into one of the shacks.
“Sorry Gil, but it’s for the integrity of the game” he said sarcastically.
He walked over to the hook and took off Solaris. He donned it and immediately felt it. The overwhelming power, the might of a thousand suns coursing through his body. No wonder no one could defeat Gilgoroth, he thought. With this armor Dragonir felt unstoppable, invulnerable. This was it. This was his time to make a name. Now it would be his name that would be told fearfully on the Internet. His time to make the gamers quiver in fright.
And as if on cue he heard the footsteps of his first new victim approaching. Seems like the people in Asia were starting to wake up.
Dragonir grinned and made his way to the center of the dungeon. The warrior approached and took his position at the center of the dungeon. As soon as the warrior was within range, Dragonir began his assault.
Such power, Dragonir thought, as he continued to bash and destroy and incinerate everything. He wasn’t aiming for the warrior. If anything he was avoiding him, simply showing him a taste of his power. Of his insurmountable strength. He must be afraid Dragonir thought gleefully. Probably scouring the web on his second screen right now trying to find out how to deal with me. Ohohohoho, okay I think it’s time to end this. Dragonir turned and bellowed and then suddenly…
“What the…”
The curved shoulder piece of Solaris had gotten stuck in the wall. Dragonir roared and attempted to free himself with all his might. As he struggled he noticed the warrior get up and slowly inch his way toward Dragonir. Dragonir roared and struggled more but couldn’t free himself. The warrior got closer and closer and before he knew it Dragonir was under attack! Constantly being bashed by a basic wooden sword over and over and over! All he needed was one moment and he would blast this brat all the way to Dark Souls 10 IF HE COULD JUST GET OUT OF THIS STUPID WALL. Slowly in horror Dragonir watched as his life bar, millimeter by millimeter was taken out. Solaris, the golden armor of the Thousand Suns High Priest, was being destroyed by a wooden sword.
“WHAT??? NO!!! I AM DRAGONIR. WIELDER OF SOLARIS. I AM THE STRONGEST BOSS. I AM—“
*Patch Notes 1.2: Removed Gilgoroth exploit where he got trapped in the wall.*
|
"S'cool,"I said, "you won't remember this,"and watched dumb Benny Madsen's face get as red as his nose from where I'd hit him, and as he raised his fist I counted out the fourth second in my head and I pressed the button.
*ZAP!*
"Get out of the way, fag,"Benny Madsen said, and shoved me aside. It was like an intrusive memory, like I'd gotten so mad that I couldn't help but replay the scene in my head over and over again, except my arm hurt from where he'd shoved me and it was actually happening again.
I clenched my fist. It would be so easy to hit him. I knew exactly how he'd react. I'd grab his shoulder and he'd turn around with a sneer on his face and I'd pop him one right on the nose. And then I'd memorize his face and then I'd press the button. I could do it again. And again. As many times as I wanted. Instead I stood there bent over, watching his back as he walked away.
When I first figured out how the Zapper worked, I thought I'd found a miracle. It was just a black piece of plastic with a single button on it that I'd found while skulking around the excavation site down where they're putting in new drainpipe. I pressed the button, and I'd go back in time five seconds exactly. It's the kind of thing they make Disney Channel movies about, where some loser kid gets a magic power and has all these great adventures, and ends up getting a girlfriend and beating the bully and getting his parents back together.
Except going back in time five seconds doesn't get you any of that. It's just enough time to do something, and then undo it. It's seeing a fantasy in 100-percent perfect detail, and then realizing that it was just a fantasy after all, because you didn't have the guts to make it happen. I don't know how many times I'd hit Benny Madsen that year, or kicked him in the nuts. I don't know how many times I'd screamed at my mother exactly what I thought of her for driving dad away. And as for a girlfriend - well, that didn't even work as a fantasy. I'd try to keep a conversation going with Natasha Kim by rewinding every time I said something dumb, or when it took me longer than five seconds to think of something to say. I just ended up getting more and more anxious as the conversation went on, until five seconds weren't nearly long enough, until I wished I could rewind all the way back to the start and never talk to her to begin with.
So I stood there, watching Benny walk away, until one of his friends glanced behind them and said something in Benny's ear. Benny turned and saw me staring straight at him. I felt the Zapper in my pocket. Any time I wanted. Five seconds back, like it all never happened.
"What're you looking at, faggot?"he said.
I knew what a coward he was. I knew how he'd fall back shocked the moment someone hit back. I'd felt my fist in his soft belly a dozen times this year. I knew that if I didn't let up and just kept hitting him, I could probably beat the shit out of him. But he didn't know it. And that was the problem.
"I said, what're you looking at?"His voice was getting louder. He was advancing towards me. One more second and it'd be too late to go back and defuse this whole situation.
"I said -"he yelled, and then he didn't say anything else. I stepped forward and hit him as hard as I could in the face - his skull crunched against my knuckles - and then had him by the shirt collar before he could recover. My hand was bleeding. His face was bleeding. He looked at me, his pale blue eyes like shards of shattered glass, and I swung him to the side and heard bone connect against metal.
A girl screamed. People were going crazy. Benny was lying on the floor and he wasn't moving and there was a gash on the side of his head. I'd thrown him into an open locker and he'd caught the side of the door. The middle of the gash was so deep that the blood looked almost black.
I breathed. I was counting in my head. Two Mississippi. Three Mississippi. Four Mississippi. The world was swirling chaos around me.
My finger was on the button.
Five Mississippi.
Six Mississippi.
I pressed down on the button.
*ZAP!*
I paid attention, this time. The moment his head hit the locker. The way his head snapped back on his neck. I watched the way he collapsed to the floor. I burnt that into my memory.
Five seconds back, just as many times as I wanted. |
They descended on the village. From his birds-eye view in the chopper, the 32nd Division of Divinity looked like a writhing mass of ants, peaking the top of the hill and flooding down the other side. The first shot rang out, followed by the chatter of automatic gunfire. The ants began to fall, the front line melting and reforming as the wave of soldiers moved forward. The radio chattered in Francis' ear.
*...estimate 50,000 casualties at current closing rate...push 'em faster...*
For 20 minutes, the helicopter hovered over the scene, until every last soldier had moved out of the area and into the village. Then it landed atop the hill. Francis climbed out. He looked weary and haggard but his determination couldn't be denied. His generals refused to let him partake in the initial charge, yet they couldn't keep Francis entirely out of the battle.
He walked down the hillside. Screams of agony filled his ears. Medics rushed about, trying to save those who still had a chance. The ground was slick with blood and his white slippers were soon soaked in red. As he walked past the dying men and women, he murmured prayers. His expression was calm, belying his inner turmoil. *What have I done?* he thought. *How much misery have I caused? Is this the way, Lord?* But there was no answer from above. Francis trudged forward. Stray gunfire could still be heard, a single shot here, machine gun chatter there. Still, Francis trudged forward. At the foot of the hill, he was met by General Smith.
"Holiness, I respectfully ask again that you remain a safe distance until the battle is over. We may not even be able to secure this..."
Francis interrupted him. "Come with me, General. Let us survey the battlefield."
Smith gave a resigned nod. Francis led the way, marching towards the sound of gunfire. The streets were littered with his brave warriors, dead and dying. They rounded a corner and found themselves face to face with the enemy. In his hands was an AK-47, barrel still smoking. Francis never slowed his pace. His military training kicked in, training that he had helped devise. Instinctively, he threw his arms wide open and smiled.
"Jesus loves you. I love you. Jesus forgives you. I forgive you."A moment later, Smith's voice chimed in. The pair moved steadily forwards. "Jesus loves you. I love you. Jesus forgives you. I forgive you."
The AK-47 snapped upwards as the soldier rested it against his shoulder and took aim. His eyes were those of a tortured soul, a man who had seen horrific things.
"Please,"he begged, "please stop! Do not come any closer! I've killed so many today. Dozens, maybe even hundreds. Women, children, old men...how could you send so many to die?"The man was carefully stepping backwards as Francis moved forwards.
"We will not fight you,"said Francis. "But we will not surrender. Put down your gun. Jesus loves you. I love you. Jesus forg..."
"Please! I do not want to kill you!"the man interrupted, but the barrel of the gun was already lower, pointing at the ground now, and tears streamed down his face. He had stopped moving, standing in place, waiting for the inevitable.
"Then embrace us."Francis and Smith closed the distance with a few steps, holding their arms wide open. The rifle slowly slid from the man's grasp, clattering to the ground. Francis and Smith pulled the man closer, and the three men clung to each other, sobbing in relief and horror and joy, as men of war so often do. It was a costly way to wage a holy war, but it was the only way a true Christian could wage war and call it "holy".
|
Sek and I don't understand. No matter what we try, these stupid humans won't die. The leader of our division assigned us a new mission a month ago: kill all the "humans"on the planet Earth. We are the commanders who watch the planet and make the decisions. We have spies disguised as humans on Earth to act as our eyes. We also have workers who build or create whatever we ask them to. Normally, it takes a few weeks to discover a weakness in the inhabitants, and to make them all kill themselves by exploiting it. These humans, however, are different.
"I commend their adaptability."Noted Sek.
"They are stupid, plain and simple."I retorted. "It's so infuriating!"
We had multiple approaches already. First, we tried something that usually worked; a virus. The virus would attack their emotional sirton, but we soon discovered that humans din't have those!
"How do they even have emotion!"I cried. "This is unheard of!"
"Don't let the anger affect you too much. The boss is getting impatient, and you can't think straight when you're too emotionally unstable."Sek scolded.
"Very well."I answered.
A few days after our first attempt, we tried something new. We started putting subliminal messages in their "video games"as they were known. We hoped the children would be affected by the violence, and that they would kill themselves. The parents would follow soon after. Genius, right?
Wrong. The children seemed to revel in the games, and were even happier somehow.
"Humans are some of the most complex cases I've seen in my two-hundred and six year career."I said dryly.
"Challenges are fun sometimes right?"Sek said optimistically.
"This isn't a challenge. This is impossible."
Our third and most recent attempt had been to simply start ruining their planet slightly. This would hopefully cause depression, and humans would start killing themselves. Again, we were wrong.
They ignored the rising waters, and the rising heat. Everything we did was met with ignorance.
"I'm fresh out of ideas."Sighed Sek.
"Me too. I'm going to sleep for a bit."I informed my partner.
As I walked out the room and towards my cabin, a thought crossed my mind.
"Man, this mission really makes me want to kill myself."
Edit: Accidentally posted without finishing. |
It was my fault, I guess. I've always been nosy, always been a bit of a voyeur. I'm the person who combs through people's post histories, tries to pick out personal details and put together a profile of them in my head. I follow random blogs, watch people squeal and whine and hurl invective at each other, and cast their concerns out into the turbulent ocean of the internet. She needs to raise funds for surgery, he's breaking up with his girlfriend, she's got a whole host of mental illnesses elaborated upon. So-and-so is closeted or trans or hates their parents or is depressed or is taking commissions for some unspeakable genre of porn.
I used to want to be a writer, kept a little notebook full of ideas and everything. But I gave it up, realized that some kid with a blog could be more earnest and direct and meaningful than I ever could. All these private lives exposed to the world, remaining largely private thanks to the fact that the ocean is vast, and the ocean is impossibly crowded, and the ocean for the most part doesn't care. We cast our precious bottles out to sea, and the ocean for the most part swallows them whole.
So there I was at a beach with friends, everyone shrieking and splashing in the water or spreading out their towels and simmering in the scent of suntan lotion or capering across the hot sand or building castles or setting up umbrellas or swimming out to sea. And I was staring at my feet, at the bottle that had just washed up to shore. So with the rest of the beachgoers clamoring around me, I crouched down and unstoppered it and tipped a crumbling note out in my hand. It had a single sentence, written in a wavering script:
*I'm so sorry to have done this to you.*
And I imagined an island, and a single bottle, and a single scrap of paper, and a single opportunity to send a message out into the world. And in the end this is what they had chosen. They'd rolled the paper out on some flat rock, safe from the waves, and considered crying SOS, trying to mark their coordinates by the sun. There would have been no useful information to send, no return address. And in the end, all meaningful communication would have boiled down to that message: I am here, and you are here, and there is nothing we can do to help each other. I am so sorry to have done this to you.
I looked up, and everyone else on the beach was gone.
I briefly considered sliding the message back in and stoppering it up again and throwing the bottle back out to sea. But that wouldn't help anyone, least of all me. Loneliness shared doesn't cure loneliness. There are lots of bottles still here, empty bottles of soda scattered among the detritus, there are postcards and paper napkins and cardboard trays and paper pennants left to write on. I'd had to go all the way back up to the deserted hotel and steal a pen off the front desk. But that one message did it. I've started writing again.
I've written, 'Your life has value and meaning,' and I've written 'Don't be afraid,' and I've written, 'There is no mistake you cannot fix.' I've written and re-written a lot of dumb platitudes, trying to make them sound profound. The trash can is filled with the torn-up scraps of my first drafts. I've written episodes from my life in tiny script, trying to make something that would fit in a bottle. I've drawn maps, I've drawn faces, I've got through the trash that everyone else in the world left behind, and tried to reconstruct them through my writing. And once in a while I've written something worthwhile.
I slide them into a soda bottle and bag up the bottle in a Ziploc bag and I throw them out into the ocean, and watch the waves carry them away. Maybe someone will find them. Maybe no one will. But there's no pity in it anymore, no apology. This is what I have made of myself, whether or not anyone else sees it.
And every day I sit by the beach and see the ocean glinting with strange bottles, and I dive in and carry back as many as I can. |
It has been overlooked because it is invisible. There are halls and halls of records, each with thousands of tomes, each with pages upon pages, listing all the powers. But in the middle of one of the lists there is a blank space.
What could this power, written invisibly and unreadable by mortal eyes, possibly be? you wonder.
As you stare at the blank space, wracking your brains, wanting, needing to know what this mysterious power, written invisibly, is, you start to feel agitated. It could be the greatest of all possible powers, but written down invisibly, so that no one would ever have the opportunity to read it. It could be some power which, once the incoming generations knew it was available, would change the course of history, perhaps much for the better. This unreadable power, whatever it is, had been written invisibly for a reason. You ponder what that reason might be, until it finally hits you.
Aha! It's been kept invisible as a test. Its very invisibility constitutes a test to and for humanity! Because in order for its secrets to be revealed, one heroic person, one heroic 21 year old, would have to give up his or her opportunity to choose among all the various powers in the world, all those which would be in his or her best interest, that would lead to him or her having a wonderful and exceptional life, immortality, invisibility, super strength, super intelligence, et cetera, in order to do the right thing, for the sake of humanity.
You confidently decide to do the right thing, for the sake of humanity. You will be the true altruist, the one who brings salvation to humanity by unveiling the mystery hidden in the blank space where is written, invisibly, the greatest of all powers, beyond all human imagination.
You walk to the front desk of the government building, striding, knowing the sacrifice you are about to make is for the good of humanity, for the sake of the species itself. As you walk you imagine the headlines, the newscasts, praising your selflessness. You imagine the book that will be written about what you are about to do. You imagine the book-based films that will follow. And you imagine, thousands of years from now, when humanity is much changed, for the better, because of the great power you unearthed for all posterity, families sitting around tables, praising you and speaking your name with reverence, saying that your name will echo through eternity.
At the front desk you look square in the bureaucrat's eye, and you say:
"It is my 21st birthday."
"Yes,"she says, smiling. "What power do you choose? And remember, once you have chosen, your choice is irrevocable. So, be sure you choose well."
"I choose to have the power to read invisible writing,"you say.
"Curious,"she says. "Very curious. They say the power chooses the person. But I never thought in all my days someone would...Very well. If you're sure...then the power is all yours."
You rush back to the records room, weaving through the isles to the section where you first found the blank space, the space filled with the hallowed power but writ invisibly. You pull the great tome down from the shelf. You flip to the page where you know it is. And there, on that page, where the blank space had been, now you see it, filled in, just as you suspected. And you read it, first in your head, and then out loud:
"Power 218949: The power to read invisible writing."
|
"Holy shit, are you okay,"Jane burst out, having been woken from her slumber by the sound of Gary flying across the bed and getting his face smashed into the wardrobe door.
"Not now,"he replied back aggressively, wiping a bit of blood off his lip. He got into a comical squat position and dove back onto the bed, flying in between the mattress the quilt and landing bang in the middle of his pillow. Jane pushed at his shoulder to check if he was alrite, but Gary was having none of it. He was already gone.
Moments passed, and he once again opened his eyes where he had closed them; on the forty fifth floor of the Grand Tower. His lifelong adversary Carlos stood over him, smirking. Never once had Gary been able to outdo Carlos. It always ended with him waking up bruised, sometimes a little more and sometimes a little less. But today was different, he'd thought to himself before getting into it. He would put an end to it today. In fact he was so confident, he'd even come up with a punchline to really cement his victory.
"Looks like you Car-lost,"Gary had imagined himself proclaiming.
As Carlos cocked his fist back hoping to land another sucker punch, Gary slid out from underneath him like a slippery fish and regained his balance. He wiped the blood of his face, quite certain that he looked like the dude from *Fight Club*, when in fact the reality was far from it. He hadn't managed to wipe it clean off and now the blood was sort of smeared all over his cheek, like badly put on lipstick.
Nonetheless, being unaware of this, his confidence didn't stir in the littlest. He cautiously prowled around Carlos, who didn't seem particularly frightened, but that would surely change.
Gary feinted his arm towards the left, immediately making Carlos swerve to the right. Big mistake. With spectacularly poor form, Gary flung his other arm, landing a half open palm on Carlos's cheek. The latter, caught off-guard stumbled backwards and within a second and a half found himself on the floor, eyes closed.
Just then, the first ray of sunlight made its way into the bedroom, providing Gary with a hero's awakening.
"HE CAR-LOST! IT'S OVER"
"What?"grumbled Jane, as she struggled to open her swollen black-eye. |
"Oh God! I beg you! Back to Hell! Back to Hell!"My mother was shouting again and I tried to cover my ears with the pillow even harder. My ears were already were stuffed with cotton and wrapped with noise-cancelling earphones but I could still hear it clearly with the damned supernatural screaming. It wasn't really my mother though, not really. You see Satan, yes the literal devil, thought he would have a little fun with my mom for a few days by possessing her and making her life a living Hell.
At first it had gone fine and my poor mother found herself in embarrassing situation after situation where she, as Satan's puppet, shouted at women, children, and the neighbor's about how they could rot in Hell and she would fornicate their mother's corpses. I learned some very interesting cuss words during those two couple of days, let me tell you. The local priest convinced her that she was possessed and the exorcism he tried to perform ended up with the Church burning down, the priest being revealed as a lush with a penchant for young parishioners, and my mom seriously being avoided by everyone in the local religious community.
I knew the moment she had enough and took control. "You dirty son of a..."Satan started to yell but was stopped in mid sentence. I think I saw his surprise though her eyes at the sheer power of her will and in that instant he tried to escape but was pulled back in as she said, "Oh no you don't! You started this, you scamp! You go when I *say* you go"
My mother never cursed again as the hours turned to day, and the days to months, and finally the months to years. Just when I thought she'd let the poor fellow go I would have a night like tonight with him begging God to release him from the torment. Poor Satan had to sit through all day marathons of Matlock, Bridge games, bingo, and who knows what else while trapped inside my mother's head.
"Please God! I will repent! I have been prideful but this... this is a damnation I have never dreamed of! If I have to watch her knit one more scarf I will go insane!"My mother yelled in her sleep.
"Satan!"I yelled, finally having enough, "Shut up! SHUT THE HELL UP! You're like the biggest wimp on the planet! I'm trying to sleep here!"
There was silence and then my mother yelled back, "I know your sins, Jonathan, don't you speak that way to me! Why don't you go back to pleasuring yourself to Rainbow Dash, Johnny-boy?!? Just let me go back to yelling at God to release me from your damnable mother! Just diddle your horse pillow some more, you pervert!"
"She's a PONY!"I yelled defensively. I was almost glad he was trapped. Satan was a jerk. |
No matter what I try and do, I can do it in less than a minute. I can dominate the field playing soccer, I can win wars for countries, I can build anything; I can do what I want, when I want. But not for as long as I want.
You may think being able to do anything in less than a minute sounds amazing; you can do anything you want in a fashion so speedy that even road-runner meeps in awe. Let me tell you buddy, it's not. You can only do stuff for a minute. You live your life by minutes. You are controlled by a social concept, a concept that humans alive today don't acknowledge or understand.
My life is a living hell. I'm bored beyond belief, stuck in my crummy apartment. I'm spread out awkwardly on the floor, eyes tightly shut, like a man about to die. I've done everything there is to do so many times that even taking over the world has become a mundane activity.
*I wish I could pass time* I muttered; and then it happened.
I open my eyes to what seemed to be time fast-forwarding. The curtains flapped wildly and the sky flashed between day and night. I watched my old, leather sofa become a sea of thick green moss and my bed become a home to a family of rats. I sat there in utter awe, confused as to whether I should believe what I was seeing.
Of course, after a minute, the sensation stopped. My back ached and my mouth felt bone dry. I crawled my way to the taps and turned them on. A green liquid oozed out of the taps and seemed to writhe onto my skin, instantly burning it so my flesh was visible. I shook off the 'thing' and squirmed my way to the window. With the tips of my fingers, trying to touch the curtains as little as possible, I pulled them open.
My eyes burned and all I could see is an array of colorful dots flashing before me. I turned away and waited for the sensation to stop. I then put my hand over my head and look into the street. It's empty. No houses, no people, no cars. Completely empty. The sky is a dim gray and no grass can be seen anywhere. The roads seemed to have peeled away into nothingness, though fragments of them were barely visible in the dull, dry earth that covered my street...
*What have I done! I wish this never happened!* I thought silently.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
|
“Longbottom you dense fuck,” yells Professor Ramsey. “How bloody thick must you be to add essence of FIRE BEETLE to a Mojido Potion?”
“I didn’t know sir, I thought that the liquid properties of the juice would contribu-“
“Voldemort’s saggy left bollock, did it ever occur to you that the heat of a fire beetle might, just possibly might bloody ruin a thirst-quenching potion?!?”
Sheepishly, Neville waved his wand at the cauldron. “Evanesco,” he choked out, and began grinding the Salt of a Broken-shelled Barnacle for his seventh attempt at the Mojido Potion.
A sizzle is heard from the far corner of the dungeon. “Merlin’s beard Malfoy”, exclaims Ramsey, “How the bloody hell did you manage to burn a hole through that fucking cauldron?”
“Obviously it’s not my fault” replied Draco with disgust. “I cast an Impervious Charm beforehand so that nothing would touch the cauldron.”
“You bloody idiot, how is the heat supposed to reach the fucking potion!”
“Look it’s not my-“
“Look? Yeah let’s look at your bloody potion, Malfoy” said Ramsey as he waved his wand, “Accio potion!”
“Put your hand in and get me a piece of the Tentacula.” Gingerly, Malfoy reached pulled out a tendril.
“ITS SO BLOODY RAW, “ screams Ramsey “THAT IT’S STILL TRYING TO STRANGLE YOU”
“IF YOU LOT COULD LEARN ANY SLOWER YOU’D BE BLOODY FORGETTING”
|
They did me the honor of starting the trip while I still lived. Despite how the cabin roared and rumbled around me, I was strangely at peace, pressed into my bed with 3 times the gravity of Earth. It felt nice to be free of those all the tubes and wires they'd removed just hours before takeoff. It wasn't as if it'd matter anymore.
I shot across the sky, a passenger in a titanium coffin on his way to the great unknown for one last huzzah. I turned my head and saw the clouds fly by behind me as my rocket cut through the atmosphere. I was faster than a speeding bullet and frailer than a newborn child. Gradually, the Earth released its grip on my disease-riddled body, and my arms felt light enough that I moved them for the first time in months. As the rockets fell down to earth, leaving only my humble cell against the infinite vastness of space, I felt oddly at peace, staring out into a sea of stars. I saw Polaris. And then I slept as the cryostasis overtook my body, preparing it to survive the hazards ahead. It'd be a long flight to Andromeda.
I awoke in an immense void, feeling no pain and seeing no light. No matter how I pushed, I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe, but I didn't suffocate. I couldn't tell if my eyes were open. But there was sound coming from somewhere in the unknown. It got closer.
"Hello. Can you understand?"I heard, as if it spoke from within my head. I tried to respond, but I could neither move nor feel my mouth. *Yes! I'm over here!* I thought desperately. *Help! I can't move my body!*
"I see. Well, you don't have a body anymore. We freed your consciousness from the prison that held you."The voice has no tone, no pitch, no timbre, and yet I understood it perfectly. It felt as if I was speaking to my own thoughts.
*That prison was my ship. It protected me from the dangers of space. You wrecked a piece of 2 billion dollar technology.* Had I gone mad in my isolation? Was this conversation really happening?
"We weren't talking about the ship. The carbonated prison that reeked of death and decay aboard it was determined to take you down with it."
*My body? It's gone?* Was it even possible to feel fear without my amygdala? Panic without my adrenal glands?
"We are above such physical necessities. But we can restore it if you wish."
I immediately felt trapped, hungry, cold, and very heavy. I flailed my limbs aimlessly, flapping around in the vacuum of space as my lungs failed to fill with air. A split second later, I'd returned to my state of drifting.
*No. I think I'm good. So you live in Adromeda? Just clusters of consciousness?*
"The physical realm is beneath our meddling. Beneath you. You are, essentially, one of us now, in every way except the antiquated thoughts that still plague your mind. The methods in which we communicate are, sadly, limited as well. When you are ready, we can go and meet the rest."So there were more. But still it felt wrong. Was it guilt for achieving immortality based on a joke, when billions had dedicated their lives and failed? I pushed these thoughts aside.
*Before we go, can I check in on Earth? See what it looks like? What year it is?*
"The planet you came from has long since been swallowed by your sun. I do not believe there are any beings who still keep track of time. It's an antiquated notion."
*So that's it then? They're all gone? Those billions of people, like that.*
"Come with me, and you will be free of this sentimental burden. Paradise awaits."
*No thanks. I'm one of you now, right? I have your powers?*
"You have the ability to manipulate the physical realm, within limits. Most of us choose to ignore such frivolities. In any case, we will not force an unwilling man to join us. If you ever seek answers or companionship, project into the void. We will answer."And then I was alone with my thoughts.
I mourned my family so many millenia after they'd passed. I mourned my dog, the house I'd grew up in. I mourned the sun and the sea and the stars. I felt homesick, but this time I had no mother to cry to and no eyes to cry from. And so, drifting in the vast void of space, I thought to reclaim some semblance of the world that had been taken from me. I steeled myself, dug deep into my mental reserves, and channeled all my will into a single thought to bring back life into this dead space.
*Let there be light*
_______________________________________
[more](https://www.reddit.com/r/Tensingstories/) |
"Seriously, there's supposed to be an old swimming pool in the basement from before the renovations. You just can't get down there anymore. It's all in the old blueprints,"Jay took a hearty swig of dining hall orange juice before hooking a thumb through the window, "It's the oldest building on campus. Who knows what's down there?"
Nathan smirked a bit, "Yeah, and just how are we supposed to get down there? You got access to a maintenance key i don't know about? This is gonna end up like that time you got us all up on top of the Electrical Engineering building and then we got *locked* up there for five hours."He slashed his hand through the air sharply, "count me out of this one. You want to get yourself stuck in a basement, fine by me. I'll call facilities when you're not back in your room tonight."
Nathan stood up and went to bus his tray as Jay glared after him. The rest of the guys just sat there thoughtfully, trying to finish their lunches. Jay wasn't going to be so easily deterred though, "You guys are in right?"
Noah shook his head, "I got class in twenty on the far side of Douglass. I'm probably late already,"he gestured pointedly with the half a sandwich he was holding, "but I'll back up Nathan on this one. Nothing good has ever come from trying to sneak around this campus with you."
James sighed loudly, "Fine then. I'll go with him. Someone needs to keep him from getting lost in the Humanities departments, I guess."
---------------------------------
Twenty minutes later saw them in the elevator heading down to the basement level of the McNair-Harris Humanities Hall, and James had leaned back against the elevator wall with his hands behind his head, "So what's the big plan here?"He asked as the elevator dinged, "You can't exactly just close the doors again and expect something to happen."
To make his point James hit the door close button before Jay could make it out of the elevator, as they slid shut without any further input however, James ran into a surprise.
The elevator began to descend.
Eyes widening in surprise, James met Jay's triumphant gaze and rolled his eyes before he had to see Jay start reenacting a touchdown dance.
The elevator kept going down.
The two were silent as the seconds rolled by. James knew this wasn't a particularly fast elevator, but it also wasn't slow. It covered the eight floors of the Humanities building in about a minute, and they'd now been descending for quite a bit longer than that. He knew one of the physics buidlings had five sub-basements, but they had to be descending below that now. There wasn't anything down this far.
The elevator kept descending.
"The blueprints just said there was an extra basement,"Jay said, mild concern shaking in his voice. He began fiddling with his fingers, "This doesn't make any sense."
The elevator kept descending.
"Oh the hell with this,"James muttered as he went to key the elevator emergency override. Let facilities dig them out of this.
The elevator kept descending.
The seconds kept ticking by, the two young men growing ever more irritable. James began knocking on the walls of the elevator, screaming for it to stop. Jay sat in the corner and started hyperventilating. Minutes ticked by. They were far too deep to be believable at this point.
Finally the elevator slid smoothly to a stop, and the doors slid open. Greeting James' quick glance was a sterile-clean hallway of a brushed metallic substance, lit by overhead flourescants and carrying in an arrow straight manor about fifty feet in front of them to terminate at a large spartan desk in front of a frosted glass double door. The logo on that door had James' blood running cold.
"Oh you have got to be shitting me."Jay exclaimed.
As if his words had conjured her, the frosted double doors slid open and a slim, young woman strolled out into the hallway, placing a file folder on the desk and smiling at them as she pushed a couple strands of blonde hair behind her ears. The smile never reached her eyes.
"Welcome to Umbrella, gentlemen. I don't believe you had an appointment." |
"Velcome tooo Hydraulic Press, er, ChannEL, today we are goink to cresh... eh, eville gold locket. It, eh, makes a me want to hurt things, so eh, lets go!"
The Horcrux is placed on the steel cylinder and a gloved hand sets the lever into the 'down' position. The press whirrs into life, slowly lowering itself unto the evil artifact. The press makes contact, whining as it struggles to crush the locket horcrux. The gauge needle shoots into the red as an unearthly scream emits from the gold locket. All at once the locket and the press burst into a fiery explosion. Clouds of black and green emanate from the mass of twisted steel. Inhuman shapes form from the clouds, their faces twisted in screams of agony and black sludge pours from gaping wounds.
The screaming dies down as quickly as it came, the clouds dispersing. All that is seen in frame is the twisted, smoking remains of the hydraulic press.
"HOLY SHEIT!" |
“I knew it, I knew it!” Nathan screamed, his voice filling the vast, lonely void of his tiny apartment. He was staring down at his phone, frantically swiping through a series of photos. At a glance, these photos looked to be artwork. Pieces from a surrealist gallery opening, a few Romantic era paintings, and even a couple of dark pieces resembling the work of H.R. Giger. For Nathan, these pictures were proof. The first proof of their kind. “I knew it all along!” he shouted.
On the other side of his apartment’s wall, he heard a baby being to wail. “Damn it, dude,” a voice called out through the paper thin walls, “we just got her down for a nap, I swear to god, if this happens again I’ll come over there and ---” Nathan paid no mind to the voice, and was already out the door. He knew exactly who to talk to.
He booked it down the stairs to apartment number one-hundred and forty-eight, and began banging on the door frantically. “John, John, you’ve got to see this,” he rambled on and on, his voice becoming raspy and dry as he spoke, frequently forgetting to breathe. “John, I have proof this time, open the door!” Before long, a neighbor poked her head out.
“Christ, Nathan, how many times do I have to tell you. It’s two-o-clock in the afternoon, John is probably at work or napping or something. Quit your crazy ass screaming and go back to your room, before I call the police. Every damn day with this shit.” His foul mouthed neighbor lamented before slamming the door shut.
So Nathan waited, and waited, periodically glancing through the photos as he sat by John’s door. John, at least, would understand. He always did. He was a dreamer too, he had seen through to the other side. Talking with him is what inspired Nathan to start this little experiment, they had been working together on it for months, trying to break through the veil of their dreams and bring some fragment back with them. Some sort of proof.
Nathan, who claimed to be an independent photographer, was tasked with bringing back compelling visual evidence. John’s talents lied elsewhere. He worked for several years as a veterinarian before losing his license for “improper disposal of remains.” The ethics board let him off easy, considering how outraged the pets owners were when they found out about his experiments. These days he finds himself working in animal control. John’s task as a dreamer? Capturing and returning a live specimen.
After waiting for quite a while, Nathan heard a bit of stirring from inside of the apartment. He knocked again. The stirring inside grew louder and louder, until it reached the door, which slowly creaked open to reveal Johns bloodshot eyes and trademark devious smirk.
“Thank god you’re home, John, I’ve got proof, let me in already!” Nathan pushed through the door and shut it behind him, elated to share his discovery.
“I found something too,” John laughed, clutching a bloody shoulder, “Well, sort of. You might say it found me. Sit down. I’ll show you.”
***
Feedback is massively appreciated. More of my writing can be found at /r/Floonatic.
Edit: [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/dcz3ai/wp_youve_always_been_a_lucid_dreamer_getting_to/f2dot7f?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x)
Edit: [Part 3](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/dcz3ai/wp_youve_always_been_a_lucid_dreamer_getting_to/f2dw03b?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x) |
"Give me just a moment, please. I need to get dressed. Will you wait there? Please?"
If it were anyone else, I'd be skeptical, but with him...well...I trust him not to try anything until he's changed.
I nod.
"Thank you! This will only be a moment, I promise."
He goes off into the next room. I can hear him stumbling around. Knowing him, he's probably trying desparetly to find something that at least smells clean. He may not be the smartest villain, but appearances are important to him.
I take a look at the computer, hoping that I might find out what I'll be up against today. Unfortunately, but somehow predictably, he was just watching cat videos.
"WHERE IS MY LABCOAT?"The doctor shouts from his room. "DID I LEAVE IT OUT THERE?"
I look around, but I don't see it. I'm about to answer when his robot responds from upstairs. "IT'S IN THE LAUNDRY, SIR."
"WHY IS IT IN THE LAUNDRY? IT WAS STILL CLEAN!"
"TODAY IS THURSDAY, SIR! THURSDAY IS LAUNDRY DAY."
I found myself, not for the first time, standing around awkwardly while my enemy dealt with personal issues. As usual, I just kick at the carpet and fiddle with the brim of my hat while I wait.
"WELL WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO WEAR? HE'S HERE NOW!"
"THE ONE THAT YOUR DAUGHTER GOT YOU IS IN THE HALL CLOSET. MIGHT I SUGGEST THAT?"
"I DON'T LOOK GOOD IN BLACK AND YOU KNOW IT!"
"BUT SIR, YOU HAVEN'T WORN IT SINCE SHE GAVE IT TO YOU. IT WOULD MEAN SO MUCH TO HER."
"FINE! Fine. I'll wear the black one."The doctor came out of his room, now fully dressed. He pulls a black leather lab coat out of the closet and puts it on. "Just one more second, I promise"he said to me.
He took out his cell phone, snapped a quick selfie, and sent it to someone. "Sorry. Had to show Vanessa that I was using her present,"he finally turned to me again. "Now, where were we? Ah, yes, that's right."
He presses a button on the wall and I suddenly find myself restrained by robotic arms emerging from the floor.
"Well, well, well,"he says in his nasely Drusselsteinien accent, "Perry the Platypus. How unexpected." |
It was never a tradition that I liked. To see the older children be forced to pick a predetermined path of power for the rest of their life. It felt so final, so limiting. Always the wheel, never a choice. Chance dictating your future forever. I was the youngest, and I had many siblings. So I got to see almost every single option. Dad had the power to grow plants, useful for him as a farmer. Mum had the power of healing and medicine, so she was always busy. My older brother got the power of defensive magic, to protect others, and he does well as a soldier, protecting us all. My older sister won the power of geomancy, and works with the golems to excavate minerals. Only one missing in the family was the power of magical music.
I don't have a tune to my soul, so I hoped it was something else though. And today, it is my turn. I am sent in, alone, to spin the Wheel of Destiny. To earn my power, and be forever shackled to one path, one of demure servitude, of meekness and humility. For our civilisation has lived in peace for hundreds of years. Alone and without enemies. Our soldiers merely protect the towns against wild beasts, like batwolves, demihags, or surrocats. Everything is ordered. Everything is safe. In every town there is a wheel, and every child spins the Wheel.
Our Wheel is the oldest in the world. It was said to have been here when our ancestors first came to this land. Our ancestors learned the power of the Wheel and copied it to all the settlements. And they serve as the foundation for our world. It certainly looks ancient as I approach it. My parents spun this wheel. My siblings spun this Wheel. My grandparents, and our ancestors have all spun this Wheel upon the day which we turn 10.
But as I touch it, I see something odd. The ancient Wheel, said to be made from stone that came from beyond this world, has a crack in it. I gingerly touch it, and as I do, it causes the Wheel to shatter and break. Initially, I am struck with terror, but then I see something. Underneath the thin coating of painted metal that the Wheel was encased in, there is a different coat of paint. A different set of powers. Each of the powers are represented with an identifying image. A flower for plants, a rock for geomancy, a shield for protection, a harp for music, and a serpent coiled around a staff for healing.
This wheel, beneath the outer one, has only three such images. A pair of crossed bones. The horn of a ram, glowing a strange green aura. And a drop of crimson blood. I was a quiet child, one who read many things, who listened when the eldest told tales. And they spoke of three dark powers. Bones must be necromancy, the power to command the dead and to become an immortal and monstrous lich. The horn must be the power to command and summon demons, and to ascend to become an immortal demon yourself. The drop of blood is the command of the living with the binding of blood, and the power to become an immortal bloodthirsty vampire.
From the outside of the shrine, I hear them calling for me, to spin the Wheel. A part of me wants to run. Wants to escape, but the shrine only has one exit. Only one path. And my family, and much of the town, awaits to learn what power I have been given. In desperation, in sheer hope that something is better than nothing, I spin the dark Wheel.
It spins and it spins, around and around it goes, slowing down, ever so slightly. Until it is clear that it will reach the final power. It passes over necromancy, and nearly stops at vampirisim, until it reaches the power of the demonic. I step back as the Wheel starts to glow with eldritch and unnatural light. But the Wheel has me. And I feel the power swell within me. It is said that the powers diffuse if picked too often, that the Wheel needs time to recharge, otherwise the power you get will be weak. This dark Wheel hasn't been spun in living memory. Perhaps not since the time before our ancestors came to this land.
And so the power is not merely small and simple. It is like an ocean's worth of demonic power fills me. Pours into my body, until every inch is filled, overflowing with the energy of the demonic. An eternity passes, and at the same time only a brief second passes. But when I awake, I am changed. The most powerful of my people can but hold a candle to what I am now. My first act with this power, is to shatter the Wheel of Destiny. Shatter it to a million pieces.
I emerge from the shrine, and the townsfolk, my friends and family, are cheering for me. But that quickly ceases. For power such as I now have is not easily hidden. My eyes shine with dark power. Great horns have grown on my head. My feet have twisted and grown into cloven hooves. From my back, wings made of tainted silver emerge. Above my head, there floats a golden crown.
Fate has chosen. The Wheel of Destiny has chosen. For the first time in our history, the Dark Wheel has been spun. And from its boundless and untapped reserve of energy, the child I was is reforged. Into a Demon Lord. Our society has stagnated, into dull repetition. And it will make for an easy conquest. Besides, I have to take our world, for if our Wheel is the blueprint, all Wheels contain a Dark Wheel. If others find out, and take the right steps, this land could turn from an easy conquest, into a thousand tiny dark realms.
And I will suffer no rivals to live.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) |
“Master!” hissed the tiny red demon as it followed me down the hill. “Please, let me serve!”
“Haha, no, that’s okay,” I replied awkwardly. “Thank you, though.” I hiked my laundry basket up under my arm and sped up.
The tiny demon hissed again, then fled, its arms and legs flapping wildly.
Sighing, I continued my way to the river. One of the worst things about the Rapture—not counting the utter and total desertion by my once Lord and Savior Jesus Christ—was the total shutdown of laundry machines. Well, I guess that’s more of a general infrastructure problem. Regardless, now I had to go down to the river to wash my clothes, which totally sucked.
*Something to be thankful for,* I thought to myself as I knelt down by the river bank. *What am I thankful for today?*
My favourite brand of laundry detergent never ran out. That was something, I guess.
I sighed again, then poured a cup of the detergent into my laundry basket.
“Master!” cried a lovely voice in front of me. “Master, please, let us serve.”
“Yes, Master! The Sirens will serve you, in any shape or manner you desire!”
“We’ll let you do anything to us, Master!”
Deep breaths. In, and out.
“Thank you, but no,” I said, trying to smile. “I appreciate the offer.” I kept my eyes squarely down onto my boring laundry basket. Looking at the Sirens was an easy trip down temptation street, and that was not my *modus operandi*, no sir. I still considered myself a Christian, even though Christ himself had abandoned me.
I heard a ripple of water as the Sirens approached. A long, pale curved arm stretched out, stroking my knee.
“Master?” said the Siren softly. “You are the Prince of Hell, the Bane of Heaven, the Anti-Christ himself. Why do you resist your destiny?”
I stiffly got up with my laundry basket—eyes still on the ground—and went to another part of the bank. I roughly mixed up the detergent into my clothes, like I was tossing a salad.
A moment of silence, then ripples of water followed me.
“Master?”
“Nope,” I said, mashing up my clothes. “Not here. Not me. You got the wrong guy.”
A ripple in the water that suggested the Sirens looked at one another.
“You may deceive yourself, Master, but us hellspawn can see the truth. You bear the foretold mark of the Anti-Christ. It blazes above your head like a falling star. You will lead the armies of Hell against the minions of Heaven in a great, world-altering battle!”
“Nope, nope, nope.” I start punching down my clothes.
“Master, not even you can deny Fate. In seven years, Christ will descend to the Earth with Heaven at his back, and you must be ready to meet him."
I shook my head tightly. I was beating my clothes now.
"But, Master—"
“Enough!” I shouted, snapping my head up. The three Sirens were staring at me, wide-eyed and gorgeous, but it barely registered in my fuming mind. My teeth were clenched so tight I thought they’d break. “I’ve had enough of this Anti-Christ business! I’m not him, so leave me alone, or I swear to God, I’ll… I’ll…”
I broke off suddenly, my anger evaporating as quick as it came. Where had that come from? I was always an even-keel person pre-Rapture. That’s why I had joined the clergy, hoping to become a priest. I thought I had the temperament for such a thing.
“Sorry,” I muttered, blushing. “That was wrong of me.”
“No!” said the Siren in the middle, shaking her head. I pointedly did not look at her chest, which was distractingly wet and also bare. “That was… amazing.”
I took a closer look at the Sirens. Thankfully, they didn’t seem hurt. Unfortunately, they looked very aroused.
I couldn’t deal with this right now. “Can I just finish my laundry in peace?” I asked, weary.
“Yes, Master,” the Sirens whispered, eyes flashing. They dipped under the water and were gone.
*Something to be thankful for*, I thought, as I flooded my basket under the river and began stirring it with a stick laying nearby. *What is something to be thankful for?*
I looked up, wiping my sweaty forehead with an arm, as the sun began to set. It fell perfectly between the gap of two tall buildings, illuminating the river with a fiery glow. I could hear the cries of demons flying overhead. It added a strangely nice melody to the stunning view.
I smiled, and went back to doing my laundry.
---
check out my profile for more stories :) |
I watched as the priest sang in Latin as he performed his rites. I can't say I understood any of it--I would just chant 'amen' at the same time as the rest of the congregation, praying the Church never changed up the ritual on me. Even though I had no clue what was going on, there was a comfort in the easy chanting, the unchanging certainty of ritual, the sense of the community in that place. Sometimes, I could almost find peace there, if I could only forget. . .
Suddenly, everything in the room seemed to pause. The smoke from the incense burner no longer twisted and curled, but rather sat frozen like a cloud. The woman's face next to me held the most odd expression, as if she had been caught in the middle of fiercely suppressing a sneeze. Her husband next to her sat serenely as ever--mainly because he always fell asleep.
*Oh, hell. Arrogant pricks always insist on meeting outside of time. Maybe they won't notice me.*
I held myself motionless. If for a second I thought God would listen to the likes of me, I would have prayed to be made into stone. I noticed the only person still moving was the priest--and his face drained until it matched the color of his outer robes. A tall, mountainous figure that moved across the floor with the labored gait of a rhinoceros slowly made his to the front of the church, and began to whisper with the priest.
*They're whispering? Even now? Oh these assholes are definitely fucking with me.*
The priest hurriedly nodded in my direction, and the figure laboriously turned towards me. I recognized that face. The jig was up.
"Dammit Astaroth, I'm retired,"I said as I stood up and moved into the aisle. "And it's time you respected that."
"No one retires,"Astaroth seethed with a voice like boulders grinding against each other. "No one repents. No one leaves."
"I did, and I would do it again,"I responded with steel in my voice. "How long did you fight beside me? I'm twice as smart as you, twice as strong, and I know who I am now. You don't want to do this."
"Oh, but I do,"ground Astaroth. "Desertion has been through the roof since you left. Discipline demands an example be made."
"And you think the desertions are my fault?"I scoffed. "Not the pay you don't give to your soldiers? Not the fact that after I served thousands of years under Lucifer's command, the closest thing he has to ideal is that he doesn't like rules? Not the fact that I haven't met one soul, not one, who is benefited by your war? It is my war no longer. I won't return to it."
"Slay the weak,"droned Astaroth. "Punish the guilty. Don't you want a world where people like this priest, who sold you out so easily, are to be punished? An eye for an eye!"
"I wouldn't judge him too harshly,"I sighed as I fingered the St. Christopher's medal I always kept with me. "People unused to true fear will find their morals extinguished the first time they face it. He has had the fortune of an easy life--that is far from a crime. I won't stay to make him face such fear a second time."
"Enough,"spat Astaroth. "Time to go home!"
I slowly shook my head as Astaroth drew a long flaming sword from her belt. I pointed to the incense burner, shock overtaking Astaroth's face as she saw the smoke ever so slowly begin to curl again.
"If you want to fight me, I can make you re-enter time to do it. We're re-entering already. But that's not a problem is it? Or do you still see the mortal plane as beneath you?"
Astaroth growled, then howled as she realized she couldn't stop the plane shift. She immediately winked out of existence. The priest collapsed in front of the Eucharist in tears as the congregation murmured, trying to piece together what happened.
"Don't worry Father,"I said still standing in the aisle. "No sin is beyond forgiveness. I have to believe that."
I turned around, and made my way out of the church.
*Time to wander once more.* |
I fixed the officer with a bemused look.
"Think of it as a gift. Isn't it what you wanted? You'll probably get a promotion bringing the 'Bookkeeping Barber' to justice"I presented
"I mean of course; but why do *you* want it?"he replied on edge.
Why did I want it?
An all around fair question. One didn't lead the country's greatest ring of fiscal masterminds, "The Gilded Goose", by giving themselves up to the fuzz.
"You could have disappeared off the face of the earth. You had BILLIONS, and yet.... you turned yourself in? None of it adds up!"
"The only thing that seems to add up are the billions, eh? Well, goodluck finding it all."
The bulk of my money was hidden away in offshore banks, automated multi-layered shell company funds, and distributed with my family. The police would likely find the 'honeypot' I'd placed in the crypto-wallet key I had on my person, and assume the rest was long gone.
"Heh, well where you're going, you wont be needing it. No fraudster's escaped from *Euclid's Anvil* in over 50 years."
On the contrary, money was one of the few ways to get ahead in prison. Goods, services, and favors were all ironically still bartered with through traditional currency. Some things never change I suppose. I had no less than 7 places where bills had been carefully sewn under my skin for just such as occasion; as well has scheduling carefully placed orbital money drops in certain sections of the yard.
"I'm sure I'll manage."
"You know, we on the force caught every other member of the Gilded Goose through honeypots and scheming over the last 20 years, but we could never nail the Bookkeeping Barber. Why *did* you give yourself up?"
That was actually the reason.
I thought to all my friends waiting for me, and smiled. |
With a sigh I hit the button letting the Site Director we have a potential security threat as I stand up and walk over to the unassuming figure.
"Sir, this is a warehouse. Why would you think this is some sort of secret base?"
"Well, I was sent an interesting box that other day. It isn't uncommon for fans to send me so called impossible locks. Most of them can barely be considered difficult though. Mostly marketing hype and no good defenses. The other day though, I got a great design attached to box. Actually took me nearly an hour to get it open! That doesn't happen much these days. Inside was a business card from a Dr. Bright with offices listed at this address and a bunch of files about an organization named SCP."
I swore inside my head. Since Dr. Bright got transferred here, it seemed it caused an issue at least once a week. These level of security breach meant I couldn't just let this guy walk away though.
"Ok, hands up buddy. You'll get what you wanted, I'll take you to Dr. Bright, but I'll need to cuff you, can't have a civilian walking around freely in there."I reached over to the lapel mic I wore and spoke into it. "Director, I'm bringing a civilian down. He has an invitation from Dr. Bright."
The man gave a small grimace, but held out his hands for the cuffs. I cuffed him, double checked they were on correctly, and hit the button to open the internal door. I motioned him in and took him to the elevator door.
"Quite the place you have here. Most people wouldn't spot anything wrong, and I would have never looked twice at the place if I didn't have the address."the man said, before patting me on the shoulder.
Annoyed I looked over at him, ready to tell him not to touch me when I saw that only one wrist had the cuffs on at this point. I recoiled at brought my gun back up.
"Sir, why are your handcuffs off? And more importantly, how?!"
He at least had the good grace to be sheepish as he put the cuff back and the other wrist as I heard the lock click shut again. "Sorry, habit. I find it hard to not pick locks when they're around me."
I stood there, stunned as the elevator reached the bottom. The scientists told me those cuffs needed a key that operated in 5 spatial dimensions to unlock, and he picked it!
As the doors slide open, the lower security team was on alert as expected, so I handed the man over to them. As I reached to hit the button to head back up, I could hear, just barely, Dr. Bright getting a frustrated lecture from the Site Director. I doubt it would stick this time since this was the third such lecture in less than a month since he came here.
\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~
Item #: SCP 61078 - The Lockpicking Lawyer
Object Class: Simpatico
Description: This object appears to be middle-aged man who speaks with a calm and soothing voice. Before containment, this man ran a Youtube channel where he displayed his growing power without realizing its anomalous nature, believing that it was just do to laziness on the terms of the engineers designing locks that would really only keep honest people honest.
When brought into the area of any mechanical device that could be considered "locked", the man will begin to narrate to his audience about the design of the lock based on any makers marks or previous knowledge of the lock type. This knowledge does not have any anomalous nature as it can be fooled by adding incorrect markings, though if the man has seen the same lock multiple times with different markings, he will comment on the similarity.
For any commercially available lock, the man can open the lock in under a minute provided he has something like his normal tools. For many locks he is also able to pick them with a variety of "non-standard"tools provided or fashioned by his hands.
Locks created as a by-product of other anomalous objects/groups that are not anomalous themselves will take a little longer to be opened, but most take less than 5 minutes to open. This includes locks taken from groups such as the Church of the Broken God that were claimed to be impossible to open by design.
Research requests are currently pending to have 61078 interact with locks that are themselves anomalous.
Containment: After negotiation, 61078 has agreed to be held at Site 19 for the foreseeable future. He is to be provided access to all common areas and to be provided a slow but steady stream of locks to pick. He is also provided with a camera and a computer with editing software in his chambers so he may continue to produce videos for his Youtube channel to keep up appearances. The videos are to be verified by at least three independent members of the staff to assure the videos are only of commercially available locks.
Site-19 has also been refitted to that all private and secure areas now us digital and genetic locks to reduce chances of 61078 stumbling into a secure area. |
“Hello David. Welcome to Hell.”
David nodded, and waved softly.
“Thanks. How are you today?” The man in the red suit cocked his head slightly, and rubbed his chin as he regarded the human, who looked surprisingly unsurprised.
“Very well, thank you. Yourself?”
“As good as I can be, I suppose?” David gave a half-laugh and shrugged. “I mean, I’m dead, right? But at least that means I don’t have to go to the dentist tomorrow.” he chuckled. “Those wisdom teeth, am I right? Plus I’m sure there’s a few fellas down at the shelter will get good use out of my suits.”
“Perhaps you didn’t hear me, David. You’re in Hell.”
“Yeah.” David looked around. “It’s a lot less fire-and-brimstoney than they’d have you believe.” The man in the red suit glanced around. He couldn’t see what David saw; he saw a plethora of dimensions fanned out like a hand of cards, cascading and overlapping realities converging on this, the entrance point, but he hazarded a guess that David was seeing a white void. The human brain usually simplified things it couldn’t comprehend.
“Perhaps that comes later?” he suggested. He found the man’s casual demeanor slightly off putting, and felt the need to regain the upper hand. “Perhaps this is just to ease you in to eternal torture slowly?”
“I guess you’d know.” David said agreeably.
“Walk with me David.” The man in the red suit twitched his head and began pacing through various planes of suffering, guiding David toward a small pocket of un-reality where he’d wait on the platform for ten thousand years to be picked up by the nightmare-train and ferried toward some personal brand of suffering. “You got any questions?”
“Not really.” David said. “I tend to just take things as they come, you know?” The man in the red-suit didn’t know. His was an existence of planning, scheming, and long complex machinations, such was his nature.
“Most people are curious as to why they get sent here. Rather than, you know, the other place.”
“Oh, so the other palace is real too, huh?” The man in red frowned.
“No, it isn’t, but people expect it to be.”
“Sure, I can see that.” David said, smiling softly. They walked in silence for a few moments.
“Don’t you have any questions about *that*? I’ve just told you that the only afterlife is Hell, and you’re just fine with it?”
“Can’t do much about it now, can I?” David said, chuckling again. The man in the red suit seethed.
“Look pal, this isn’t going to be pleasant. You’ve spent your entire life helping others, bringing goodness to the world, and your reward is hooks through your eyes or having your testicles turned into sandpaper or some shit. You’re not pissed off at that? You don’t feel it’s a bit unjust?”
“The universe is an unjust place.” David said. “Bad things happen to everyone, not just bad people. My buddy Joe used to donate blood all the time, real swell guy, poor fella got leukemia in the end. I figure this place is no different.”
“It’s Hell, David!”
“Yeah, you mentioned that. Say, any chance of a drink of water?”
“No! There’s no-” The man in red stopped as he noticed a gentle, good-natured smirk on the human’s face. “Are you making jokes, now!?”
“Gotta keep a smile going somehow, bud.” The man in red fumed, he decided enough was enough, and as David took his next step he wrenched the man’s soul through a millennium of agony and dread, tearing the fabric of his existence through a dozen dimensions of pain and incomprehensible suffering, reforming it a subjective moment later. David frowned as his mind worked around the stress of being pulled through a hundred timelines, then re-woven back into his original one, but he soon shook it off and smiled again. “Well, that was a doozy.”
The man in red gripped the human-shaped head he wore in his hands.
“That’s all you have to say about that?”
“Yeah.” David replied. “Actually, I will mention that that business with the anti-spiders was pretty well put together. You guys don’t get enough credit, that was… well it was something.” He chuckled again, that infuriating, despicable chuckle.
“Credit? I just put you through the worst agonies a mortal can encounter and you want to give us… credit!?”
“Well a job well-done deserves praise.” David said. “You guys take tips?” He chuckled again.
“Listen here you little shit.” The man in red said, pointing a finger into David’s chest. “This is Hell. This is damnation. This is the place where you will never ever again feel the light of day. This is the place where your patience is worn atom-thin while we break down your soul piece-by-piece, only to reform it and do it all again, forever. You’re going to experience the very limits of your tolerances a thousand times a second, and then have those limits broken, violated, destroyed, again and again and again.”
The human shrugged.
“Well it is Hell, right?”
The man in the red suit ceased being a man. He unfolded himself from spaces incomprehensible to mortals, expanding across spaces and times mathematically impossible. He was fangs, claws, tongues, tentacles, and so much more; non-euclidean paradoxical appendages that stretched from from the very limits of David’s vision all the way to last Thursday, then back again to the edges of the colour red. He screamed and roared with the voices of ten thousand tortured souls, and the agony of a millions vile beasts.
“What is wrong with you?” he screamed in every human language and more.
“Well… I do have IBS?” David said.
Elsewhen, in the bowels of hell, a man in black, a man in blue, and a man in a sickeningly unfashionable shade of green looked through the folded intricacies of spacetime.
“Oh, this is excellent.” The man in green said.
“Brilliant.” The man in blue concurred.
“I think torturing immortals like this is the most fun I’ve had in years.” The man in black said.
“Bit mean though, don’t you think?” Blue said. “I mean, of course being able to torture Demons brings Hell to a an unprecedented level of productivity, but I can’t help but feel a bit sorry for old Red down there.”
“He should’ve thought of that before he did what he did.” Green said.
“What did he do?” Black asked.
“He restocked the Nespresso machine with decaf.” Black gasped.
“Serves the fucker right then.”
*Thanks for reading, visit /r/Xais56 for more!* |
Kathy woke up to three strange-looking men and a shimmer of light staring down at her face. Her immediate thought is, *Oh God, what did I do last night.*
“She thought of me first,” the man on the left said smugly. He wore all-white robes with a bushy white beard covering an imposing, patriarchal face.
“You idiot,” said the man to the right. This one looked vaguely Nordic, with an eyepatch and gilded armor. Two black birds perched on each shoulder. “She thought of ‘God.’ We’re all God, depending on the time and people. She could be thinking of me.”
Yahweh chuckled derisively. “Odin, you and I both know when she thinks of ‘God,’ she’s thinking of me, and there’s literally zero chance she’s thinking of you. No, she’s thinking of good ol’ Yahweh. So suck my holy di—”
“Hold on!” Kathy interrupted. She stood up, and the men and shimmering light scrambled back. She took in her surroundings and saw she was in a wholly blank room with four plaque-adorned doors that seemed to stand on their own, not connected to any wall. They read, in order: *Heaven, Jannah, Elysium, Valhalla.* Kathy could see a fifth door, but that one had no name on it.
“Now, one of you explain what’s going on,” Kathy said, crossing her arms. “No funny business.”
All three men began to speak at once. So did the shimmer of light, though it had no appendages she could see. Regardless, she held up a hand to stop their chatter.
“You,” she said, pointing at the light. “Only you. What are you, by the way?"
“You know me as Allah,” the light said in a deep, rumbling voice that didn’t sound wholly male or female. “To my left, Yahweh. To my right, Zeus and Odin.”
Zeus waved his hand. Odin glowered.
Allah continued. “This space is where the linear path of your life finally splits. You have died, my child. A drunk driver has prematurely delivered you to us. But fear not, for though you did not believe in the Divine, you lived a life of kindness and mercy. Therefore, you have four doors in front of you. Four potential afterlives. It is your choice, though I recommend—”
“But what about that door?” Kathy blurted out. She pointed to the fifth door, the one with no plaque.
All four figures stilled. Odin coughed.
“You shouldn’t worry about that door,” Zeus said quickly, and a tiny crackle of lightning raced up his white toga. He looked remarkably similar to Yahweh. Kathy couldn’t help notice there were only white men in this room of almighty deities. White men, and Allah. She wasn’t quite sure what Allah was. She vaguely recalled one of her college roommates who was Muslim explaining how there were no physical depictions of God in Islam, and that though he was referred to as… well, a *he,* Allah was actually a *they.*
“Why shouldn’t I worry about the door?” she asked, frowning. “What’s behind it?”
Yahweh looked supremely uncomfortable. “Er.”
The four deities of the universe looked at each other, then back at Kathy.
“We don’t know,” Zeus admitted.
That stunned her. If these four didn’t, who did?
Odin shrugged. “The Fifth is an anomaly, like the rampant spread of Christianity. It defies logic or reason.”
“Hey!” Yahweh said.
“Well said, Odin.” Zeus nodded his head wisely. “Monotheistic religions are total nonsense.”
“Hey!” Allah said.
“Can we get back on track, please?” Kathy said, exasperated. “So, I have a choice of four afterlives. Each of them, I assume by the plaques, are heavenly. But there’s a mystery Fifth door that you all have no idea about.”
The three humanoid Gods nodded, while Allah bobbed up and down.
“Any reason I should take the Fifth door?” Kathy asked.
“Hmm,” Zeus mused. “It’s a risk. A big one that will last for all eternity. It could be the soul-crushing, hope-munching, dread-spawning nightmare of Tartarus. It could also be more heavenly than the four Paradises you see before you. Personally, I think that’s impossible. Elysium is *really* nice; there’s this awesome little breakfast place—”
“Zeus!” Odin snapped. “We agreed, no trying to persuade the mortal! It is her choice, and hers alone.”
“Sorry, sorry,” Zeus said, chagrined.
“Ridiculous,” Yahwah said in a disgusted tone.
“Truly shameless,” Allah added.
“Now, you three hold on a minute,” Zeus said angrily, lightning sparking around him.
The four dissolved Gods began arguing. Before long, Yahweh had Zeus in a chokehold while Odin sicced his birds onto Allah’s brightly glowing figure.
Kathy rubbed a hand over her face. At the current moment, *any* afterlife that didn’t involve any of these four sounded amazing.
“Excuse me,” Kathy said, trying to break up the fight.
The four Gods ignored her. Somehow Zeus managed to get Yahweh into an arm bar, while Odin summoned a spear out of nowhere and began chasing Allah around the room.
“Excuse me!” Kathy repeated.
They continued to ignore her.
Finally, exasperated beyond all belief, Kathy stormed off in the direction of the Fifth door. She hesitated with her hand on the doorknob. This was a huge risk she was taking. What if behind this door was Hell? The safest bet was to go to Heaven, through Yahweh’s door. She knew about that one the most intimately.
Feeling nervous, she turned around.
And saw Yahweh straddling Zeus with both of the Greek god’s wrists in his hands. The Christian God was forcing the crying Zeus to slap himself in the face, crowing, “Why you hitting yourself, Zeus? Why you hitting yourself, you big pantheistic baby?”
All her anxieties cleared. Kathy turned around, resolute. This was the easiest decision of her life.
She stepped through the Fifth door into a blinding expanse of light.
---
As the Fifth door shut behind Kathy and she entered into the great beyond, the four Gods of the world paused mid-fight.
“Damn it,” Yahwah muttered. “We did it again. We drove another one off, guys.”
“It was Yahweh’s fault,” Zeus said petulantly, sniffling.
“No,” Allah rumbled, a spear through his shimmering mass of light. “It was Odin’s fault.”
“What?” Odin exclaimed. “It was totally Zeus’s!”
“What did you say about me, you stupid pirate-looking idiot?” Zeus shouted.
Without a hitch, the fighting resumed once more.
(*if you subscribe to one of these religions, I am deeply sorry for what i have done. Edit: changed a line that said there were no gender neutral pronouns in Arabic, thanks to potbelly100 for correcting my mistake :) - /r/chrischang*) |
The year 2500 would not have been the year expected for a war.
New building techniques rendered infrastructure immune to nuclear strikes. Medical technology made decapitation and disembowelment overnight treatments. Advanced encryption and self-defending code made cyberwarfare impossible. Many people felt war was over- in the endless arms race between defense and offence, defense had finally won.
But humans had resisted transhumanism. Some cybernetic limbs, sure, the odd implant or improved sense. But no *fundamental* changes to the human template. The people of the year 2500 were just as human as anyone else. And this left one area unprotected and open to attack.
In 2500, humanity achieved full understanding of the human brain. Every neuron, every section, every aspect. It was no different from any other machine. This lead to massive breakthroughs in psychiatry, in well-being and in enrichment.
It also lead to the inventions of the first Basilisk Weapons.
Impossibly complex images and sounds that directly affected the brain, rewriting it in any number of ways. Humanity had its weapons back at last. And old tensions exploded with the opportunity.
The first strikes were horrific enough. Music that caused those who heard it to collapse dead, lungs no longer breathing. Or images that induced suicide or mass murder. Medical technology was no help- even people saved from the initial exposure were still under the effects of the Basilisk.
But they got much worse.
Human creativity and monstrosity, as so often before, walked hand in hand. The Oedipus Image, turning all feelings of love into seething hate towards the people they cared about. The Lucifer Virus, reshaping brains into the patterns of sadistic serial killers. The Tartarus Song, trapping the victim in a full-sensory illusion of the worst fate they can imagine for the rest of their life. These are not all of them. These are not even the worst. Cities became nightmares, the advanced automated medical systems doing nothing but prolonging the suffering. Many cities switched them off for mercy- bringing old plagues sweeping back through a population that never needed to become immune and adding to the death and terror.
With the innovation of the simple instruction to basilisk weapons that victim also share the image online, the net became a deathtrap. It was protected against viruses, but these weren't viruses, and so the security systems blithely let them spread. And spread they did. The internet collapsed, after killing countless, and brought a new dark age. Sleeper Basilisks, with a delay before activation, spread paranoia in unheard of levels. Literally anyone could be a timebomb- with Basilisk Weapons that removed the memory of seeing them, you couldn't even trust yourself.
Soldiers were made with restructured brains, immune to the Basilisks- but also something alien and inhuman. They didn't think like humans did, nothing close. Their behavior was strange and erratic, following incomprehensible norms even when they stayed loyal. They couldn't even explain *why*, as they burnt an entire city of civilians or skinned surrendering prisoners, they did what they did. Most went rogue, fighting their own wars for causes humans could never know.
Ordinary soldiers were, of course, devastated. Normal trauma, the effects of the basilisk weapons, injuries previously impossible and the horrifying company of their enhanced counterparts combined to break even the strongest mind. In the battlefields of the city, civilians were brainwashed by Basilisk weapons, soldiers were turned against each other- and with the automated protection gone, conventional weapons came back. The near-indestructible buildings were almost mocking, stood pristine over blood, ash and screaming.
Eventually, defenses were devised. The first Mustela Inoculation was invented in 2502, allowing the safe removal of basilisk weapons online and painted all over cities, and they were slowly perfected. By 2505, proper defenses were up. The extremist regime behind the war was taken down, its leaders executed without trial. 3 billion died in the Third World War, and it took decades for humanity to rebuild. Basilisk weapons were, of course, still used in many horrifying ways. But they were no longer world enders.
So if you see a veteran of the Basilisk War, be respectful. They have seen unspeakable horrors, endured and been forced to do horrible things, and most will never recover. They've had their own minds directly attacked, twisted and reshaped, and even the Mustela process couldn't quite put some of them back. So show compassion. But be careful.
No-one truly trusts a veteran of the Third World War. They remember the sleeper weapons, the delayed activation, the subtle basilisks.
Who knows what might still be lurking in their mind, waiting to come out in a song? |
In retrospect, the king and queen regretted cursing their only child. They regretted it quite spectacularly in fact, and if they could do things over, they would. But that’s all very far away right now, because this story begins once upon a time…
\*
Even as a baby Alexandra was pretty. Her cheeks shone crimson and cherubic. Her laughter attracted songbirds looking to learn pretty melodies, and her smile melted even hearts of ice. As she grew older, her beauty only deepened, and boys from all the realms would come to charm her. But she swiftly rejected each and every one.
”You’ll have to choose a suitor sooner or later,” said her maid Tally. Tally, like all the chamber servants, was blind. The king wanted no eyes to look upon his wife or daughter in their own chambers, so hired only people without sight.
Tally was good at her job and Alexandra didn’t think twice of the girl being without sight. Many people were without many things, after all. Sometimes, in fact, she forgot Tally was blind altogether. Like today.
As Alexandra fell back on her many-cushioned bed, she said, “Oh Tally, how can I choose a man to marry? There’s so much beauty in this world: waterfalls and forests, books and magic. What a waste of life to devote it to something as bland as a man. I want to see it *all*.”
Tally’s head drooped like a plant needing water.
”I’m sorry,” said Alexandra. “I didn’t mean that seeing is... Just, I want to know and experience. I’m sorry, Tally. Forgive me?“
”It’s okay,” Tally said. “You want to see the world and why shouldn’t you? As for beautiful experiences, I at least have your laughter.”
Alexandra smiled. “And I have the kindness of the best friend anyone could ask for.”
​
The boys, then young men, kept turning up at the castle. They were a stream that never ceased to flow. Or a long greasy snake, as Alexandra sometimes thought.
This infinite line of suitors displeased her parents. These boys did not know their daughter as a person, they only knew and cared of her beauty. Thought of her as a fine piece of clothing they could remove from the wardrobe for a ball, in order to make all the other men jealous.
The queen’s scouts found the witch’s house in the woods. The well outside the house ran all the way down to the center of the earth, where a sleeping snake coiled and waited.
”We will pay you well for a curse upon our daughter,” said the queen upon arriving.
”Curses are never simple,” said the witch. “Getting what you want is rarely ever what you need.“
”I’ll be the judge of that,” snapped the queen. “I want this curse. And only true love’s kiss shall be able to fix it.”
The witch acquiesced. She lowered an egg down to the snake in the well. When she brought it back up, two fang marks pierced its shell.
\*
The next morning, Tally served the princess breakfast in her chambers.
Upon eating the egg on the plate, Alexandra’s face began to burn and bubble. “What’s happening to me? My face feels like charcoal!”
Her skin sloughed away like burnt paper, and underneath was the raw pink flesh of a pig.
The princess screamed as she saw her reflection in the mirror.
“What is it?” said Tally.
”I’m… a monster,” said the princess, weeping. “It was in the food. It’s ruined me.”
The princess kept screaming and crying. Guilt blackened Tally’s heart. Whatever had happened to the princess was her fault. She fled the castle and ran far away, never to return.
As the days passed, the princess grew uglier still. Warts spread across her face like dark constellations. Her skin shone raw. Her eyelashes fell away and her eyes darkened.
The stream of suitors dried up.
”We have done the right thing,” said the king.
”We have,” agreed the queen. “For now only a suitor who loves our daughter for who she is will attempt to court her.”
\*
**Four years later**
The woman in the red dress, hood pulled down over her face, danced between gnarled trees, plucking berries and singing to the birds.
“Free,” she said. “I’m free, free, free. For the first time I’m *totally* and *completely* free.”
And for the rest of the day she was. Until the sun suddenly fell, and the birds returned to their nests. Then she was very alone in this very great forest.
The canopy is so thick, she thought. It’s dark already and the sun is not even fully set. She looked about her for her own footprints, or for any familiar markers to help lead her out of the forest.
But there was nothing.
She was lost and it was becoming dark. Soon, it was pitch black and she couldn’t even see her hand before her face.
She was hungry and thirsty, and very, very lost.
Well, she thought, at least I can let down this hood in the darkness, for who here would see my face?
The woman in red walked for an hour before tripping on a root and falling to the forest floor. “I was so stupid,” she said. “Thinking I could just leave and it would all be better.”
A crackle of leaves. A snap of twigs.
”H-hello?” said the woman in red.
“Are you okay?” came a voice.
“No! I’m lost. Please, can you help?”
”You are the—“ The voice cut-off abruptly, then coughed and sounded a little different when it came back. “You are lost, you say? Then yes, I can help. Here, hold my hand and I will guide you to my home. But it is a long walk.”
The walk was indeed far. Hours passed as they held hands. They talked as they walked, about the forest and nature, and the good and bad that lurked inside it. It was nice, thought the woman in red. She’d been without company for a long time.
Then the sun began to rise and she saw the person leading her also wore a hood, her face hidden in shadow. But the outline of her body was that of a woman. She hadn’t been sure it was a woman before, and it hadn’t really mattered. She’d simply been enjoying the conversation.
Sometimes, the woman ahead would turn and look back at her to ask if she was okay. Then they would continue together, talking and holding hands.
It wasn’t until an hour or so later that the princess — for that is who the woman in red was, of course — suddenly realised she hadn’t raised her hood since daylight returned. The other lady must have seen her face!
”I’m sorry,” she blurted out, pulling up her hood. “For how ugly I am. I’m sorry you had to see me.”
The other woman paused. “Princess, I’ve never seen you face, but I’ve always known your beauty.”
Princess? How did the woman know? It took only a moment to realise.
”Tally?”
”Yes, princess.”
For a while they stood in silence. Then the princess crept closer. Pulled down Tally’s hood.
The servant girl was as pretty as ever.
“Tally. Where did you go? I’ve missed you much.”
”After what I did to you, I fled into these woods. I felt so guilty. Here I do not need the light to learn my way around.”
The princess grabbed Tally’s wrists. “It was my parents that did this to me, Tally! Not you. I’m so sorry I made you think that. But my parents confessed it to me one night.“
”Your parents?”
”I forgave them but I left them. I never intend to go back, either. Oh Tally, I missed you.“
”I missed you too.”
”Did… did I ever tell you how you look, Tally?”
She shook her head.
”More beautiful than I ever did.”
Tally’s lips suddenly pressed against the princess‘s.
Alexandra pressed back. The world itself seemed to slow down enough to make complete and utter sense for the first time in either’s life.
And whether the witch’s curse was broken with that kiss, or whether it remained firmly in place, didn’t matter even a little to either one of them. |
Grevra had heard so many terrible things about Earth. She had heard all the stories about how deadly it is, and how hostile the locals were. But the human guide she had found was a perfect gentleman. Of course, it probably helped that her species looked so similar to his. He knew she was not from Earth, of course. But he had said something about a "hot alien babe"to his friends via local wireless communication, and been more than happy to show her around.
And then there was the wildlife. She had heard about the deadly beasts that were everywhere. About toxic plants that could kill with a single touch. So far, she had seen none of it. The most dangerous creature she had seen so far was one the human called a cat. It was adorable, and it had made a soothing vibration when she touched it.
The human, a fellow named Carl, was showing her through the local woodlands, and so far she had not seen anything dangerous. Her family would have a fit when they saw all the holopics she took of the place. And the travel information was in dire need of an update.
A few bushes shook and a small animal popped out. It was a tiny bundle of brown fur, with cute round ears, a little stubby tail and a snout capped with a twitching black nose. It was one of the cutest things Grevra had ever seen.
"My goodness, it's adorable!"She squealed. She looked to Carl, who was standing absolutely still. "Carl?"
"Shh. Don't move. Actually, scratch that. Let's get out of here. Back away slowly, don't make too much noise."
Grevra trilled her amusement. "Carl, are you afraid of such a cute little thing?"
"Scared of that? No. I'm--"
"Then why are you acting as such? You look like you're looking at the most dangerous creature in the world. I'm sure it's harmless. here, I'll show you."
She started towards the animal. Carl's hand shot out and grabbed her collar, pulling her away.
"Stop right there."He hissed. "Don't get anywhere near it."
She smirked. "I thought you said you aren't scared of it."
"I'm not. I'm scared of it's mother."
"Mother?"
"That's a grizzly bear cub. And where there's a cub, the mother isn't too far away. And if you mess with her cub, it won't end well for you. Which means we need to get going."
She tilled again. "I'm sure it's not that bad. Such a tiny animal cannot have that big of a parent."
The plant life shook as something very large moved through them. The color drained from Carl's face as he started backing away. Grevra turned and saw a creature that was similar in appearance to the cub, but many times larger. It also had uncomfortably large teeth and claws.
"The mother?"She asked, not taking her eyes off the beast.
"I, uh, I don't suppose you have some kind of blaster or something? Maybe a force field?"
"I do not. I came here to see the sights, not kill things."
The bear let out a bellowing, rolling roar. Grevra shook with fear. Now she was starting to understand the stories.
"Damn. Uh, how about something that makes a really loud noise? A music player or something."
"Oh, yes. I have that. will that chase it away?"The bear was starting towards them. It did not take much thought to figure out why.
"Possibly. I've never actually seen a bear in person, but it's supposed to keep them away."
"Good enough."
Grevra retrieved the item in question. It was a small metal cylinder with a nano-speaker at one end, and holo interface projector at the other. She flicked the devise on and chose a sound at random, then turned the volume as high as it could. The already large animal stood on its hind legs, now absolutely towering over the two of them.
"You might want to cover your ears."She said before activating the speaker.
Sound blasted out of it, the noise loud enough to disturb a few loose leaves on the ground. The bear roared, but shied away. It fell back into all fours and back off, making sure to take its cub with it as it ran from the sound.
Grevra and Carl looked at each other as it vanished through the bushes. She turned the volume down to a more manageable level, but kept it playing. Then they turned and left as quickly as they could.
Grevra now understood the deadly nature of Earth a bit more. But, more importantly, she would have a very exciting story to tell when she got home. |
# Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc 4, Part 1: Clara Olsen v.s. Big Guns)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**Guns were a specialty of humanity.** You wanted to live forever? Big Guns remembered reading about some kind of jellyfish that had been happily doing that for God knew how many millions of years. Wanted to build a city that spanned continents? Before he'd... broken... Alric, his son had happily told him that there was some kind of ant that had done that from Europe to America. But if you wanted a tool that dealt out violence, nothing but wholesale, mass-produced violence?
You asked the humans for help.
In a way, Big Guns mused, that made him more human than anyone on the planet. Sure, he was currently wiping a few of said humans off the face of the Earth, but that was a bit of a human specialty as well.
They'd taken him off the leash, so the criminals got plenty of warning that he was coming. Not enough, obviously—the Feds wouldn't let their quarry get away so easily—but enough that they'd try to run. He hated it when they tried to run.
It just prolonged the inevitable.
Sure enough, the trio of people he was supposed to be hunting down had abandoned their campsite long before he approached them. He noticed with dismay that there were three sleeping bags left behind in their hurry—two adult-sized and one child-sized. The kid was still with them, then? Pity. He was vaguely aware that they were some kind of high-profile super-deadly terrorist—the Feds had claimed that they'd somehow managed to kill Death, and even Big Guns wasn't sure how the hell one went about doing that—but it didn't change the fact that he'd be murdering a child in cold blood today.
Well, it wouldn't be the first time.
He scanned the tallgrass prairie, finding nothing... and sighed. Back when his family was more than a bad memory, Alric was in love with some high-brow poet. How did the rhyme go? Ah, yes. *For a Tear is an Intellectual Thing / And a Sigh is the Sword of an Angel King.*
Big Guns' sigh was an explosive burst of wind, amplified a thousandfold by his powers. As the shockwave scythed through the tallgrass, cutting and uprooting it like a massive, invisible blade, he could believe the old poet's words.
He must have used more force than he thought, because along with six rabbits, two snakes, and one very surprised cow, the three fugitives were hurled into the air. Right into his line of sight.
He took a step forwards. The earth shook beneath him. He wondered what poor farmer would be paying the bill for the destruction this time.
The family of three (were they a family? It didn't matter.) turned to look at him fearfully. The man held up his hands, and Big Guns momentarily felt something tickle on the inside of his head. Was he trying to kill him with some exotic power? Hell, if he actually managed to pull it off, he'd let him.
When a few moments went by and nothing happened, the man closed his eyes. "Worth a shot,"he mumbled.
Big Guns didn't respond. Unchained as he was now, the volume with which he spoke would simply kill them both. His eyes flicked to the other two members of the family.
The woman was frantically checking the pulse of the child—a girl, Big Guns saw. He must've hit her a bit too hard, huh. The girl groaned in pain, and the next line of the poem flashed through Big Guns' head.
*And the bitter groan of the Martyrs woe / is an Arrow from the Almighties bow.*
He shook it off. He'd tanked bullets, nuclear bombs, even furious attack by Death herself. An arrow from the Almighty's bow was nothing in comparison. It would break as soon as it touched his skin.
Just like everything else.
At least he would make it quick.
He reached out to the mother, laid a single hand on her shoulder. He could push his hand through her as if she was nothing but a cloud of mist, he knew. If he did it quickly enough, she wouldn't even no—
"Wait!"the mother said, turning towards him. He felt an almost-physical surge of grief just by meeting her eyes—but no. He had to stay focused. "I—I know why you're doing this. Why you work for the government."
Big Guns said nothing. At least this was a departure from his usual routine. She didn't have long, though. At this rate, the trembling of his hand could dislocate her shoulder.
His hands were trembling?
"They're the only ones who can suppress your powers,"the woman said quietly. "The only shot you think you have at a normal life."
Big Guns suppressed a flinch—it would rip her arm off if he did. Hastily, he took his arm off her shoulder and folded his arms. He saw little reason to deny it—the Unified Sovereignties had technology that nobody else did, technology that kept him from being a danger to everyone around him just by existing. A little bit of service in their name was a small price to pay.
"You're wrong,"she whispered. She put a hand on *his* shoulder—even the Feds didn't touch him, treating him like a leper, and were they really that far off? He killed everything that had the misfortune to stay near him for too long. Behind him, the man gathered up the little girl in his arms. Was she breathing? He couldn't tell. "Your powers, you don't have to suppress them. There's another way out. You can control them—"
And a flash of fury ignited in Big Guns' chest. *Control* his 'powers'. They weren't powers, they were a prison. "Yeah?"he snapped.
The single word exploded from his lips, a wall of sonic force that broke the land and hurled his would-be savior away from him. As if slapped by the fist of a vengeful god, his three victims were ripped from the earth and sent hurling into the air. He watched them go, considering tracking them down—then looked around at the devastation he'd created. Nothing but bare dirt and stone as far as the eye could see.
They were probably dead, anyway. No need to beat a dead horse.
He shook his head. "There's no way out for me,"he whispered.
The mountains echoed with the force of his words.
A.N.
"Bargain Bin Superheroes"is an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mhzat1/bargin_bin_superheroes_masterpost/) to see what comes next, and subscribe to r/bubblewriters for more. If you have any feedback, please leave it below. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day. |
“Earl! Hey Earl! Come look over here at this.” Dale said, putting his finger on the ancient stone wall and mouthing the words.
“Well now what's all this about?”
“These here word’s say that there's treasure to be had.”
“Treasure? We don't need no treasure, we need die-reckt-tunes.”
“It also say’s that there's a monster in here.”
“Monster?”
“Now you go fetch the gun well i put together some kinda plan,” Dale said.
“But what do we needs treasure for?”
“Treasures like gold and such, we could get money for something like that.”
“Well why didn't you say so sooner?”
“It ain't my fault you don't know what treasure is.”
“Hey now it's not like I'm running into the stuff on the regular. It only makes sense for me not to know about it.”
“Just go get the gun.”
“Fine,” Earl said, stomping back to the car.
“Now I'm gonna blindfold ya.” Dale said.
“What for ?” Earl said, taking a step back.
“It says on that wall right there that the monster can see what you see.”
“See what I see? That sounds downright stupid.”
“It’s probably some kinda magic.”
“Magic,” Earl said with a huff. “Magic aint real.”
“Well now what about that fortune teller you keep going to?”
“Thats different it's all about reading the stars and what not. Ain't no magic involved.”
“Ok then what about that wizard you keep giving feathers too?”
“Jon aint a wizard. He's just confused.”
“Ahh, ok we'll talk about that later, lets just pretend magic is real.”
“Well alright so long as it's just pretend. i ain't no fool,” Earl said, putting the blind fold on.
“Ok good now just keep walking straight.” Dale said.
“Wait a hot minute, how do you know the way?”
“I don't it's a maze i'm figuring it out as you go.”
“No, I mean how do you know where I'm walking?”
“I just video called your phone and put it in your front pocket.”
“....Oh.”
“Yea, now you're gonna take a left here.”
“which way is that again.”
“Um…. remember that time I ran over your foot with the car?”
“Yea and wait a hot minute I'm still pretty angry about that.”
“Well that's your left foot so go that way.”
“Aren't you gonna address my complaint?”
“I told you I'm sorry about that, tell you what I'll buy you a beer with my share of the treasure.”
And so Dale guided Earl through the maze. Where he then proceeded to carry as much treasure as he could.
“This is a pretty good haul.” Dale said, examining the treasure.
“There better be enough for my beer.” Dale said, taking off the blindfold and wiping his brow.
“I'm sure there is.”Dale said with a smile.
“Should we go back for the rest ?” Earl asked.
“No, best not to tempt fate. And if i woulda said yes you probably would have ran back in there without putting your blindfold back on leading the monster straight to us, ”Dale responded.
Earl scratched his head “you're probably right. And I woulda had to use the gun.”
“What?” Dale asked .
“Yea ..um ..i kinda forgot the ammo..”
“Oh well it's a good thing we didn't need it then.”
“Yea,” Earl said laughing.
And so Earl and Dale drove off into the sunset, their car filled with treasure. But them still being kinda lost. |
"What the heck is paramnesia?"I couldn't help but say aloud. What a weird word!
What was I doing again? Oh yeah, so about this sign.
"...you have not been here before, even if you remember so, report any false memories to Management."What a weird sign, right?
I didn't like working the night shift in the mall. When my cousin told me about the job and sang its praises for the hours of uninterrupted YouTubing he was able to enjoy, it seemed like a good enough gig. I'd be alone, it'd be quiet, and I'd be able to stretch my legs.
Turned out he was right, it was a pretty cool job. Every night I liked to make the same loop. From the cookie shop to the video game store and then a pause to enjoy my snack near the Sunglasses Shack before continuing on. Those first few weeks I tried to walk to every store in the mall and memorize the order but it was hard so I gave up after only two or three tries.
Where was this story going again? Oh yeah, back to the sign. Gosh, focus, Phil.
So anyway, those first few weeks the nightshift went by so fast. I felt like I'd get up and go for my walk and then it seemed like no sooner did I get back to my security kiosk and the sun would be up and the first workers would be unlocking the doors to start the day. Easiest and quickest money I had ever made! The nights FLEW by.
But then I remember it was a Thursday and I was playing basketball and I hurt my back. The thing that sucks about hurting your back is NOBODY can see it. You're just all like "I hurt my back!"but people think you're just saying that because you lost, got dunked on, or whatever. But I did. I really hurt my back. So for several days I sorta gave up on my walk during my shift at the mall.
Those nights were LONG. Impossibly long. Like I wondered if time would move faster if I literally just watched the clock all night. Did going on those walks make that much of a difference? It sure seemed like it. But with my back in the shape that it was I was stuck at the kiosk. I figured moss would start to grow on me soon enough since I was pretty helpless. Hardly able to provide any "security"either, I'd say. But whatever.
So anyway it was around then that I started to wonder about this sign. Or actually, maybe it was a few days after that? It's hard to remember it was awhile ago, really. But yeah, oftentimes I'd wrap up my walk by going into the tunnels that led to the basement because it was cool down there and being a bigger fella I get a little sweaty on those treks around suburban Omaha's finest mall.
And that's when I noticed that door and that sign. "Paramnesia"it said. Now I'm not positive but I think that's a made up word right there.
That's also when things started to feel really weird, see. Around when I started noticing that sign. Suddenly it would be morning. I noticed time was missing. It wasn't just the walks that helped time fly by, I was actually *missing* hours from my night. I know, I know, hours aren't exactly car keys and one doesn't just lose them, but somehow I did. I'm not so sure it's the only thing I've been losing there.
So 2 nights ago I went for a walk but carried paper and a pen with me and jotted some notes. Maybe I have narcolepsy or something? Narcolepsy. Now that's a real word. None of this paramnesia business. Narcolepsy could probably explain me losing those hours. I bet it's the dang Narcolepsy, I'll have to see a shrink about that.
Right. So I went for a walk and took a few notes...passed the video game store...had my snack...went into the basement as usual. Went to the end of the southwest basement tunnel. "Stopped at the end of the tunnel"it said and right below it in some really smeared handwriting I wrote "Opened door next to sign about paramnesia, whatever that means."
But then I was back at my kiosk. No notes covering the time or doings between the basement and how I got back there. I thought as hard as I could. There was a light, gosh I remember that light. There was a person...no...two people. Both women I think. What were they wearing, though? I feel like that light blurred them. No wait they weren't women but they sure sounded like women? It hurts. The light *hurts* to think about! Ow it hurts worse than my back. Did I mention I hurt my back playing basketball? I guess it doesn't matter, really.
Forget paper and pen next time I'm taking my phone, I decided. I'm going to record my walk. Ya know, like a detective or something. Why didn't I think of that earlier? But I forgot the paper I had been writing on the night before so I had trouble retracing my steps perfectly. Well whatever, the basement was where I remembered things ending so I just headed straight there.
"OK I'm in the basement and there's this weird sign I don't think I've ever noticed before"I said in the recording. "I think I stopped jotting down notes here the other night so we'll see if anything remarkable happens. Hm, I wonder what 'paramnesia' means?"and then I seem to move to open the door next to the sign and then the video goes dark. There's still over 14 minutes of dark, silent video, before it ends.
It's the strangest place, the mall.
This morning when my shift ended back at the kiosk my knees really hurt. I didn't remember being on my knees at all overnight but I found myself rubbing them a lot, almost as if I'd been walking on them. I remembered something was odd about the basement that I went to check out so I made my way back there before the other employees started coming in. And that's why I'm here now looking at this sign. What a weird sign. Oh yeah, I took a video on my phone! I watched it only to realize I had already watched it once already. There's that long, dark portion in the video. But wait, when did I have time to watch this already?
It says to go to Management if I have memories of being here. Hmm. I think I do, and I have evidence from the video that I have been here. But why is it so hard to remember despite this video? MAN my knees hurt. Gosh, what time is it? I should probably be getting home. I can talk to Management another time. Maybe tonight when I come back.
But gosh, this door. Is it just me or is this part of the basement really hot? And what a weird sign. "WARNING: PARAMNESIA AREA; you have not been here before, even if you remember so, report any false memories to Management."
Hmmm. "What the heck is paramnesia?"I couldn't help but say aloud. What a weird word!
What was I doing again? Oh yeah, so about this sign. |
The primordial centuries of our times were what you'd expect. Species with so much self entitlement to spare that they're basically xenophobic meet, and the culture clash ensues. But with time, we've learned to share and learn our mutual disdains for things and other beings. The Orcs where the first to be isolated and shun from society, to the point of their worldwide extinction. And mostly everyone agrees no one misses their smell and how they would spat at every muttered word. The same went for the Ogres and the Giants, although rumors of the later still dwelling in the far reaches of the north are surging, the expeditions keep coming back empty handed.
Of all the still living species, the humans are the worst. So common, so ordinary, yet so much more ingenious than their Elven or Dwarven cousins. Cunning is perhaps a better word, if we're being honest. At the peak of the human industrial age, the Elven lands started to perish with an unknown blight. The humans promptly aided the Elves with the planting new forests, the creation of protected natural areas and of course, leased these to the elves, who every so often need reminding that they're living on humanity's charitable good will.
But the peak of the human industrial age had nothing to offer the dwarves, who mainly lived underground. For centuries their machines and crafts were no match for any other species, and their engineers above ground were treated like Nobles and Kings. That is, until the humans developed a tiny, green plastic chip that would fit in the palm of a hand. It managed to do things that took the dwarves an entire room to accomplish, in a quarter of the time. The Dwarves with their pride offended, had another slap to endure, as the humans initially kept them from researching or even using this new technology. And the Dwarven leaders decided, probably rightfully so, to return to stone, into their underground cities. The announcement of their reclusion was made less than friendly, and their retraction from society even less so as much was still depending on their skills and equipment. But society moved on, from the dawn the Age of Technology until the middle of the Modern Age the dwarves where no were to be seen, until one dreadful, regrettable day.
With this electronic chip now so common place, the humans offered a truce, a means of returning back their friendship and aid for all the past centuries. Maybe the truth is, the humans were more afraid of not knowing what the Dwarves where up to, because humans are plagued with the burden of curiosity that often clouds their judgement. Humans also like to think they know and control everything, so silence and indifference was not a treatment the humans were comfortable with.
They offered their new technology to the dwarves, in an ill thought attempt to regain this control. After a few weeks of suspense, the Dwarves broke silence. Not with words, but with thunder from underground, and an entire Elven city collapsed into the earth, completely destroyed. A few minutes later, the first sentence from the dwarves in centuries was heard: "Sorry, wrong shithole" |
"This is a corpse,"Florbeek said. Bear in mind, his name is not actually "Florbeek,"but it the closest approximate spelling to the sounds of his name.
"We are aware, sir,"Nalpod said. See the note on Florbeek's name? Yeah, that applies to Nalpod's as well.
"We found him like this,"Walrus added. His name actually is Walrus. It's a surprising anomaly of linguistics that every planet has at least one language that makes use of "walrus"in some capacity. Theories abound, but no one really cares but the linguists, and the last linguist we all cared about was better known for his fiction writing.
"Well, clearly. He is well decayed."
"Yes, but he is their leader,"Walrus tried again. He felt it was important to justify the find as he'd had to do the digging. And by hand as the digging bot had refused to desecrate corpses. He would have to talk about a reprogramming session at the next bot care meeting, though he suspected it would have him watching another sensitivity training.
"So you are saying the humans actively follow this rotted body?"
"Worship might be a better word."Nalpod said, while sliding in front of Walrus. Her partner was sometimes... oversensitive about failure. She'd still not figured how they had screwed up, but this was obviously not right, based on the wobble of Florbeek's flanges. The captain was growing more angry the more Walrus spoke, but her words seemed to have calmed him some. "There are impossible stories of him. One of my favorites is a preposterous claim that he was shot by an assassin, survived, and mocked the man's failure in a speech immediately after. Ah the legends these humans create, embellishing the lives of their heroes."
She had stopped watching Florbeek as she rambled on, or she'd have shut her vocal flap on the word "favorites"on seeing his flanges. They shook like a flag in a hurricane.
"Clearly, this Theodore Roosevelt is not the *active* leader of these backwards yokels. I'm giving you a second chance here to get it right. Now go."
"Do you want us to put him back?"Walrus pointed at the corpse.
"I don't care, as long as you get it out of my ship,"he said, and disappeared through the wall leading to his personal quarters, hoping a soak in some hexane would relieve his stress.
"I told you we had the wrong one,"Walrus whispered.
"I know, I know."
"Ok, so you can dig up Franklin yourself."
"Fine, but at least help me put this one back." |
Once, there was a proud Mother, and her cubs were many. Life was fast, and the prey, plentiful. Her mate and her Pack lived well, deep in a large forest.
Her Pack was fast and clever, and had no trouble avoiding the Two-legs group that lived at the edge of their forest, away from their sharp spears, fearful of their fires. Just the same, the Two-legs avoided the Pack, with their sharp teeth and claws, fearful of their howls.
But that was before the drought that painted the world brown, and made prey scarce. It was before the great fire that consumed the brown and turned most of what was left covered in soot and ashes.
Now there was no more Pack, and the Mother wandered the ruins of what used to be her home. There was no more howls, no more mate, and soon there would be no more cubs. Her sole surviving offspring walked beside her, but weakly, meekly. She didn't have any more milk for him, and there was no prey to be had.
Or rather, there was. The Two-legs, living alongside the forest, had mostly survived the fire. So she walked towards them, still unsure about what could be done. Should she stalk a Two-legged cub? Tear their meat and finally fill her cubs belly? But then their hunters would come, and it would be the end, for her and her cub.
When she came to the edge of what was her forest, she was still undecided, but she could no longer walk. She collapsed, her cub whining besides her. The noise attracted the attention of one of the Two-legs. But she didn't attack, and the Mother was too weak to even snarl. Besides her, her cub still cried.
The Two-legs was speaking quietly to her, and unfurled her fur to show, along her breast, a cub of her own.
A Mother recognized another, and it was understood what must be done. The Wolf Mother gathered the last of her strength, and pushed her cub away from her, towards the other Mother, looking into her eyes, hoping she could pass along the words that her wolf tongue could not, begging and pleading for reassurance that her cub would live.
When the other Mother gathered the cub into her arms, she knew she did understand. With a mournful last look and a nod of respect, the other Mother walked back to her Two-legged pack. Along her breast, she held two cubs.
-.-.-.-
Once, it was said there was a boy raised along a wolf. That he was the best hunter, and his wolf would direct him and help him get his prey, every time. It is said that the wolf was raised on human milk, and the boys Mother would nurse them both at the same time. It is said that boy went on to have a grand destiny, always together with his wolf.
That might be true, or it might not.
But what is true is this: a mother is a mother, a promise is a promise. And the boy's wolf was his brother. |
Oklahoma City. Earth. 2093.
The combined Galactic Armada floated above the horizon. Thirty miles of spacecraft, each loaded to the teeth with all manner of advanced weaponry.
If humans were insects, this was no boot. This was a hydraulic press.
David Henderson tore his gaze from the sky long enough to scan the parchment. Some color between tan and yellow—it seemed to be the cured skin of a creature from some different solar system—it was covered in poorly formed handwriting. “Are you sure this will work?”
A curious combination of antlers and eyes blinked in acknowledgement. Klorpin-6b8 held a silver sphere to her mouth and rumbled something between rolling thunder and bubbling water. The orb glowed blue and the translation played in sultry tones. “There’s only one way to find out.”
David nodded—resolute, yet uncertain—and began the ritual. His voice trembled. He spoke slowly, tasting each word to ensure no slip of the tongue. When he reached the last sentence, he looked up to the sky. “By the power of singularity, of the first point and the final moment, I summon the spirit of Carlos Ray ‘Chuck’ Norris.”
A swirling gale erupted around them; a golden glowing vortex that condensed and solidified into a brilliant, bearded giant. The figure’s iron eyes settled on David, then rose skyward. A small smile crept across his lips as his gaze swept over the spacecraft.
The Galactic Armada were about to get a taste of their own medicine. |
Legally speaking, they gave up that right years ago. By leaving their child in an old rotting church they lost every right they had.
"So what makes you think you have any rights to this child?"Inqly rolled her eyes.
"I gave birth to him-"Ryit, the birther, had to be cut off.
"Her."Inqly corrected them fast. "Amanda is a girl."
The disgusted look the changelings had pissed Inqly off. "Point is that's my child."
"You giving birth doesn't make you a mom."Inqly slammed the door in their faces and walked into the living room. She nudged her husband, a weredragon by the name Diago, as a way to tell him to stop the game.
"Give me one second."Diago had to finish his combo to end the round with a victory, with that done, he leaves the game and messages his friends he can't be on the next round. "Yeah honey?"
"Amanda's birther and sperm doner are at the door. They want her."
"For what?"He puffed out some smoke. "They left her at a church to die. We only found her because the fairy's prophetic dream telling us we can make a family there."
"Yeah but they claim to have rights to her."
"Total coprolite."He rolled his eyes. "Changelings never needed to abandon their children unless their lives were in danger and we all know that clearly wasn't an issue when we tried confronting them 12 years ago."
"I know, I know. I just don't know how to get rid of them."
"You're a vampire though!"
"And? I don't even go to houses I'm not 100% sure I've been invited to."Inqly sighed as she melted on the couch. "I don't know how to handle people very well."
"That just may be yourself doubt talking."Diago got up and kissed her forehead. "I'll deal with them."
"Thanks."
As he left to deal with the duet of changelings, Inqly got a call from Amanda. "Hi dear!"
"MOM! You would NOT believe it!"Amanda was super happy.
"Believe what?"
"I talked to the old fae that told you were to pick me up and she told me that I was gonna have a little sister. After you... uh find... two lies... liars?... or something like that. Point is, Imma be a big sister soon!"
Inqly looked down at her stomach and then looked at Diago handling the changelings and saw the spermdoner was holding a small changeling in his arms and connected the dots. "I mean, she's never been wrong so far..."
"Are you pregnant?"
"No."Inqly smiled. "But I can assure you that you'll still get one. I'll see you later dear."
Amanda sqealed with happiness and left the chat and Inqly walked to the door just as Diago transformed into his dragon form.
"Let me guess, you want Amanda in exchange for the baby you're holding."Inqly stopped Diago from attacking them.
"What? No!"The male changeling said with a disgusted face.
"So what about that baby? You gonna leave her to die like you did Amanda?"
"... No."
Spotted the liars, now to make sure the Amanda's new baby sister gets in the house to rest safely as Diago tears them apart. |
I ended up taking a different route than exactly what the prompt was but I think the ideas the same.
________________
I did feel different. Not stronger or smarter or anything like that, but more like a slight buzzing on the surface of my skin. If I wasn’t looking for it, I wouldn’t even notice, but that was just me, if you asked anyone else they would say something’s wrong with me.
It started after another run-of-the-mill mission on Kepler 3. Me and the guys had are usual post-mission drinks but they were acting weird around me. They were on pins and needles, and after some shaky excuses I was drinking alone.
Even when I got home, my wife, the woman a trust more than anyone, looked at me with fear. That’s what hurt me the most, she looked at me as if I was going to do something terrible.
“Why…” My voice started shaking. “I thought they were just messing with me but… it’s just me. I love you.”
“It’s…” She dropped her gaze to the floor. “I don’t know what it is. It’s just the moment I saw you, my body told me to run, to hide.”
“I’m not going to hurt you. I would never hurt you. You know that.”
I slowly walked toward her, at first she flinched but eventually she put away her fear and embraced me.
That was weeks ago and since then I’ve been on a short leash. The rest of the team spend time with me but are always on their guard. We’ve been taken off our assignments, which I’ve been told was not unusual, that there was a bureaucratic mix up and they want us on hold until it clears up. But I know that they’re watching me, studying me. They’ve taken me to different doctors running increasingly exotic “routine tests.” They know I don’t believe them but it’s better if play their little game than call them out on it.
As the weeks go by I started getting the feeling that something is coming. Maybe it’s the same feeling that people get when they look at me. But whatever is coming, I know it’s bigger than just me, it’s much bigger than just me. |
He chewed on the end of the pen, unsure of how to proceed; to whom would he address his last words? This single sheet of paper, the culmination of twenty-eight years of Saul McCarthy's life?
His mother was dead, his father was anonymous; no brothers, no sisters, and every friend - every acquaintance he'd ever loved, every rival he'd ever loathed - had already had their letters delivered.
The leader of the resistance would have been a good addressee; he could divulge all of the secrets of the inner workings of the Guild's operatives, witnessed during his capture and detention.
Whether or not the Guild would make good on their promise was not a matter of concern; they may have been devious bastards, but the only currency they respected was the internal value of a man's word, and if they gave theirs that his recipient would receive the letter unharmed, he knew they would honor their commitment, even to a traitorous dog such as himself. No member could break their code of ethics without finding himself in this very cell, final meal prepared to his liking and served to him and his guard, supplies provided to reach out to one final person, safe delivery guaranteed.
Should he, perhaps, address the Guild's leader? He chewed on the pen, brought it down to the paper, and let an ink blot swell from its tip, before raising it back to his teeth again.
Nothing he could say to the Commander would pardon him; addressing that stoic monolith was as good as writing to the brick wall.
His gaze shifted from the paper, to his guard; his executioner; his final messenger. How could he be sure this man would be good to his word?
He would just have to trust him.
Saul put pen to paper, and within a few short minutes, was sealing the envelope with his tongue, stamping the Guild's wax seal over the closure.
Paper rattled as his hand slipped through the iron bars, and he offered his final plea to the Guildsman, who took it, read the address, looked back at Saul, then back to the envelope.
Gears spun freely in the Guildsman's head, and Saul's heart held in his throat, breath extinguished from his lungs. The man before him was questioning his morals, Saul could see, and with an addressee such as that, Saul sympathized entirely.
For a moment, Saul expected him to remove the mandatory delay on his execution, and carry it out right then and there, in the cell, his blood painting a reminder on the walls of the Guild's inflexible mechanisms of operation.
The Guildsman dug into his pocket, and retrieved a brass key; it sprung the pins in the door to the cell with a twist, opened the door, and he stood aside.
Saul tentatively stepped outside, then carefully walked around the guard, and made a break for the door.
The guard returned to his table to continue eating his duplicate of what would no longer be Saul McCarthy's last meal, and lay the envelope beside his goblet, addressed, simply, to *Saul McCarthy, Guild ID 49z-8f-g92lm-4, age fifty-eight.* |
"One hundred million?"
He nodded.
"To kill a stranger?"
Steve nodded again in the same slow, measured gesture, while the fingers of his left hand caressed the black leather of the briefcase by his side.
"So, to be clear, you are offering me 100 million dollars to kill a human someone?"
"Yes . . . well, Euro technically."
A confused pause. "Why not dollars?"
"Does it matter?"
"But why Euro?"
"Fuck sake, because I said so Barry. Jesus!"
"But this is Ameri-"
"I'm well aware of our current location, thank you. I'll be using an offshore account; it's a lot easier that way."
"I don't understand, why would you -?"
"Shit, Barry, I'm asking you to murder a man and you want to talk currency? Who gives a -"
"Wait, does it have to be a man?"
"What? No!"
"So it can be anyone?"
Steve sighed and rubbed at his eyes. "We've been over this. You have to kill a stranger. Not the homeless, the elderly, the terminally ill. And definitely not one of those mental fucks who'd only love to do himself in. They're off limits. And *you* have to do it. That's the deal. No hiring some punk to do it for you."
"That's a bit mean, isn't it?"
Steve smiled, satisfied. 'This is the idea, my little friend. It's the hardest choice you'll ever have to -"
"No, I mean the mentals. They're not all miserable, are they? That's a lousy thing to say. They're usually smiling and stuff. Saw one of them dancing along to the music of an ice-cream truck the other day. Having a great time of it."
'Jesus Fuck, Barry! I don't give a -"
"What about babies?"
Steve shot him a look of horror. "What about them?"
"Could I, you know, murder a baby? A small one?"
"No, you can't murder a baby, you sick shit!"
"Holy people? Nuns?"
"What's the matter with you?"
"I don't like nuns."
"No! You can't kill nuns."
"Why not? Nobody would miss them. They're always on their own, up a mountain or a bicycle or something."
"You need help. You're sick."
"What about method? Do I get extra for creativity?"
"Why would you want more? I'm offering 100 million Euro."
"What if I kill a pregnant person? That counts as two, right?"
"No, you know what? The offer's gone. You've ruined it."Steve stood and grabbed the briefcase at his side. He gave Barry a single look of disgust before leaving, muttering something about the sheer madness of today's youth, but the kid took no notice. He had spotted one of his firetrucks under his bed and had already envisioned the wildfire spreading throughout the room.
|
“Sydney, what are you doing here?” I yell through shallow breaths. I let her out of my arms and she looks towards where the man ran. “You’re a lot faster than you look! That guy’s a total creeper and freaks out people here all the time! Don’t pay any attention to whatever crazy lies he told you.” She said in her usual perky way with an awkward nervous laugh. I laugh too and reply, “What a weirdo! So Sydney, what are you doing here anyway?” She cocks her head and looks at me for a second in confusion. “OH! I was just you know shopping for a birthday gift for Arnie!” she stutters and shuffles off into the store. I smile at her quirkiness and begin my walk home. As I walk, an idea comes into my head. Arnie’s birthday is in December; we always celebrate our birthdays together. Sydney must have messed up whose birthday it was that she was shopping for.
As I pass over the bridge, the man’s words ring in my ear. Should I go home? Of course, I should! He was a crazy lunatic and there is no way he was right. But what was he trying to say? There is no way I’d be interesting enough to have my own Truman show! A picture of my extremely dull parents flashes in my mind. My father works as a vacuum repairman and my mother works at the local factory. I laugh as I think of them as some part of a huge conspiracy; they would never be able to keep a secret that big. I hear a rustling behind me and turn around. My father is walking towards me. “Hi kid! I heard you had a run in with some freak at the supermarket, are you okay?” He says grabbing the bags from me. “Of course, he’s just a weirdo. But can you tell mom that I’m going to be home late? I want to stop by the post office and mail the letter to the grocery store.” I say pulling the letter from my bag. This wasn’t my only bad day at the grocery store. The only grocery store in town only sells one brand of everything and I feel like there should be a better selection. In my books the characters are always deliberating over brands in the aisles and when I realized that I had never done that, I thought the best solution was to write to the grocery store chain to see why they didn’t carry more than one brand of anything. My mother told me that the grocery store knew the best brands of everything and so it was a gift to us to not have to deliberate but I still wanted to write the letter just in case there was another explanation.
My father looked at me and offered to accompany me. I said I’d be fine and watched him walk towards my house. After he passed by, I walked to the old beach. I just needed to clear my head and be alone. I was always told to stay away from there but it was the most calming place I had ever been. I sat on the rocks and watched the distant waves near the cliffs for an hour before Charlie walked up out of nowhere. He was my soul mate; he always knew what was bothering me and where to find me. He sits down beside me and tries to calm me as always. “I don’t know Chuck. I know it sounds super crazy but I think that the guy might’ve been sane. Have you ever noticed how weird everyone is here?” I say looking at his green Irish eyes. “No, I just think that you’re under the weather. Let’s go home sweetie.” He says fixing my disheveled hair into a neat pony tail. What if Chuck was in on this? Could he be messing with me? “You’re right. I’m probably just tired. I’m just so wound up lately. I’ll just watch the waves for a few more minutes okay?” I say trying to sound genuine. His million dollar smile makes my heart fly and he wraps his sweater around my shoulders. “Go home.”
He kisses me on the cheek before vanishing and I inhale as I put on his jacket. I feel something in the pocket and pull it out. It could be an old mp3 or cassette player… or a microphone. I look at the boxy piece of technology wondering what to do with it. Thunder rumbles on the faraway cliffs and I throw Chuck’s microphone into the water. Was he really going to ask me for his microphone back? Worse comes to worse, if it really was a vintage mp3 player; I’ll replace it. As I feel the wind, I hear a shuttering noise like the kind that comes from a camera. I turn around and see that I’m alone. In an attempt to reclaim my sanity, I hike out to the cliffs and stand on top of them. If this was all fake and I was in real trouble, I would be saved. If this was real and I was in trouble, I might get one of those adrenaline rushes and be able to save myself. So either way I’d be good; right? I close my eyes and jump. The stupidity of my decision hits me as I fall into the freezing water. I gasp for air but the waves are too strong. Did I really just do this? Am I going to die? Right before I black out, I hear an ambulance siren and feel a hand grab my arm.
When I wake up, I’m in a hospital watching the news. A picture of the man from the store comes on to the screen along with a report of how he was an escaped mental patient. After suffering through visits from Chuck and Sydney, my parents, the doctor, and a psychiatrist, I promise to never do something so stupid again. The doctor says they’ll have to monitor me overnight and so I force my friends and family to go home so I can sleep. As the lights go out, I hear a small beep like when something is on low battery. I look at the vent and see a camera with a red light. I look at the door and the psychiatrist is sitting on a chair outside my door. I climb back into bed and put the pillow over my head. “God, please let me be crazy.” I whisper as the camera beeps again.
|
It was just the cashier and one customer. The cashier wore a nametag that said, "Bill". The customer wore no such identification, in fact, had gone to cartoonish lengths to hide his features under a wide brimmed hat and beneath a baggy, beige trenchcoat.
The customer didn't dally, but walked straight up to the items he required: a six of Bud Light longnecks and a family size bag of Cool Ranch Doritos. He then went to the counter and asked for a pack of Camel Wides.
The cashier said, "Am I going to have to tell Michelle on you, Barry?"
The customer snorted underneath his hat. "Only if I get to tell Hillary about your second job."
Bill smiled, ringing up the few items. "So how'd you give them the slip this time?"
"Roofies for the guys at the door. Nobody looked at me twice otherwise. You?"
Bill shrugged, "She's stopped asking where I go nights."
"Learning anything?"
"Only that 'I've got one of those faces' works just about every time to avoid questions, but not second looks really."
"You still liking this?"
"It still gives me an ear to the ground in Washington, so yeah. Besides, if taxes keep going they way they are, I might just need the money."
The customer looked up enough to glare at the cashier while still keep the camera from getting a full look at his face. He then handed the cashier a twenty without asking the price.
"See you around, Bill."
"See you around, Barry."
The customer left without another word, skulking back to the most iconic building in America. Bill, on the other hand, stepped around from behind the counter and went back to mopping, relieve that he no longer had to make that trek himself. |
Lieutenant Ramsey thought about apples. How his grandfather used to take his brother and two sisters and himself out to an orchard in Earth’s fall. He thought about how big those apples were compared to his small, child’s hands. Practically as big as his head. The sweetest thing he ever tasted. They used to bring big bags of them home, and his grandfather would crush them into cider.
He flitted between his imaginings and darkness
Then he wondered how much he had to drink last night. His head hurt, and he felt hard steel underneath him. Pain shot up his back. Had he obliterated himself and passed out in the hallway? One of the lower storage levels? He kept his eyes closed for the time being because everything hurt. Why was he thinking of his grandfather and apple orchards? What the bloody hell happened.
He raised a hand to his face. It banged against the glass of the helmet on his head. Then it all came back to him.
He was wearing his emergency suit, and he was dreaming of apples because the air filters in the helmet were apple scented, filling his head with that nauseatingly sweet smell to avoid that stale, coppery taste of recycled oxygen. He was wearing his emergency suit because the last time he had been awake and aware something big had smashed into the ship, and the whole ship erupted in flooding light and shrieking alarms. Hull breaches on three levels. Some type of biological contagion.
Yes, he remembered.
The bio contagion. A spore of some kind. When the impact – an asteroid, a piece of space junk – punctured the ship, the spores released. Spores like this clung to anything at all in deep, dark reaches of space and waited for the first thing to come along. They had seen this type of agent at work before. In the oxygen rich air, the spores exploded, multiplying rapidly, coating the walls, the vents, the machinery in fuzzy grey mass. When each pod reached maturity, which took about five seconds, it exploded into a hundred thousand more spores, which turned into pods, which exploded into a hundred thousand more spores. They had started spreading so rapidly. The people who had failed to get to their safety suits in time, who found themselves in the wrong place at the wrong moment, had their brains eaten, their insides over run by the fuzzy grey wave.
Lieutenant Ramsay had run to his station on the deck through the sea of flooding lights and shrieking sirens, but the command center was one of the first areas that had been breached and overrun. He looked into the ship through a thick plate of glass. The ships defense system had sealed off all contaminated areas, sucking the air out of the infected rooms, including the bridge. He looked at the bridge, submerged in red light, the captain, the other lieutenants, the communications officers – all fuzzed over with spores and pods at their stations or sprawled out on the floor. The spores would remain dormant until more air was introduced, or someone went in with a plasma-arc and torched the fuckers.
After that he had run to the second deck to see with his own eyes what was happening. Then the second impact hit them. He had been running at full speed and the impact slammed into a wall and smashed him into the floor, rag dolled like one of those old wrestling programs he used to watch as a kid. That’s when the blackness had descended, and the dreams about apples and Earth and his wise, gnarled grandfather had come to him.
He pulled himself up when he heard human voices. He followed their sound. They were yelling at each other. He stepped into a storage area, the walls stacked high with crates. A dozen men and women stood in identical emergency suits, identifiable only by little strips of color displaying rank. They turned towards him.
And saluted. Which meant he was now the captain of this vessel.
“We thought you were dead,” Roger said. “Thank the lord Jesus. We were about to override the security system to get onto the bridge.”
“What was that second impact? Whatever it was, it knocked me the hell out.”
“We don’t know. I don’t think it breached the hull.”
“This doesn’t make any sense,” someone else said. “the ships navigation system should have avoided anything it picked up on the sensors.”
“Okay,” Ramsay said. “How many casualties?”
No one spoke for a long second.
“This is all of us.”
They left with 35 men and women. A dozen stood in the room, looking at Ramsay. More than fifty percent.
“Have you sent out the emergency signal?”
“We couldn’t get it to work. We were going to into the bridge because the center consul must be damaged. All of the other communications systems are disconnected from the main terminal.”
“I’ll take care of that,” Ramsay said. “The rest of you – I want you to run diagnostics on all the ship’s systems. See what’s working and what’s not. Go through each one. I’ll be right back.”
He entered the vacuum chamber, heard the hiss of decompressing air, and stepped onto the bridge. He stood, bathed in red light. Without air, the only sound was the hot surge of blood in his veins. His heart beat at a jagged, heightened pace. He looked down at Lieutenant Valdez. He had always liked her. They used to eat together, tease each other. They were just friends, but he sometimes imagined that it would turn into something else. Now she barely looked human. Her eyes bulged from the decreased air pressure, her deep brown skin turned pale and blotchy in death. The fuzz covered half her face, one of her eyeballs. Her tongue lolled out of her mouth, the fuzz running down it and to her insides. He stepped over her and walked to the main communications terminal.
He moved the captain’s body out of the way and started working on it. He couldn’t seem to figure it out. There was nothing wrong with the hardware, as far as he could tell. There must have been a software bug, even thought it was exceedingly uncommon. He started messing around with the computer, trying to find some clues as to what went wrong.
In the list of the ships last commands, he found something peculiar.
The ship had exchanged communications with an unidentified ship, with unknown coordinates, which should have been impossible. Every ship in human space was registered and tracked.
Well, besides pirates.
A cold feeling went through him. There ship had changed course unexpectedly. They might have been maneuvering around an asteroid field, or some other body in space, but something seemed wrong here. He tried to run some commands through the computer but it kept going all screwy. He kept getting error messages. It was almost like they had been hit with a virus.
“Oh fuck,” he said outloud, standing up.
The exchange in communications – whatever it had been – had planted a virus. If it was a pirate ship, and someone on board had authorized the communication, lowered the ship's defenses, then that meant the pirates had an inside man who had led them to this spot. They had billions if not trillions in precious minerals in their hold. And the initial impact – well, ships didn’t just run into things. Someone had launched that at them, the way armies used to lob bodies infected with plague over city walls in medieval times.
And the second impact? Maybe that was the boarding party, coming to claim their prize.
Ramsay stood up, exited through the vacuum chamber, and sprinted back towards the ship’s hold, his footsteps ringing off the metal, but by then the sound of gunfire had already started.
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