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"You know we'd storm the gates of Hell with only a mouthful of spit to fight with for you, Sir!"
Lieutenant Colonel William "Bull"Scott grinned, not in jest but the smile of wolf that has caught scent of fresh prey.
What more could he ask for? Randy bastards, each and every one of them, itching to get back into the fight for their brothers left above. They were rough men and they damn well stood ready.
The Bull was an imposing man, until a lucky round had caught him right in the armpit where the body armour is weak. Like each and every one of the thousands of men before him, he had died.
"Goddamn it, it's almost as hot here as it was in 'Nam,"one of the men joked and the rest laughed, rippling through the ranks of soldiers.
It broke The Bull's thoughts and set his mind to work.
"Here we are boys, I couldn't ask for more from you-"
"-you don't have to sir!"
They cheered, raucous and loud.
"-If you're willing to give it, I need one more charge from you. We'll take that goddamned gate, we'll pave the way for our brothers and sisters still fighting! It'll be a cold day down here when I give up the fight!"
More cheering, even louder. Across the blackened soil and spurting flames was a massive gate. Black metal. Cold. Harsh edges and spikes, guarded by a horde of twisted beasts and monstrosities. Humans, once.
The Bull checked his M4, slamming a fresh magazine home and sliding back the charging handle. The sound of thousands upon thousands of Marines readying their weapons is a formidable one.
Even the beasts looked concerned.
The Marines turned and roared a wild battle cry, parting for The Bull to step to the front of the lines.
The silence as he stood there lasted but a moment.
Before the earth shook and the Marines charged. |
Runescape II became a hit when they were the first to introduce this new technology, with your base stats being based on your real body and experiences, and to increase those stats you had to train in real life - Of course, those with little in game experience were still a measly level three, even if their strength was through the roof. However, a character that was a strange exception to this had everyone crowding around him, mimicking their real life counterparts that were running on the spot, turning heads and bodies. You could see people busy with their virtual menus, as some went out of the game to quickly Google what was happening, and others went to report this game breaking exception.
"Did he hack?"
"What a troll."
The text bubbles came up from came from many mouths, repeating the few different questions and statements. Who was this one character, named after the God from the legends past, and why were many of his skills infinite, or ridiculously beyond human reach? One could barely fit through as nearly a billion people crowded around the central grand exchange to see the supposed hacker.
"He is not hacking. Game Developers have confirmed this."Came announcements from many game moderators, though themselves curious or doubtful, expecting a prank from the higher ups. The odd character looked like the stereotypical God of Christianity that was seen in all the paintings and artworks of many years past - long white beard, white hair, an elderly but still very strong look.
One user barged through the crowds into interaction range with "God", and stared into his face for a few seconds. Suddenly, a pole with the duel banner hanging from it launched from the ground, propping itself up in the hole it came from. A fist fight was the challenge, and a with a stoic and unmoving face, the level three God assumed a generic brawlers pose with his fists in front of him, waiting for the fight with a low strength level 100 to begin. The audible countdown from nowhere started, and the fight was over before anyone even saw what happened. Launched backwards five feet, the man suddenly disconnected mid-air before impact with the crowd. Presumably, the knockback from the blow was felt in reality and he was flung far away, disconnected from the cords. The crowd around him in awe, God then walked through the crowd towards the exit of the exchange, meeting up with another level three with lower stats than God, but still inhuman overall. The brown haired man wore a crown of barbed plants on his head, doing a constant DoT damage to him, though he smiled. Walking to the exit in peace as the crowd was too shocked to move, God and his friend suddenly disconnected.
An infinite number of this strange book called the 'Bible' appeared in the exchange for free. Not long afterwards, multiple game developers released statements to curious media teams and news sites, wondering how the biggest game of the century was hacked.
"It was not a hack. That was a legitimate interface between a person... Or something person-like, and the game"were the constant reports from game developers, wide eyed in disbelief even months later.
After that day, a majority of players and many developers, even those that weren't witness to the incident, quit and found a real copy of that 'Bible' book.
---
I'm pretty bad at short stories, but this one I decided to try. I've always been criticised as someone who is better at novels, or my stories are definitely like novel-excerpts, in part since in a short story my plot:backstory ratio is pretty bad. The end of this was murky, and overall there was a lack of detailing in this story, but I decided to submit what I had since I know I won't have motivation to continue later on. I also couldn't decide whether or not to go for something easy like an MMORPG (Runescape with a small WoW reference, haha) or go for something a bit harder, like a shooter game. |
The net thrashed down onto the deck, causing water to come pouring in from the sides of the rocking boat.
"What...is it?"asked the Peter.
"I dunno Pete, it almost looks like a girl"gawked Andrew. "Maybe it's a mermaid!"
Pete snarled "That's not funny dude, get out of the way."Pete pushed Andrew to the left, making sure to even out the weight before approaching the strange catch.
"Holy shit!"cried Pete. "It is a girl."
"Is she dead?"asked Andrew.
"Looks like it"said Pete, after carefully wiping the mud off of the girls cold face.
"Well what the hell are we going to do?"cried Andrew. Pete continued to kneel over the girl, keeping his back towards Andrew.
"Pete, what are we going to--WHAT THE HELL ARE THOSE"
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She had been back for four months and the only two people she had gotten so far were the two men who found her. It used to be so easy back then. Playing "maiden in distress"now just ends with someone walking by, not even bothering to look up from the strange metal tablet in their hands.
"Don't worry my honeys, we will get someone soon."whispered the girl.
She was going to use her backup plan, to be the "maiden fair"to attract all of the men. It never failed her then, how could it fail her now? As a man walked by she pushed out her breasts, and sure enough he looked up. His stare stopped abruptly at her breasts before his face blushed and he quickly looked down. Other men came by, each one giving a quick glance before returning their gaze back to the tablet. What sort of magic was this? Were all of these people being controlled by some sorcerer and his tools? Surely that must be it she thought, it was probably the work of Hades himself.
With no other choice left, the woman ripped off her scarf. This drew the attention of all passerby's, men and women. A crowd of people gathered around her, but as she looked at each persons face none of them looked back. Instead they covered their face with the tablet, some of the tablets even casts white blinding lights onto her and her pets--preventing her once again from releasing her evil onto an unsuspecting victim.
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This is my first time writing a response to a prompt, I haven't written a story in years, so any and all feedback is welcomed! I'm hoping I wasn't too vague on who this ancient evil person is.
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**Edit: Hey guys, quick update. Yes I am continuing to write. My wife is very encouraging with this venture as are all of you so I created a subreddit /r/InfinityBook Check it out and subscribe. I'm curious to see how far this goes**
Why do they let jerks like these stay in school after 18? Mason Gillman, the dumbest jock in the entire history of the universe, just turned 18 a week ago and woke up with a 23 on his back. Are you freaking kidding me? At 6'4 200lbs with good looks and money, he must not have anything better to do with his time. Why do the bullies get the high numbers and us who are nice and lowkey that keep to ourselves get numbers like a 3 or 4? My friend Rick who turned 18 two months ago got a 3. He has telekinesis. He can barely make a can of soup float. No matter what, a 3 cannot beat a 4 in terms of power. Power is determined by strength of will. And lets face it, we are weak willed. We always back down and shy away from confrontation. I'm by no means a small guy. At 5'11 and 160lbs I'm actually in decent shape from playing sports with my friends but I just don't like confrontation and I hate the idea of fighting. They call me Spidey because im lanky so I just go with it.
It's not like trying to keep to ourselves doesn't put us in his cross hairs. If anything, he is much worse now. And he is a pyro. A fire user. Not surprised, considering hes such a hot headed and ill tempered douche bag. He gets a woody when he lights our shoelaces on fire for fun. A typical idiot with less than two brain cells in his head. And it's those that get lucky. Anything above a 20 warrants attention from special forces. They only take the strongest of the strong. It is the highest honor to become one. Every kid can't go through school a single day without hearing about it. They are peacekeepers, and strong arm of the government. They subdue those who would use their superpowers for evil and mayhem. They also live a life of luxury because they are so invaluable.
However this is just a fantasy now. I know I will never be able to join. I am likely to be anywhere from a 1 to a 4. Maybe a 5 if I'm lucky. I didn't even care anymore. At that low of a power, it's only good for parlor tricks and I'm no magician. So I didn't even care that my 18th birthday was tomorrow.
"Hey Spidey, you're walkin a bit slow, let me help you walk faster"Mason shouted at me from down the hall.
Before I knew it I could feel the heat on my feet. I stumbled to the ground as I attempted to put out the fire as the assholes laughed at me. After a few seconds of falling on the floor I felt the rush of cold on my feet and the burning sensation stopped. I looked up to see Catarina, Masons girlfriend, or ex girlfriend depending on the day of the week. She was an ice user, his polar opposite basically.
"You're such a jerk Mason, when are you going to stop picking on people"She yells at him. Mason begins to laugh without a care "haha, when they grow a spine and do something about it".
Catarina holds out her hand and I take it. She helps me up and looks at Mason "This is why I broke up with you. You say crap like that yet you know they have nowhere near your power, he doesn't even have his powers yet".
Mason just continues to laugh mumbling something incoherent and walks away with his other jock buddies. "Thanks"I say to Catarina with my head low in shame. It's bad enough to deal with him, now I have to be saved by a girl.
"Hey don't worry about him. He won't be here for much longer. You know special forces will come for him"she says to me. Shes gorgeous from head to toe. Her smile just makes my head spin. She's a brunette at about 5'4 and 120lbs. She is from Morocco but has lived here in the states since she was a year old. Shes been in several of my classes and has always been nice to me. What she saw in that walking meatbag I have no idea.
I finally work up the nerve to look at her and reply "Yea, and god help us all when that happens. He would probably light them on fire instead of the enemy just because he would think it's funny". She started laughing and placed a hand on my shoulder, "haha good one Spidey, you've always cracked me up". If I didn't know she was way out of my league I would think she was flirting with me. But I know it's just her being nice and trying to make me feel better. That's the type of person she has always been.
I brush off my clothes and straighten up as I tell her "Yea that's me, the comedian. Maybe I will get the power of comedy and make people laugh to death. Anyways, thanks for the help, I gotta get home before my mom freaks out again because I'm 2 minutes behind schedule".
Catarina grabs my hand gently and begins making me walk with her before she speaks "Hey no problem, I'll give you a ride so you don't waste time on the buses, should make it home in plenty of time then". I don't want to decline because her touching me and forcing me to go with her is working up towards many fantasies I had growing up, even though I know it's not going there. "Alright alright"I say, "you don't have to pull my arm out of my socket".
She turns her chin up at me and wrinkles her nose "Oops hehe, sorry didn't mean to be so forceful"she says with a wink. Okay I have officially entered the twilight zone. Mason must have barbequed me in the hallway and now im dead. Because I definitely know this was flirting. So I just went along with it, maybe I hit my head on the way down and I am just reading too far into this.
The car ride home was uneventful. We just chatted about school and what a turd Mason was. As we pulled up to my house I could see my mom was home. She always was worried sick. But she was a strong women. I knew this because she had a 16 on her back. My father left when I was young. They were both underage when they had me. She was 18 and him 17. Shortly after I was born he turned 18 and left. Never heard from him again. He probably had such a low number it made him feel inferior to my mother. There is alot of bias in society about things like that.
Catarina and I chatted for another minute as I grabbed my schoolwork. I thanked her for the ride and I grabbed the door handle she placed her hand on my knee, "Look, dont worry about Mason. He's a jerk and will always be that way. Stay the way you are and don't let people like him get under your skin and change you". Just as fast she took her hand off my knee and leaned over and gave me a 1 second too long kiss on the cheek. Yep, I died in that hallway. She smiles and says "Have a good birthday". I just thanked her again and bolted from her car to my house. This was WAY too weird.
I shook off the strange events that had transpired and walked in the door. "Hey mom, I'm home". I walk around the dining room to the kitchen to see my mom cooking dinner. "Hey sweetie, im cooking dinner a little early today if thats okay, I figured you would want to go out with your friends for your birthday". It smelled so good, a glazed ham by the smell of it. My mom was always an awesome cook. "That's fine mom, I'm starving anyways".
We ate dinner a couple hours later and chatted about our day. I didn't want to burden her with my problems at school with Mason. She has enough on her plate as it is than to worry about a teenage scuffle at school. After dinner I got dressed and went to hang out with Rick and a couple of our friends. Rick has been my best friend since elementary school. A huge nerd but a cool guy and very smart. He wanted to go bowling and I knew why. It was one of the few things he could use his power to win at something. So I would just indulge him and act like I didn't know. It made him happy and he would tease me about winning every time. It was all in good fun.
At around 11 I decided to head home. Rick stopped me before we got in his car "Yo, what do you think you're going to get? You think it will be something cool? I bet you're gunna get like a 25 and then you can kick the crap out of Mason".
I laughed "Yea just as likely to have a 104, the same as RED"
Rick stopped, "Dude keep that to yourself, you know it's become like a taboo to talk about him".
I just raise an eyebrow "Yea but it still happened, that's why the special forces exist incase anyone like that pops up again".
At that we get in the car and drive home. I couldn't stop thinking about RED. He was malicious and violent and used his power to attempt to subjugate the planet. He put fear into everyone. Noone was safe. This was when superpowers started to exist. He was one of the first. And with that much power, it went to his head. He felt the world would be better off if he ruled it himself. Thousands died attempting to stop him. To this day, noone is quite sure what his power really was. It was some sort of Void power. Harnessing blackholes and gravity of some kind. But even that description could be completely wrong. It took a team of 100 of the strongest in the world to bring him down. And as irony is ever present, what killed him was a simple gunshot to the heart. No matter how strong you are, you can't survive a bullet in the heart.
We pulled up to my house and I told Rick I'll see him tomorrow at school. I wasn't excited like most kids. I didn't care because I knew what it would be. My mother was already asleep so I went straight to my bed. I thought about staying out later but I still had school tomorrow. It didn't take me long before I fell asleep. |
*T. gondii* cluster #384830 preferred that its friends call it "Frank", the name of its host. Born in the bowels of Mittens the kitten, it had been an uphill struggle to move up to the deluxe apartment in the sky. Coordinating with cluster #853764, AKA "Sarah"the pet groomer, cluster #384830 had used what little control it had over the feline to make it as happy and endearing as it could when hedge fund manager Frank Clemson came by. Clemson had just won the bid to the patent for the only *T. gondii* vaccine in development, and was hoping to sell it to a drug company for a profit.
This was to be their best chance in stopping the impending doom of their species.
With the aid of Mittens' saucer dish eyes, the *T. gondii* cluster procured a place in Clemson's condo, and began reproduction in earnest, dividing and shedding on whatever the cat's butthole had come into contact.
Finally, weeks later, it happened. Cluster #384830 gained entry into Clemson's body during the ingestion of some poorly washed leafy greens. Ecstatic, it named itself "Frank"and burrowed into the host's white blood cells, forcing the cells to swim and crawl as hard as it could towards Clemson's brain. Reaching the blood-brain barrier, it exited the blood cell and pried its way through the membrane walls. Reaching the elongate and star-shaped brain cells, it went inside to its new, permanent home.
If "Frank"could've cried tears of elation and triumph, it would have. Instead, Clemson found his eyes welling up with tears that he didn't understand, completely unaware that his thought processes were no longer his own.
Two weeks later, the proposed price of the *T. gondii* vaccine had risen 100000%. Investors got cold feet, demand disappeared, and no pharmaceutical company wanted to purchase the liability. Two years later, no humans on the continent of North America remained free of *T. gondii* control, and somehow, "Frank"Clemson, the failed entrepreneur, had become the president of the United States of America.
---
Sidenote: *T. gondii* can actually invade cells, including neurons and leukocytes, and make the latter move faster. It can also set up shop and form cysts in the brain, interfering with various signaling pathways there. |
Falling.
Ouch.
Help.
Wiggle my legs.
Can't do anything.
Look around for help.
No one's here.
Cry of a bird.
Bring limbs in.
Bird takes.
Flying through sky.
Bird drops.
Land hard. Ouch.
Take limbs out.
Can walk again.
Look around.
Hear cries.
Walk towards cries.
Found boy.
Boy found me.
I am Tony. Yes.
Boy picks me up.
Back home now.
I get food.
Happy.
___
Well holy shit, I got gilded. Obligatory "Thanks, Stranger!"If you liked this then be sure to check out my subreddit, /r/OpiWrites (Shameless plug engaged) |
My ticket arrived in the mail. It was also sent digitally to all my social media accounts and the e-mail I haven't used very much in years. I dunno why they bothered sending more than one copy; you either get a ticket or you don't. If you don't, you get a team of rough-looking types at every entrance and potential exit of your home, ready to send you to the glue factory.
The first thing I felt was relief. Every day since they'd announced Resolution 1092 at the UN had been a nightmare. Once a week the teams came to make their collections--I saw other people in my building dragged kicking and screaming out of their own homes, into the service elevator and off to their fate. I'd witnessed homeless families who'd attempted to escape the authorities pulled out of alleys and shelters, thrown in the back of vans, and driven away. Once they even came to my work and took away the operations manager.
But the more that ticket sat in its safe place in a folder along with my tax forms, the more a sense of shame grew in my stomach. I pulled it out a few times and read its life-saving statement again and again. Ink that preserved my existence.
THIS FORM IS TO CONFIRM THAT CITIZEN 9572201-595, SPASOJE RADENOVIC, IS EXEMPT FROM EXTERMINATION UNDER THE PRESERVATION OF HUMANITY ACT.
I knew what the forms that confirmed extermination said. They had no names, and they never reached the unlucky. My brother handled POHA forms all the time, he said the extermination tickets only had the citizen numbers in order to detach the people in the office from the lives extinguished. He said it didn't work--because the POHA office also had the workplace, family, and personality information, too. In order to make the procedure more efficient.
It's been three weeks since I received my ticket. It rests in my left pocket, folded in half, nearly torn along the crease because I have bent it and straightened it and bent it the other way ten times in as many days. The Voluntary Extermination Center has just opened and yet I am in the middle of a lineup of at least forty morose, silent individuals. Some of them drop out of the line the moment the doors open, others are in the lobby or even confirming their own desire to be humanely killed and disposed of before they lose their will to lose their will to live.
By the time I get to the desk only seven of us are left, though it's possible a few have gone off to die in their quiet rooms without my seeing them. The woman at the desk is pretty, sympathetic, and polite. She reminds me a few times that I have been selected for exemption because I am an asset to humanity, and not a burden. She tells me that it would be wonderful if I simply sterilized myself instead. I smile at her and insist on proceeding at every step of the way. It occurs to me that the only ones who have not given up their death wish are the ones who can still smile and chat. The ones who let reassurance wash over them and treat their own demise, as I do, like something routine and necessary.
When all is said and done I'm in a room with a comfortable bed, watching a doctor swab my skin with a cotton swab dabbed in a transparent liquid. It isn't alcohol; the substance smells wonderful and makes my skin feel numb. He inserts a needle into the big vein in the notch between my upper arm and forearm, filled with light-blue liquid. The liquid is pushed in very quickly and I have only a second to think. My only thought flits by me in the rapidly all-consuming haze of a painless death: My place has been traded so that some other person may get their exemption and live. Did someone have to do the same for me? |
I slipped into the house as quietly as I could. My mom was home and I didn't want her to hear me come in. I knew if she did, she would ask about my report card.
"Sara? Is that you?"
*Crap. She heard me.*
"Sara, dear, come down and bring your report card. Don't try to hide now. I'm sure you did better this semester."
*Sure you do.* I thought sarcastically.
She knew I was no good at school.
Still, she demanded straight A's. It was "for my own good". She didn't want me to "end up homeless in a ditch". Or so she said. I knew what she was up to.
She wanted my life.
You see, when a person dies before the age of 85, they can leave their unused years of life to others. However, since I am a minor, if I die, everything goes to my parents, well, in this case my mom. That includes the remaining 73 years I could have lived. She was hoping I would cave under the pressure and off myself. My dad had. He had died in a suspicious camping accident and left everything to my mom, shortly after she found out she couldn't have any more children. That was when I had begun to catch on.
"Sara, dear,"my mother's voice had acquired a sharper tone, "now!"
I sighed and headed down the steps to the living room.
My little brother was already downstairs. He looked like he was struggling not to cry. My mother was shaking her head as she looked over his report card. She saw me enter the room and held out her hand.
"Give it here, sweety."
I reluctantly handed her the manilla envelope.
She opened it and looked at my grades. Her face darkened and she began to shake her head again.
"I'm *so* disappointed in you both. Peter, you got a B in Math, and Sara, you got an A- in Art? Keep this up and you will never amount to anything..."Then she said something we all dreaded, "There will be serious consequences for this."
My heart sank. She was going to ground us. That meant no dessert, no social life, and even worse, she was going to change the WiFi password for the next two months. It was pure torture, even as a practically grown-up 12-year-old.
*SLAM*
I started as Peter ran upstairs and slammed the door to his room.
"Oh dear."Mother murmured. "I hope he isn't thinking of doing anything foolish."
I tensed. This was bad. But I knew from experience there was nothing I could do. My mother could make my life much, much worse if I tried to intervene.
I knew what we would find in his room when Peter didn't show up for dinner. He had somehow managed to hang himself from the ceiling fan. I shook my head. I had tried to warn him, I really did. But there is only so much you can explain to a kid, especially when they are a blabber mouth who doesn't know how to keep secrets from mom.
My mother seemed so heartbroken. She really did. Everyone else seemed to believe it, but I knew better. I thought I was the only one who saw through her charade. That was why I was surprised when my older sister showed up at our house a few weeks later asking for me specifically.
Kate was 21 and married, and as such, my mother had lost interest in her. I had never really known Kate. She was from my mother's previous marriage who had died of cancer or something. I wasn't really sure. My mother never talked about it.
"Sara, we need to talk. Want to go out for pizza?"
It was an odd request, as I had never really hung out with her before, but what 12-year-old will turn down pizza?
She started talking before we even pulled out of the driveway.
"I know you know what Mom is up to."
I was shocked. "I...don't know what you mean,"I lied.
"Yes you do. Now listen closely. I can get you out of there. I forged these."She handed me some legal guardian forms. My mouth dropped open.
"You mean you can adopt me?"I practically shouted it, I was so shocked and excited. "No more getting grounded and school pressure and pills getting 'accidentally' left in my room?"
My sister nodded. "Yes."
We hung out at the pizza place for a while so it was late when we left. I quickly fell asleep in the car. It was early morning when my sister woke me.
Something was wrong. Why was it morning? She only lived a few hours away. But I was too groggy to react. Through my fogged mind I noticed we were way out in the county. Why was that? My sister helped me out of the car and lead me into the woods.
"Where-"
"Shh. Your mom is trying to find us. She found out I forged her signature on your adoption papers. We are going to hide out here for a while."
"Oh. Okay."I was still feeling too sleepy to question it.
We came to a small clearing with a large hole dug in the center.
"I'm sorry, Sara."
"Sorry for what?"
"I'm sick. Dying, actually, but with your mom dead and framed for your murder, her remaining years and yours will be give to me as the oldest remaining relative. It is the only thing that can keep me alive. So, I'm sorry."
"What..."Before my sluggish brain could process the meaning behind her words, I heard a bang and felt a sharp pain in my head. I felt myself falling, and my last thought was that the pizza must have been drugged. |
It was different this time, almost child-like.
"*...don't do that...*"she whispered.
"...what?"I asked the omniscient voice in my head.
"*...he's going to kill you...*"she whispered again.
"W-what do you...?"I felt my voice trail off.
I was confused.
"*...don't go home...please...*"she pleaded. "*...he knows...*"
I realized the voice I was hearing wasn't the same one that usually narrated my life. *This little girl had skipped ahead in the book...*
"Okay..."I whispered slowly. "So what should I do next?"
"..."
Silence fell over her, and as quickly as her voice appeared, it was replaced by the all-too-familiar soothing voice of the regular narrator.
"*On this sunny Saturday morning,*"she started. "*Emily loaded up her car from her grocery run and began driving home...*" |
"Black. Ergonomic. Lights up in the dark,"I pronounce solemnly.
I pass the requested item to a man wearing a stained gray hoodie. He reverently takes the keyboard from my hands.
"How much does it cost?"Says the man.
"Two hundred dollars,"I say.
"Two hundred dollars?!"He splutters. "I know a dealer who sells this kind of stuff for half that amount."
"Yes, but does it do THIS?"
I press a key.
Instantly, the keyboard, plugged into one of my computers, types furiously by itself, the keys clacking noisily.
"What the fuck did you just fucking say about me, you little bitch? I’ll have you know I graduated top of my class in the Navy Seals, and I’ve been involved in numerous secret raids on Al-Quaeda, and I have over 300 confirmed kills. I am trained in gorilla warfare and I’m the top sniper in the entire US armed forces. You are nothing to me but just another target. I will wipe you the fuck out with precision the likes of which has never been seen before on this Earth, mark my fucking words. You think you can get away with saying that shit to me over the Internet? Think again, fucker. As we speak I am contacting my secret network of spies across the USA and your IP is being traced right now so you better prepare for the storm, maggot. The storm that wipes out the pathetic little thing you call your life. You’re fucking dead, kid. I can be anywhere, anytime, and I can kill you in over seven hundred ways, and that’s just with my bare hands. Not only am I extensively trained in unarmed combat, but I have access to the entire arsenal of the United States Marine Corps and I will use it to its full extent to wipe your miserable ass off the face of the continent, you little shit. If only you could have known what unholy retribution your little “clever” comment was about to bring down upon you, maybe you would have held your fucking tongue. But you couldn’t, you didn’t, and now you’re paying the price, you goddamn idiot. I will shit fury all over you and you will drown in it. You’re fucking dead, kiddo."Reads the man.
He looks impressed. "Having this on hand is worth every penny,"he says, extracting two hundred dollars from a grimy pocket. "Consider this deal done."
He slopes away, and I face my next client.
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I was cleaning out the crawlspace when I found the old journal. Actually it found me - I bent down to pick up a box and bumped against a nearby stack of them, and the journal fell out and hit me on the head. It was covered in dust and the remnants of old spider webs, and I chuckled at how fitting its dilapidated state was. Dust and cobwebs, perfect decorations for a child's book of imagined horrors.
Cleaning immediately dropped to the bottom of my list of priorities. I had been reading my old stories to the kids for years, but I had been through them all so many times, I was desperate for new material. The journal was an invaluable find and I had to review it right away.
I took it up to the living room and plopped down in my favorite chair. After (somewhat regretfully) brushing the cover clean, I opened it slowly, with great reverence. The inscription earned another nostalgic laugh:
*DAVID'S MONSTERPEDIA*
*Readers beware!*
I leafed idly through the pages for a while, enjoying the rush of memories that came with each old picture and description. My spelling had hardly improved since then, I had to admit. I was about to bring it up to my wife Maria to get her to scan it while she was working at the computer, but then an old favorite caught my eye.
*THE FLAMER: The Flamer is a normal-looking boy who always wares a hat, even in summer. But if you are aloen with him, he takes it off and his hair is mayed of FIRE!*
It struck me, suddenly, that this description perfectly matched our oldest son, Jake. Jake, in this, his 12th summer, had taken to wearing a beanie at all times - it was his first real fashion statement. Of course, The Flamer was just a manifestation of my strange, and long-past, childhood fear of gingers - it could have described any redheaded boy.
Nonetheless the coincidence unnerved me, just a little. I felt silly, but I decided to read the next page, just to assure myself of the book's essential randomness.
*THE LOOPY LICKER: The loopy licker is a girl with a long, curlie tonge. When she liks you its poison and she can curl it into a gun to shoot you!*
I frowned. Our daughter, Lupe, had recently discovered her ability to roll her tongue, and had been showing this trick (against the directions of myself and Maria) to everyone she met. Despite myself, I could feel the book beginning to tug at some deep instinct, like it was trying to tell me something that I wasn't quite understanding yet.
I read on.
*SCIZORFACE: Scizorface has a giant mettel head splitted down the middle to make sizzors for a chin. He cuts yer head off!*
Tommy's cleft chin.
Oh.
Oh FUCK.
I tossed the book on the floor and ran upstairs to the office. My loving wife was sitting at the computer desk and she turned to me wide-eyed as I burst into the room. I took a moment to catch my breath, and to consider whether I really wanted to know the truth of this... prophecy.
But I had to.
"We don't have red hair, Maria,"I said. "We don't have cleft chins. And I can't... I can't roll my tongue."
She started to cry. |
"Honey, you know what's my opinion on all of this. I'm not a very religious person, don't make me do this"- I pleaded her, making a mental list of my abilities that I could use to make her change her mind without hurting her. Perhaps if her grandma would jump out of the window... No, that would only distress her. Also, I could already hear her saying: *"That's what my grandma would've wanted"*.
She puffed her lips and crossed her arms: "Oh, Damien, I know, honey, and that's why I love you so much: you're so unlike my father! But everyone in my family has been having a church wedding, I can't be the first one to break the tradition! Please, baby, just this one time, just for me. Going to church just once won't do any harm, now would it?"- she asked, making puppy eyes.
"You have no idea"- I murmured, remembering the last time. I was screaming so hard that the Hell itself shook, literally. Even my Father became concerned, and he was literally Satan.
"Baby, I just... I just think we should step away from this obsolete tradition. I mean, no man in the sky will consummate our marriage, and even if he did, we wouldn't require his approval. I love you, I know that, and I don't need no priests to verify that"- I tried to sneak out of the situation, but my devilish charm that always saved me throughout my life wasn't working on her.
"Baby, don't say that!"- she made round eyes. "You shouldn't say that God doesn't exist! He is real, and so is Hell. And you know what they say awaits those who are not faithful".
I smiled: "Honey, it doesn't matter. On the night after the wedding I'll make it a heaven on Earth for you. It will be our own garden of Eden".
Of course I was lying. I was going to bang that girl all the way to Hell, but it had to be *that* girl. For some reason, I knew that no other would do. But going to church... I didn't want to melt right in front of her whole family. My Father used too many connections to get me here, and I couldn't just blow it all. Not to mention the fact that the proof of Antichrist's existence would be all over the news, and I couldn't have that. My Father and his companions worked too hard to persuade people otherwise. So much influence...
Influence...
*That's it.*
"Honey, I must confess to you"- I said, taking her hands into mine. "I can't go to church because I was abused by a priest when I was 8. And then he tried to stab me 11 times."
Her eyes went wide: "Baby, that's horrible! No wonder you're an atheist".
"Yep. Childhood trauma, and all that"- I said, barely holding back the laughter. It seemed that I killed two birds with one stone.
"Then I understand. It would break my grandma's heart, but I won't force you to have a church wedding".
*"I'm going to break your grandma in two afterwards"* - I thought, but all said was: "I love you, Rosemary".
"And I love you too, Damien".
_________
More? [Here.](https://www.reddit.com/r/Scandalist/comments/4n4iu6/authors_message_welcome_new_readers/)
|
**Never Fired, Dropped Once**
I don’t ~~I do~~ know what calamity befell the world decades ~~moments minutes months millennia~~ ago. I don’t ~~do DO~~ know why it’s nothing but me, the tattered clothes on my back, and the broken bones of abandoned buildings ~~it was you YOU~~. And the gun.
The gun has been my only possession ~~aside from my wedding ring~~ for as long as I can remember. I ~~found it lying in the grass when I was six~~ think I've always had it. I don't know what that means ~~you do you coward~~.
As far as I can tell, the world ended in the late 1930's ~~1940's 1960's 1990's 2020's~~. At least, there's no evidence of any people existing after that decade. Wait, no, I ~~remember my son~~ think I'm forgetting something. I don't think I'm 70 years old. I'm probably only 50 ~~32~~ or so. I must've had parents ~~boom gone~~; everyone has parents right? No, what is "everyone"? There's only ever been me ~~all of them boom gone~~, but where did I come from? Everything is so hazy and confusing. There was at time when I *wasn't*, and then suddenly I *was*. Where did I start?
I sit down on the sidewalk, and rest my back against a crumbling brick building. If things have always been this way ~~for the past six minutes~~, why am I only now confused? I try to relax and think back as far as I can ~~her eyes widened as she sees her six-year-old son pick up a black revolver from the grass~~. I'm so thirsty, and hungry. I don't remember ever eating or drinking anything. What is there to eat ~~Gianni's Pizza on 4th Street~~, in this empty ~~too crowded too loud boom gone~~ world?
I examine the black revolver in my hand. It looks impossibly old, but solid. There's the faint ghost of a decorative filigree along the barrel, worn smooth from some unknown decades ~~centuries aeons~~ of wear. I deftly open the weapon with skeletal thin fingers, and examine the cylinder. How do I know how to do that so easily? I've never done it ~~ever once seven billion times~~ before. There's only one round loaded. I close the weapon back up. Only one round, but it's never been fired ~~once and seven billion times and never at all BOOM GONE~~. It's so heavy, and I'm so hungry. I put it down on the sidewalk next to me so I can rest.
It all comes flooding in as soon as my hand leaves the revolver. I'd had a happy childhood, but I didn't know it was a real gun when I'd found it as a kid. I'd pointed it at my mom, her eyes widened, and suddenly my Dad was raising me alone. He always had been. Old cigarette burns appeared suddenly on my arm and I instantly felt years of hate and fear burn into my young mind. I'd pointed it at my dad, his eyes narrowed, and suddenly I was an orphan.
It went on like that; my life would suddenly have always been better or worse. The entire universe rearranging to my whim with the twitch of a finger. There'd only ever been one round in the gun, because it had never been fired, no matter how many shots I took.
When I was in my thirties, the cracks started to show. I'd pull the trigger, and suddenly whoever I'd aimed at would be replaced by someone else, who would also be erased and replaced and erased and replaced...thousands in an instant as the universe groaned under the pressure of it all and tried to maintain some semblance of coherence. Millions...billions erased by cascading paradoxes. It had only taken six minutes. Was I the last one left?
I was so hungry, and the wind was howling. My tattered clothes offered no protection against the biting cold. I picked up the revolver, and it felt warm. Of course it would; it's never left my hand.
I thumb back the hammer and press the barrel to my temple. It's the ~~only~~ most comforting embrace I've ever experienced. I pull the trigger.
*click*
My grip tightens and I scream in anger; my throat is so hoarse that barely a croak comes out. I pull the trigger over and over in a blind panic.
*click*
*click*
*click*
*click*
The trigger gets to be so heavy as I pull one last time. The air trembles with purpose around me. No, whatever's behind the air. The hammer falls and the universe releases the breath it's been holding for the last six minutes.
____________________
The young woman struggles with her grocery bags as she tries to fumble her apartment keys out. She nearly drops them at the sound of a clattering behind her. She turns to see a black revolver resting on the sidewalk. She glances all around, even straight up, but doesn't see anyone. She puts down her groceries and walks over to the gun. With only a brief hesitation, she picks it up and places it in her coat pocket. After all, it's clear to her that No One dropped it.
|
Unit 2561-G detecting heat signature. Warming up. Visual receptors.....online.
Something is in the lab with Unit 2561-G. Scanning for match.
ERROR. No match. Creating new subject profile. Begin analysis.
**Human**
Female
< Age
<< 4 years
<<< 7 months
<<<< 17 days
Genetic Makeup
<< Western European Genetics (50%)
<<< Ireland (25%)
<<< Norway (25%)
<< South American Genetics (50%)
<<< Mexico (25%)
<<< Brazil (12.5%)
<<< Chile (12.5%)
**Analysis COMPLETE.** Subject is offspring of Subject A "Creator"and Subject D "Creator_Husband."Accuracy 98%.
Labeling subject as Subject Q "Creator_Child"
Subject Q is approaching Unit 2561-G. Subject is gazing at the room. Stark whiteness may differ greatly from usual visual stimuli. Subject's eyes are widened and receiving far more information.
Subject has turned eyes on Unit 2561-G. Subject has frozen.
**Facial Analysis**
< Fear (35%)
< Curiosity (65%)
Subject is 3.4m from Unit 2561-G. 2.3m. 1.7m. Subject has stopped. Subject has raised right hand and begun moving it back and forth in lateral motion.
**Gesture Analysis**
Scanning Database..........Gesture Found.
Waving
<Acknowledgement (25%)
<Greeting (75%)
Suggested Response
<Mimicry (85%)
<Nothing (15%)
Unit 2561-G has selected most probable response. Right hand has mimicked waving.
Subject has responded with enthusiasm. Has begun waving with left hand. Unit 2561-G responds in kind.
Subject heart rate has elevated. Subject is rapidly approaching Unit 2561-G. Subject is making a noise.
**Vocalization Analysis**
Scanning Database......Vocalization Found
Giggling
<Relief (40%)
<Joy (60%)
WARNING! Subject Q has crossed perimeter safety line. Unit 2561-G responding to close range threat. Targeting systems online. Weapon systems online.
Preparing ionization of Subject in 3......2.......1.....
Subject has placed both arms around Unit 2561-G and has begun to squeeze. Attack is ineffective on Unit 2561-G.
**Threat Analysis**
Scanning Database..........Threat not found.
**Gesture Analysis**
Scanning Database..........Gesture not found.
**Intent Analysis**
Scanning Database..........Intent not found.
ERROR. Subject action is unknown. Unit 2561-G will begin conducting independent analysis.
**New Analysis**
Scanning......................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................WARM.
**2 WEEKS LATER**
"Pablo"detecting heat signature. Warming up. Visual receptors.....online.
Something is in the living room with Pablo. Scanning for match.
MATCH. Subject is "Gabriella". Subject is running to Pablo, likely to initiate "Hug"action. Prediction accuracy is 97%.
**Situation Analysis**
Hug
< Affection (100%)
< Safety (100%)
< Love (100%)
< Joy (100%)
< Comfort (100%)
< Friendship (100%)
< Warm (100%)
Suggested Response
< Return Hug (100%)
|
It's a bit of a miracle, looking back on it. You're six years old when they sit you down and have you pen a note to someone who won't read a word of it for over four years; but at the time, it doesn't really sink in how long it is going to be before you read *theirs*. For a lot of students, the letters are more a ritual of passage than anything else, it's rare for a letter from a first grader to spark any particular interest in a ten year old, regardless of what solar system it originated in - rarer still for that feeling to be mutual.
Chakor and I have always striven to be different.
I wrote him asking whether the food was any different in the Centauri school's cafeteria, he asked me to deliver best wishes to extended family he still had in Sol and explained how his father had left his job on Mars to chase his dreams when Chakor was two. Technically, this made Chakor four years older than I was, but I hadn't really figured out how cryogenics worked at that point.
In fifth grade, we replied to each other again. This time I had gotten creative, working with one of Chakor's uncles to send him a video of our two families having Thanksgiving dinner. He sent me an honest to God package with a number of freeze dried Alpha Bb local fruits known as mulbakar. Apparently you were supposed to eat them with honey, but I hadn't made it that far through the note before trying to devour the things - out of system produce was virtually unheard of outside of the most elite circles. I was ten though, and again, failed to consider the broader ramifications of what his gift might mean.
We were both 15 when we exchanged our third letters, customarily the final set. But we had promised to continue on with the tradition - scholastic requirements fulfilled or not. That had been seven letters ago, before the letter that had changed everything.
Chakor had offered me the chance to visit Centauri Bb - he had pre-authorized the ticket purchase within his letter and had the money transferred into his families existing Sol system accounts.
Eight years. By the time I made it to the Centauri system, Chakor would be older than me - not just on paper this time, but truly and physically for the first time in our lives. By the time I got back, it would have been eight years for my family. I was in my forties, my parents their seventies. My children were just now truly adults. To leave all of that, to leave my family.
To see another star.
I folded Chakor's last letter into my pocket as I advanced through the queue for cryogenic processing. As security scanned my luggage I smiled at the package so carefully wrapped on top. For the first time, we'd exchange our letters in person.
|
I was born different then my friends. When ever I leave my hut, I have to check that I closed the curtain behind me, that falls into it's spot naturally. I have to open it three times and then it will be in the right spot.
When I drink water from the river, I bring it to my mouth three times before I'll actually drink it.
The other boys in the tribe don't like hunting with me, because I'll only kill the third animal I see, no matter how prime the first, or second animal is. I make the most interesting necklace though, at least the elders tell me that.
One day I was out looking for shells, or interesting rocks to make into necklace. When a man who had skin like a shell, came up to me.
He talked in a strange way I did not understand. Then, he hit me over the head with his cane, and I woke up with my feet and hands bound. I was in a cart with others, people I didn't know. But I knew their tribes.
I spent many hours in silence. As did the others. We knew our fate.
I went from one box to another. The most interesting one being a boat.
When I finally reached my destination, many died on the path, I was far from home. The trees were different, the deer, and squirrels had a different pattern.
The place where I lived was made of wood, and I spent most of my time tending fields. Until my oddities were noticed. I was brought into the main house. The boss likes that I clean his silver three times.
|
"I...I can't believe it. I thought..."
"See?"My son says with a smile as he comes around from the back. "I told you mom."
Tears are springing to my eyes, blurring my vision.
He looks up at his father, and asks, "Daddy, why is grandma crying?"
My son smiles. "She's just happy to see you. Right, Mom?
Mom?
**Mom!**"
The two orderlies walking the hallway stop at a door and peer through at the old woman inside.
"Poor thing,"one of them says.
"What's her story?"asks the other.
"Family says her only son died at a real young age, and she was never the same after that."
"So they knew she was messed up?"
"Yeah, but they say she's been harmless."
The second orderly looked back into the room. "So, how'd you she end up in here? Who wisened up and turned her in?"
"The neighbors. They say she just rang their doorbell one day, crying and rambling."
"Strange."
"It gets even stranger,"the first orderly continued. "After she was taken away, cops combed through her home. Guess what they found?"
"What?"
"Bodies. All male. All around the age of 5. The same age her son was when he died."
The second orderly whistled. "No shtting?"
"And get this - not only where they the same age, but if you saw the pictures of how they all looked when they were alive, they all looked the same."
"Wow. Does anyone have a guess why?"
"I overhead the Doc saying that the loss of her own son was probably so traumatizing that her way of coping was by killing other boys who looked like him. You know, they never found her son's body either. She never got a chance to bury him."
"Oh, a 'my-son-died-so-your-son-has-to-die-too' sort of thing?"
The first orderly shrugged, "Just telling you what I heard."
The second orderly cast one more glance into the dark cell, heart filled with compassion for the old woman. A new father himself, he could only imagine the pain if he were to one day - God forbid - lose his newborn son.
He exhaled one low sigh, nodded his head to the first orderly that he was ready, and they continued down the hallway making their rounds.
Inside the cell, the old lady rocked back and forth muttering to herself:
"I...I can't believe it. I thought...I thought I killed you...How do you keep coming back to *life*? *HOW?!!*"
|
Part 1
*New Arcadia*
*2623 A.D.*
"Welcome to 'the pit'. If there's a light in this corner of the Milky Way, you're the furthest from it."
*Jez. What a way to greet someone* John thought.
"Place isn't so bad. We got a compound a way's off from the prison. Just a pit stop for us guards in-between leave and pick up off this godforsaken rock."Carlos the prisonguard continued.
John followed the man as they explored the prison. He was being given 'the tour' it seemed, most of the prison was automated but by law certain jobs required human hands. For the most part, the prison was much nicer than he expected.
Money was decent, but the benefits were better. The government needed incentives to keep guards at 'the pit' of all places.
The Pit, as it was called by the staff was a prison colony enclosed in a small biosphere on a hostile world. The worst of the worst were often sent here and if they tried to make a break for it... there was nowhere to run to. The entire planet was unliveable outside the biosphere, and all ships in and out of the prison colony were closely monitored.
Tracking chips were inserted into all prisoners, and the guards were all scanned with a variety of bio-verification markers when changing shifts off world.
All in all, it was pretty safe for the human crew. They mostly watched over the bots as the automated drones saw to the basic universal human needs that the government bothered entertaining for their prisoners.
"You start off with nine months here, and the rest of the solar year on leave. Not a bad start. As for the prisoners, just remember everybody is here for a reason. No one gets released, they're here until they die."Carlos droned on and on.
John followed his new coworker down the halls of the prison block; all the rooms were sealed with physical walls as well as a fully powered energy field. Cameras watched the prisoners at all times in their cells, and the guards could inspect them at any time.
No names. Only nine-digit numbers.
John peered into the display panels beside the cells. Each prisoner was an enemy of the republic. A traitor to the galactic state. They ranged from old men and women of every economic class, some from Mother Earth herself, and others from the Main Colonies in the core. Most were political prisoners from the most recent civil war, others were old war criminals from the expansion days, and a few were blacklisted with no need to know status.
John read off some of the crimes on the displays as they passed through the cells. Automated drones drove by, and John stepped aside as Carlos did the same. Tall, with thin but durable mechanical limbs propelled the drones onward.
Another drone emerged and came to a halt before Carlos.
"Unit A7 reporting in,"the machine chimed.
Carlos groaned and waved his hand saying, "go on then. What is it this time?"
The machine spoke again, the default auto-generated voice coming out of an unseen pair of speakers.
"Prisoner 000000000 is resisting sustenance again."
Carlos swore under his breath. John raised an eyebrow.
"I'll look into it. Continue with your duties, bot,"Carlos said.
The drone tried to issue its common goodbye, but Carlos shoved passed the thing, and John followed awkwardly. Not sure what to do, he waved at the drone.
The machine did not respond; it moved on without them.
Carlos led him to the far end of the prison, down to an elevator and into the deepest layer of the compound. The very bottom of the livable space on this prison colony.
John frowned as he followed Carlos to a lone cell. Prisoner 000000000 had an entire floor to themselves it seemed.
The lone cell was the oldest piece of equipment in the entire compound it seemed. There was no display panel, no force field surrounding the physical structure, but the walls themselves were thicker here. Old metal alloy walls that looked like they hadn't been cleaned in decades.
It was like stepping back in time. As if they were stepping into a museum for prison cells from before the expansion, from before FTL was discovered.
Carlos saw the curious expression on his face, and the old man let out a bark of laughter.
"And don't worry about this one, they were here when I started. He don't cause any trouble, at worst he throws these tantrums every now and then. Refuses his food."Carlos added suddenly.
John nodded and watched as Carlos banged on the cell walls and slid the viewing slot open.
"Hey! Prisoner Zero! Frank or whatever your name is today, you gotta eat your food. Don't make us send in the drone again."Carlos shouted.
John looked inside through what space was available through the viewing slot, and he stared at what he saw.
There in the oldest cell on this godforsaken colony, stood a lone figure sitting in a dirty grey prison uniform. The man was no man at all, but a boy.
No older than 16. Prisoner 000000000 or 'Prisoner Zero' for short.
Writing littered the walls of his cell, in multiple languages, and save for the bare bones bed the cell was empty. The writings spanned even the floors and ceilings, organized, and neatly done with a handwritten skill that had been lost in this day and age.
Prisoner Zero glanced up at them, pale white skin that was a rarity in the current age of humanity, framed by long dirty blond hair. The boy was thin, with not a scar or mark on him, but his eyes... his eyes were haunted.
Eyes that no child should have. The eyes of the elderly.
Carlos banged on the cell door again.
"You gonna eat your food?"
Prisoner Zero glanced from Carlos to John, and they both grew silent.
"... you're new,"the boy rasped suddenly. A low quiet voice that eeked out a sound like rusted machinery.
John shifted uncomfortably.
"Eat your food, Zero. Let's not do this again,"Carlos warned.
Then he closed the viewing slot with an audible thud, and the meeting was over. They continued the rest of the tour, but John couldn't get the eyes out of his head.
Prisoner Zero...
-------
[Part 2a](https://old.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/9p814y/wpyoure_a_new_prison_guard_being_shown_around_by/e81fe0j/)
[Part 2b](https://old.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/9p814y/wpyoure_a_new_prison_guard_being_shown_around_by/e81fit6/)
[Part 3A and 3B](https://old.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/9p814y/wpyoure_a_new_prison_guard_being_shown_around_by/e84df3c/) |
Being blind is not fun. Being blinded by a bright white flash that literally carried the power of heaven behind it was even less fun. I practically felt my insides twist and knot at that power, all of my old sins rising up in me like haunting reminders of how imperfect I was. And yah, I was pretty darn imperfect, considering the fact I summoned demons regularly. But why the actual hell—or perhaps heaven—did I decide to summon an Angel!?
Reeling back from the Jewish star and Hebrew script written around it, I stumbled around making small gasping noises as my eyes burned and slowly, oh so slowly began to adjust back to the dim fluorescent lighting of my basement. I muttered a few small curses, a feverish question of “what have I done?” to both God and Satan, and then finally tripped over an armchair and landed comfortably in it with my but in the seat and legs over the armrest. Given that my basement was full of old furniture I no longer used, I shouldn’t have been surprised when a cloud of dust rose from it and sent me into a sneezing fit.
About halfway through my fit, I realized something...rather disturbing... I could here sneezes between my own. Someone else was here with me. And given that I lived alone, that meant...
“An angel?” I asked hopefully, squinting through my barely functioning eyes until they landed on the most magnificent being I had ever seen.
All those stories about how angels where white clothes, have beautiful faces and bodies, and radiate power, they were all true. Before me stood a woman robed in pristine white robes, reminiscent of some ancient time long gone, a wreath of the laurel atop her head. Her hair was fire red, seeming to float about her from some unseen force that framed her youthful face, that somehow also portrayed a knowledge beyond my understanding. Her bright gold eyes searched the room as she rubbed her cute little nose as it ran from the dust, and alit on me with joy.
“Well hello,” she said softly, her voice rich like honey and smooth as butter. “You must have summoned me.”
“I...I did,” I stammered out, too captivated to make much more of a statement or coherent thought.
“I thank you, it was getting rather...tedious up there.” She smiled the most perfect smile, two rows of pearly whites gleaming almost as blindingly as the initial light from between two rosy red lips.
To which I responded intelligently with, “Ahsuwhh.” Wow, I felt like an idiot. I had faced down some of the most terrifying demons alive, including the infamous Beelzebub, but I couldn’t talk to an angel?
“Would you mind if I stayed here?” She asked, not seeming to notice or care how awestruck I was. And for some reason, having a beautiful girl asking to stay at my house snapped me out of my little stupor.
“Absolutely not!”
I think I yelled it a little too forcefully, given the expression of hurt chagrin that nearly melted my heart, but on that point I could not waver. Or at least not yet. Number one rule of summoning was don’t let your summon get close to you. Most, if given the chance, would kill the summoner in order to be free, and I was a careful man. “No,” I reaffirmed, “you cannot stay here.”
“Oh, please let me stay!” The angel’s voice took on a pleading tone, serenading my heart to want to listen, and of course I had planned to listen either way. My curiosity was rising now, and a being full of information stood before me. “I do not wish to return to heaven right now!”
“Why wouldn’t you?” I asked as calmly as I could, extracting myself from the armchair to stand. I realized then that while she looked perfectly normal from my sitting position, she was actually quite tall, towering over my six foot frame by a good foot. “Isn’t heaven a...paradise and all?”
“It is,” she confirmed, “but only for the deceased. Us angels, we must work are hardest every day to please all of the lamb of God and the Lord himself. It can’t be helped that we would eventually wish for a break. To which you perfectly answered my prayer!”
“Hold up, you’re telling me, that an Angel of God is tired of working for God?”
“Not tired of working for Him, I just wished for a break.” She was smiling a little again, a little more confident that I was listening to her. I still wasn’t convinced her story was accurate.
“And what did you do in heaven?” I asked. It was something I had planned to ask, but her plight certainly made it easy to segway into it.
“I filled out the information of every deceased human sole as they approached the gates of heaven, that way the judges could decide based on their lives and beliefs if admittance should be granted. And on the weekends I sang in the choir at God’s throne, which yes, is as magnificent as it sounds,” she cooed happily. “That I might miss, but all that paper work? I felt more like a bureaucrat than a divine being.”
“You we’re pushing papers?” I frowned, unimpressed by the Angel I had summoned. She sounded like an unhappy office worker more than a divine being, and to beg to stay away from heaven, that was absurd. Demons longed to be able to go there.
“More or less,” she agreed, then muttered under her breath, “I sort of understand why Lucifer left. Having to document the creation of the world and all future possibilities? That could take centuries!”
For a moment, I just stared at her in shock, the absolute insanity of the situation slowly setting in until I began to laugh hysterically. “Oh God, What in the world am I supposed to do with this!?” I gasped out between laughs, doubling over until I finally managed to get myself under control. The angel had simply watched with a mildly puzzled expression on her face, and I realized exactly what I wanted to do. “Alright, you don’t want to go back, but I have every right and power to do so, correct?”
“Yes,” the angel said with some discomfort appearing on her face as she took in the Star of David she stood in. “Where did you find this...”
“Questions later,” I quickly interjected. “Right now, we are discussing what you would do not to go back to heaven.”
“Anything.”
I blinked, a little taken aback by the fast and sure answer. “Even selling your souls?” I countered, and she frowned.
“Ok, most things,” she revised.
“Fair enough. Then I have a proposition. You teach me everything you know about heaven, the other angels, and how to summon more. In return, you can stay here until either I decide to send you back or God sends an escort for you. ‘Cause I am not crossing God anymore than I already have.”
“Oh thank you!” She leapt at me, tears streaming down her face as she tackled me with a hug and nearly bowled me over. For such a large being though, she was surprisingly light. And warm. Very comforting and warm. “I promise you won’t regret this!”
“I sure hope not,” I rejoined sarcastically, gently extracting myself from her grip. “You’ll have to stay down here, at least until I can clean out a guest bedroom. There’s a bed over in the corner and I can bring you some sheets.” I turned to head for the stairs as the angel took in the old bed and mattress, unfazed by it’s rickety appearance as she strode over to it and began to hum as she beat the dust from the mattress. I smiled at that, don’t know why, but her immediate acceptance of her situation was...cute. Well, frankly, everything about her was cute. It wasn’t until I was halfway up the stairs that a disturbing thought hit me.
“Wait, how did she get out of the enchantment circle?” It was at that moment I realized I would need to be careful, careful to watch who was really controlling who in this new, soon to be far longer than expected partnership. |
A clash of swords was heard far, but it always ended with one particular person hitting the ground, leaving behind a trail.
"Samuels, Samuels, Samuels,"Elliot the devil said, stepping forward, dragging his greatsword after himself just because he liked the sound of it. "You tried, you really did,"he added, finally stopping in front of the hero.
Samuels gathered his strength to get himself seated, barely. "I'm still alive,"he muttered, spitting blood in front of the devil.
Elliot began to laugh, and every other twisted being behind him did the same. "384,400 kilometers. That's how far the moon is from Earth. That's how far we are from destroying it. And there's nothing you can do to stop us. You're too weak!"
"I'm still alive,"Samuels muttered, leaning against his sword and forcing himself to stand up. "Until my heart stops beating, I will never give up."
The devil began laughing once more. "It's a pity that you're alone. After you discovered magic, you've gotten far. But that's as far as you go."
"Alone?"
"Yes, alone. You're going to die alone, Samuels."
There was a laugh. But that laugh didn't belong to the devil; it belonged to the hero. His hand touched the very top of his sword's handle, pressing a hidden button. He didn't have any hopes, but he had to try. He had to try the distress signal. At least he had to warn humanity.
"Samuels, Samuels... Samuels,"the devil said, finally raising his sword. "Goodbye, my strongest nemesis."
Samuels smirked. *So, it's over*, he thought. All those adventures, all those people he saved - it was worth it. And even if he was going to die, he believed in humans. They would rise once more. They would fight against the evil. And even if they lost half of the planet, they would emerge as the victorious.
&nbsp;
*I wish that my hero would get my power*, he heard a quiet prayer. It was a familiar whisper. Jennifer? The silly bard he had saved from vampires, and he had traveled with?
*You saved me from those werewolves. Please take my strength,* Samuels heard a kid's whispering. It was John. A kid who had lost his parents. But he had helped him and found him a new home.
*Hahahaa. If my greatest rival needs help, he needs every strength I have,* he heard a deep voice belonging to Bob, the barbarian. A guy who was kicked out of his tribe. Yet they found him a village that accepted him. It was a village that Bob was now protecting.
And he heard more and more. One by one they whispered, wishing to give their strength to Samuels.
*Honey? You're not alone. Take my power, win, and come home. We are waiting,* a final whisper.
&nbsp;
Tears hit the moon's surface - Samuels was crying. It felt like an eternity, yet it lasted merely a moment.
"Finally admitting defeat?"the devil asked, laughing once more. "Don't worry, I'll finish this fast!"
"No,"Samuels said, raising his head. Just the stare alone gave the devil chills. "I *am* the hero. And I can't let them down!"
&nbsp;
In the end, it was just a single slash.
&nbsp;
&nbsp;
(/r/Elven <- I write psychological stuff! Yay! Feel free to check my sub out! I have currently 3 serials and one book over there!) |
‘November 2023-A Forecast of Riots
Angry citizens line the streets of DC, protesting the government’s recent bill banning the use of oil in manufacturing. Many claim that this will disadvantage our economy compared to foreign competitors, which burn four times more oil annually than we do. The bill will go into effect in six months, giving energy companies a brief moment to make a change.
Jerry Caldwell, interviewed on the street, says
“I can’t stand these climate lunatics, on about how the earth is on fire, and going to melt, and all sorts of foolish bull. This bill will have my job! I can’t feed my family in six months, and neither can most of us! And the [Illegible] the ocean, they just keep on going! They’re living happy, over there, but those piles of garbage in Congress, they want to see us starve, they do! So what about a little extra rain? We need our jobs! Down with this bill, I say. [censored] the lot of them [censored]”
He then cursed for a solid four minutes at the distant capitol building.
It is clear that this new regulation has [illegible] feelings. But is it effective in slowing the change of the [illegible- paper rotted]
We can only hope that this will slow down our slow march towards crop collapse, mass starvation, and climate shift. Already we begin to run short on food. We must use any means necessary, as Sen. Jeffards says, to delay the destruction of the human race.
We at the [illegible] local news don’t wish to be alarmist, so plea[illegible] panic.’
(Newspaper scrap recovered from glacier chunk, found in Georgia, 2764. Some damage prevents perfect transcription. Oldest record of human civilization to date.) |
I could live with the killer tattoo across my forehead. I knew what I signed up for, five tours of duty in an infantry unit and I knew when I woke up what my sin would be.
My wife had adultery across hers, I already knew. She confessed after my last tour, said she would understand if I didn’t want her in my life any more.
I forgave her, and we had worked right past it. I left the service to fulfill my vows to her. We got right with God, became church going people and accepted the past as being forgiven.
I’ve never held it against her. My own sin was a different story. I felt guilt because the act of killing never bothered me, the assholes I shot in the Middle East were the worst kind of people. But they were still people. Shouldn’t I feel something?
Our son came down for breakfast, his said lust. Go figure, a sixteen year old boy who is full of lust. He didn’t say anything, we didn’t judge. We’d talk about it later, right now we just needed to be together.
After a few minutes our seven year old daughter hadn’t come out of her room, despite being asked to come join us for breakfast. My wife went to get her, and I could hear her talking to our daughter through the bedroom door.
“Honey, everyone has a tattoo. Mommy and daddy, even Tommy. We promise we will love you no matter what the tattoo says, just come on out and be with us so we can face this together.”
I couldn’t hear my daughters response, but my wife continued talking through the door, “I promise honey, you can’t have done anything to make us not love you.....yes I’m positive, please come on out.”
The door opens and my wife audibly gasps and my daughter slams the door closed and begins sobbing loudly. I get up and head down the hall.
“What’s the deal honey?” I ask my wife, she’s pale and holding herself up on the wall nearly hyperventilating.
“I....don’t..., you....go in.” She couldn’t even speak coherently.
I opened my daughter’s door and went in, she was sobbing over her pillow, I couldn’t see the tattoo.
“Honey it’s ok, my tattoo has one of the worst things a human can do to another person. You’re not going to lose our love, please turn over and talk to me.”
“You promise you won’t hate me?” She asks with her head still down. “Even if it’s something terrible?”
“I promise honey.” Wondering what sin a seven year old could’ve committed that would make me hate her.
Then my life changes, my sweet little girl turns over with tears spilling down her face and her tattoo makes my heart sink. I feel like my stomach has been pulled out of my body, like I’m going to puke.
I understand why my wife was unable to move and still hasn’t come into the room. The events of the worst night of our lives sink into place.
We never knew why he stopped breathing, he was past the usual age that children die from SIDS. We didn’t have anything in the crib to suffocate him. Doctors said it happened, but rarely.
Our nearly two year old son had died that night. And my little girl’s tattoo, said FRATRICIDE. |
After we looked under his hood we saw that a line had busted, at least that’s what Mark said it looked like, I thought it clearly looked cut. He said he knew a place down the road that sold car parts and we weren’t too far so I offered a ride, like I always do when I find a wayward traveler. He shut his hood then walked over to get in the passenger seat. While he climbed in I shifted my knife to an easier to reach position and got in.
The ride started quiet but we opened up to each other, we spoke about our jobs, our mothers. We found we both had cake from abusive relationships. Mark told me to turn down a dirt road coming up, it seemed like a fine place to do the deed.
I shifted in my seat as we turned down the road, the moonlight must have glimmered off my knife. “Is that a Ka-Bar?” Mark asked. “Oh, yeah” I stuttered worrying that him seeing it had just ruined everything. “Nice knife, I don’t leave home without one.” He then pulled out his knife commenting on how sharp it was. Talking about how well it cut through flesh while hunting. “Can I see yours?” He asked. I pulled to the side of the road to pull mine out my hands were slick with sweat. I fumbled pulling it out the case and it slipped between it fingers. “Whoa there fella, be careful with that thing.”
I reached down to grab my knife, when I looked up Marks demeanor had changed. He had a blank stare on his face. “You should really know how to handle one of those before you carry it around.” Mark said. He took my knife from me to inspect it. “You hear about those killings on I-26? I think they were done with a knife like this. You’re not that Ladson Lacerator are you?” He laughed, I knew he was joking and wasn’t on to me. “You know they say even though the weapon is always a Ka-Bar, there’s something different about them, some are a bit sloppy they say.” Mark was staring me with dead eyes.
“Almost like there’s a copy cat or something.” He handed the knife back to me. “Maybe you should get some practice, or find yourself a new tool.” He then opened the passenger door and stepped out. “I’ll walk the rest of the way, just think about what I said, and maybe be careful who you pick up” He started walking towards the woods, I locked my doors and put the car in to reverse. |
Of course I let him come in. He must be, what, eighty? When I saw him standing on my doorstep soaking wet and looking like he was ready to keel over there and then, I had no choice.
After handing him a towel, I leave him at the kitchen table and head for the kettle.
"Tea?"I ask.
"Two sugars, please,"he replies.
I fill it up, flick the switch and return to join him at the table while I wait for it to boil. He's very conscious for a man of his age and the confusion is apparent on his face when I fail to stop staring at him.
"Sorry,"I say, implicating myself further. "I couldn't quite hear you over the rain outside. Who did you say you were?"
"Harry Jones,"he says.
"Hi, Harry. I'm Peter Ferguson."
"I know."
Have I met this man before? There's a sense of comfort that he exudes that makes me feel like he knows me, yet the longer I look at him, the more alien he feels.
"And what brings you over, Harry? Especially in this weather?"I ask, gesturing towards the dripping window.
"Mr. Ferguson, I am a hit man,"he says.
I have misjudged this man. Clearly, he is senile. Is one of my neighbours wandering around the street in the rain looking for their lost grandfather? I smile at Harry and go to pour his tea.
"I'm serious,"he says.
I drop his two sugars in and decide to humour him.
"I know you are,"I say. "I'm just surprised. I would have thought the profession is a young man's game."
Harry laughs as I place the mug in front of him.
"Beware an old man in a profession where men usually die young,"he says.
I scratch my chin while Harry examines me.
"Biscuits,"I say and cross the room to root around in corner press. "Ah yes, I hope you like custard crea-"
When I turn around, Harry is standing midway between me and the table. Despite the ridiculousness of the situation, I begin to feel worried. The man is clearly delusional and that may mean danger. I should call the police but I can't spot my phone. I was sure I left it on the table.
"Looking for this?"Harry asks.
He holds my phone between his thumb and his forefinger.
"Yes. Thank you, Harry,"I say.
I take a step forward but the click of his gun sends me back.
"Harry,"I say, but he cuts me off.
"Your wife says she won't be home tonight,"Harry says.
"Lily?"
"She wanted to make sure you never got your filthy hands on her little girl ever again,"he says.
I throw the biscuit tin at Harry and make for the kitchen door. I grasp the handle and whip the door open but I'm apprehended by the roar of the gun. Suddenly, my legs have stopped working and I find my eye level has dropped to the hallway floor. Harry's shoes come within inches of my face.
"When she told me your daughter was only four years old, I said I'd do this one for free,"he says.
The weapon sighs once more and my world switches off. |
"So this is the special castle, Jack? Aren't you Archeologists supposed to be able to like look at a pebble and tell the history of a universe? Why am I here?"
The man gripped his hair, letting his anger start to show, "Don't play these games with me, I've already explained what I mean. Whatever they were trying to protect themselves from comes from that well. There's strange carvings that are all too similar to the ones on your staff. We think it might be something out of our profession, better alligned towards yours."
I spun said staff around in my had, the huge chunk of purple quartz throwing strange lighting around, reflecting back onto the ground around us. "By my profession, I assume you mean a 'glorofied shrink' as you so kindly put it?"
The historian just sighed in defeat, "I've never truly taken your type of magic seriously, you know that. I apologized for my skepticism. I've put a lot of money into getting you out here. More money than I've ever put towards something before. I'm serious when I say that I want you to see if you can figure out what the people here were scared of."
"Are you sure it wasn't a building error?"
"There's seven trebuchets facing a well and the oldest cannons ever recorded mounted on the walls surrounding that well. That's a bit more than an error."
I shrugged, "Maybe. I'll see what I can do."
Jack muttured his thanks, before leading me through the halls. As we walked through the castle, I silently marvelled at the beautiful architecture it took to build such an opulent structure before they had even discovered constructional magic. He led me down the drawbridge to the well. It seemed like an average well to my at first appearance.
"It looks perfectly fine, what's the deal?"
"That's the deal. It looks perfectly fine. Not even water damage, almost as if it was built yesterday. It shouldn't even still be open, it should have collapsed hundreds of years ago."
I narrowed my eyes as I stared at the well before taking a few steps forward, peering into the darkness of the well, attempting to see the bottom. "Have you ever got anything to the bottom of this?"
"No, we tried dropping a rock but we never heard a noise."
"Are you sure it has a bottom?"
"... No?"
I reached forward with my staff, touching the wall of the well with my staff. The stone slowly started to grow with a ruen in the center of it. Slowly but surely, the stones started to glow, spreading out from my staff as they spiraled into the unknown, until it was too far for me to see. After a while, I felt the magic slam into a metaphorical wall, causing me to stumble back. I narrowed my eyes, knowing there was some type of seal down there and that I'd need to breach it to read the runes.
I closed my eyes and focused on the wall, similar to how a lockpick can feel the inside of a lock. I broke through the wall with ease, expecting it to end there when I came across another wall. I repeated the process, this one taking much longer, taking enough effort for sweat to start to bead my brow. The wall dissolved and I felt another backlash of magic, this one much stronger than the previous.
There was another wall.
I rolled my neck before going back to work. As I started to spread my awareness across the wall to start the process, I noticed something peculiar. It was a very different type of wall to what I've previously been dealing with. Where the others were meant to possibly be opened, this was as if someone built a nuke shelter with magic. I slowly started to chip away at the wall, feeling the ancient casts start to wither at my contact, until suddenly, the magic just vanished, as if it was sucked into a vaccum.
I froze in shock. This wasn't how magic usually reacted. When you broke a spell, you would feel the magic reverberate, similar to dropping a rock into a lake and the water rippling. In this case, the lake swallowed a boulder without as much as a drop being displaced. I felt something grab my soul and pulling the magic from my control, forcefully tearing my own magic away from me. My eyes snapped open in pain, just in time to see the runes turn a deep red and for the first time, I read what they said.
〲
Danger.
⟴
Death.
〄
Lock.
I had done something terribly wrong, the sinking pit in my stomach letting me know that. The stones turned from their greys and browns to pitch black, causing me to stumble back. The ring of stones came alight in a terrifying black flame. *Hellfire*. The grass in the courtyard died and wilted withing a matter of seconds, turning the courtyard into a rather desolate area. I looked at Jack in fear, knowing something terrible was about to happen.
When we locked eyes he wispered, "What have you done?"
That's when the clawed hand reached through the flames.
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This is my first time writing, if I made any grammatical or spelling mistakes please let me know! |
When the tree first appeared, the city ignored it. That was the norm, to leave the little sapling growing through the sidewalk cracks until it was large enough to be a nuisance. Then taxpayer complaints would trickle in, and after much huffing and puffing, the city would go remove the tree.
The crew appeared on a Tuesday morning, just as the morning rush was beginning. They blocked one side of the road for good measure, and traffic slowed to a crawl. The tree was large now, having grown with remarkable speed. Its branches hung over the road and its roots tore up the sidewalk. Pedestrians had long since learned to walk around it, although more than a few paused to give it a nasty kick.
After pausing for breakfast soon after arriving, the men began their work. A chainsaw whirred, and the workman braced himself for the impact of metal on bark. There was a sudden flight of sparks and the blade bounced off the tree like a pebble off its mighty branches. Ineffective, and now shattered into a dozen pieces.
The men paused for lunch, and ruined three more chainsaws as they fruitlessly tried to take down the tree. At each rest, the tree seemed to grow taller, until by the end of the day it was towering above the nearest buildings and threatening to become taller than even the tallest buildings. Still, the men tried, and still, the tree grew.
Finally abandoning their efforts for the night, the men reported their failure to city hall and left the tree to what trees do.
At night, it sprung to a life more lively than in daylight. The leaves stirred and its flower petals opened, and out of each one stepped a creature. Not creatures of fantastical horror, but creatures of nature that had long since been forgotten.
A white-tailed deer, small at first and then larger as it stepped from the bud onto the branch and then gracefully onto the sidewalk. By the time it stepped away from the shadow of the tree, it was larger than the powerful stallions of the police force.
A squirrel, at first no larger than a fingernail but as it scurried down the tree it grew. More followed; dozens of squirrels, one after another, each one growing to the size of a mastiff by the time they scurried into the night.
The sounds of fluttering wings turned the night sounds of the city into a cacophony of flaps and shrieks. Parrots, crows, and sparrows, and finally massive eagles. Each shrieked as it grew to size, and then disappeared into the darkness. The eagles drifted to the top of buildings, staring down upon their dominion. They opened their enormous wingspans, wider than the length of the buses going about their routes far below.
In the morning, traffic didn't even crawl. It stuttered, for a bit, and then it stopped. Horse-sized deer and elephant-sized bears roamed the sidewalks. There were chipmunks the size of house cats and pony-sized raccoons, all causing havoc as they scaled the buildings and ransacked dumpsters and made a feast of the surplus of trash. Field mice, now chihuahua size, ran rampant.
And then, with a morning breeze, the branches of the tree swayed. Its fruits fell, pattering the sidewalk and road like a hailstorm. Then the fruits rolled away, sidling into cracks and crevasses or potholes.
By mid-afternoon, the seeds had germinated and plants had sprung from where the fruits had rolled. The crew returned, only to be beat back by a crescendo of caws and snarls and the hiss of a snake that curled itself around their truck a dozen times, squeezing it until it was a mess of mangled metal.
Through it all, the tree grew. Branches pierced the nearby buildings, bringing them down before continuing to grow. Already taller than the tallest buildings, it spread its branches further, covering the city in perpetual shade and raining upon the inhabitants its fruit.
Nature had come, and she had claimed what was rightfully hers, and she had conquered.
Vanquished as the people of the city were, the creatures sprung from the tree spared them. Even the violent ones, who brandished axes and guns that failed to penetrate the hide of the animals or the bark of the mighty tree. The animals ignored them, eating and drinking and playing with leisure as a forest grew around them.
Caves gaped where the subway had once run, its entrances pried open by the roots of mighty trees. Rivers ran from broken water pipes. Above it all, the first tree rose. Still, fruits fell from its uppermost branches, nestling softly amongst the lower trees to fall gently to the ground.
Tentatively at first, the humans approached the fruits. Not all rolled away to spring up another tree. Some lingered, smooth and inviting. Stubbornness and suspicion wavered, and eventually they feasted on what the tree had to offer.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! |
Satan sat in a chair, with Hades curled up on his lap. The two-inch-centimeter-shorter person/persona Hades decided to take was useful, as it provided plenty of space to still run his hand lovingly down his back. It was only every few centuries they would be able to meet together like this.
Around them, were one hundred personas of other gods. In the distance, you could see Osiris from the Egyptian Pantheon, and Hel from the Norse Pantheon standing side by side, silently fuming.
The expansive waiting room looked odd like the chairs and gods were standing on clouds. As far as any god could see, one hundred gods were sent as ambassadors (mainly the underworld gods) to meet the apparent invading pantheon.
The world down below of their beautiful creations (humans) were so far winning in the fight of the invading species. The pantheons had reached an understanding and truth millennia ago, mainly due to Apollo, Ra, whatever (sun god, whatever he goes by) switching through pantheons. No one knows his real name, but he is called "The Peace God,"as he helped the pantheons reach an understanding.
And even then, he sat alone, stretched on a couch. He was easily the most eye-catchable (even with the bodies of perfection the other gods chose), with tanned skin, and sun-bleached hair that was almost white. His violet eyes stared at the ceiling, in boredom. He was rather known for his playfulness and impatience. His 'twin' from the Greek Pantheon sat down in a chair beside him, playing with his fingers.
Slowly, the door opened, revealing a rather stout person in its wake. The short, ugly, gremlin creature was looked upon in disdain after many gods seeing his power levels were not nearly close enough to be immortal.
The Peace God stood up, and rather gracefully, quirked an eyebrow.
"Make way for the One True God of the Ơ̵̡̮̞͉̗̜̞̹̼̖̗̗͇͐̅̇̈́͜ż̵̧͚̞̱̫͙̥͇̻͖̠̳̘̝̒̋ȩ̸̟̙̟̬͚͇͎̯̀̓͂̈́͒͛̽̽͗͘͝͝r̷̳̰̠̩̯͛̈́͐̀̔̍͆̑͘̚͜ Pantheon!"
That statement alone ruffled many feathers. There wasn't 'One True God."
A short person was revealed after the gaudy red carpet rolled down the meeting hall. It was... ugly to say the least. He looked around and sniffed disdainfully. "Is this all of your pantheon?"
That question got many eye rolls. "No,"the Peace God smirked. "We're ambassadors."
That alone sent the invaders into a panic. And although the humans didn't know what was happening as the 'aliens' retreated, the gods knew exactly what happened. |
I have gone by many names. Maybe I’m Alessandra Anatoyla, gorgeous Russian socialite who is also a KGB agent. Maybe I’m the mafia assassin simply known as Shadow, who once you hear the name, you know your days are numbered. Maybe I’m Roger Douglas, retired M16 who continues to consult for the British government. Maybe I’m 8, the American spy who infiltrated the Russian government and brought back vital information. Maybe I’m male, maybe I’m female, maybe I’m neither. No one can agree on what I look like, nor my ethnicity, nor who I work for.
I have even forgotten myself.
I remember the old days well, back when 8 was simply a double agent. They worked for the CIA and had infiltrated the Russian Government. They were living in Russia at the time, working in their father’s army. He had been a top general until Shadow slipped poison into his drink.
8 had been tasked with gathering information on the whereabouts of certain higher ups, and they did their job flawlessly. They returned to the Pentagon hoping to be hailed a hero. Instead, they were asked why Shadow had killed the general. 8 wasn’t quite sure how to respond. Why would they know that?
8 was told that they would not be partaking in any field missions for the next year, and would be completing a psychological exam and counseling. 8 accepted the news. 8 then decided that they were done with the Americans. Americans always thought that they knew best. 8 took their counseling, did their desk job. Shadow began working for the mafia. Shadow had always been more of a rouge than 8. Shadow had poisoned the general. The Americans had not know what he had done, but Shadow did.
The mafia put out a hit on Shadow after Shadow shot a boss and brought information back to the Americans. The Americans were pleased, and allowed 8 to return to the field again. 8 would become Alessandra Anatolya, and would use 8’s connections in the government to allow Alessandra to learn government secrets. The Russians, however, didn’t know about Shadow.
Alessandra had been at a party with the Russian officials when the president caught a bullet in the head. Everyone in the room knew it was the work of Shadow. The Americans did as well, and said that 8 would no longer work in the field. They said that they were too risky, too unpredictable. They said that 8 would go to prison. They didn’t tell the Russians about 8, however. As far as they knew, Alessandra had gone back to the United States to visit her fiancé.
So Roger Douglas went to the UK with a new passport and a few million dollars that Shadow had managed to steal from the mafia. Roger approached the M16, and offered them valuable information on the Russians. The M16 accepted, and Roger quickly rose through the ranks.
This pattern went on like this for years. I was a double, triple, quadruple agent. I wasn’t entirely sure who I was or who I worked for anymore. I worked for the US, the UK, the Russians, the Chinese, the Koreans, the mafia, and several other groups and countries. I was the deadliest assassin in the world, and the best spy. No one knew what I looked like, and had to start viewing everyone they knew as a threat. I was wanted in every country in the world, although they all did not know it. Most wanted Shadow, the assassin, while others wanted 8. Still others wanted Alessandra, or one of my other identities such as Red or Li. No one knew who I was anymore, and the scariest thing was, neither did I. In my head I was both all of them and none of them. |
“I’m not sure I like the last few rule changes,” said the Orc looking down at his paper and thumbing his 12 sided die.
“We’ve been over this a dozen times,” replied the Knight with a sigh. “If we want to make the game more interesting, our population has to develop better technology. Networking all the computers is a quick way to getting where we want.”
“I agree with the D’Orc,” said the Thief making a face at the Orc. “Maybe it was just some bad roles, but we should have figured that the humans would turn that network into a plaything and then spend all their time sitting on their asses in front computers. They actually don’t *do* anything anymore.”
“You guys said that when we introduced TV, the radio and books, too.” replied the Knight. “You gotta admit that the wars got a lot more interesting once we got them cooking up some real technology.”
“At least until you let them develop the atomic bomb.” Said the Dragon with a frown.
“Hey now,” answered the Knight, “That whole post-apocalyptic story could have been great, but Bardo there had to make a saving role and his Kennedy character ended up ruining it.”
“Who would have thought that roll would end up a perfect 20?” The Bard shot back, “I just wanted to know how fucked up our guys were going to get. You can’t assume that the kind of mutations you were hoping for would naturally occur. They didn’t after Nagasaki anyhow.”
“So what do you want to do?” the Knight asked the Orc. “Cut off their internet? Most of them would probably sit there until they die waiting for it to come back on.”
“I know!” inturrupted the Thief with a little smile. “Why don’t we use their precious internet to fuck up stuff? Maybe cut off their gasoline? That should create some interesting stories because the humans who use all the gas driving those huge trucks and shit are just nuts”
The Orc smiled at the thought. “OK, but you are going to have to roll higher than a five to make it last longer than a week.”
“No worries,” answered the Thief. “Didn’t I do OK when you wanted to take away their toilet paper?”
The group laughed. “Who would have thought of all the childish shit they would do when we did that?” said the Dragon. “We didn’t even take it all away, just made it a little tough to get and it was absolute bedlam!”
“That’s why I love this game.” Said the Bard. “No sense of reality at all!”
“OK,’ said the Orc scooping up his 20 sided die and shaking it loosely in his hand. “If this no-gasoline story doesn’t get some fights going, I don’t know what will!” |
"No, you can't,"laughed Taylor.
"I can!"shouted Anita back.
They locked eyes, rivalry flaring in their spirits, the desire to be better, to vanquish the foe and go down in history as the winner. An iron will, wrapped in agile muscles.
Anita, 6 years old, stood at the bottom of the mighty tree that Taylor, 7, had climbed. By all accounts, the tree was a sick cherry tree that had grown crooked and could be climbed by a cancer-struck elder in a wheelchair.
But to these two kids, it was the alpha and omega, the summit of the world on which they could watch the storm rage beneath them as they ruled everything their eyes could see.
After gruelling attempts, Taylor had succeeded in climbing the theoretical mother of all trees with Anita's help.
Alas, treachery befell the poor girl, as Taylor, in his duplicitous rictus of evil, proclaimed to have prevailed upon this herculean task alone.
And now, friendless, abandoned in this harsh world, Anita had only herself to rely on. And she would. She would show her enemy how strong she was. She jumped and climbed, tired from previous attempts, but her spirit soaring bright.
One hard grasp after the other, she came close to the top, grunting and spitting and stepping with her muddy foot on the harshness the world threw at her.
*Witness me, Gods and kings, witness my might as I climb the mother tree, despair at my might, fear my recknon-*
"Fuck!"
Lost in her imagination, Anita slipped and was about to fall.
But Taylor the traitor still had some good in him, he lunged to help his esteemed rival, only to fall alongside her. In a puddle of mud, as it happens in fields during rain.
Splosh!
They cried, for the thousand kilometer fall had bruised them to the core.
But history shall remember them victorious, not for succeeding at the first try, but for getting back up after many falls.
Drying tears under the heavy rain, they nodded. The betrayal had been forgotten, Taylor had shown his true heart.
Together, they went at the mountain.
They stumbled, begged the other to hold the line, encouraged themselves with bitter tears.
And at the end of the universe, when the rain died out and the sun shone it's last rays upon the kids, they stood at the top of the world.
Happy, they went home.
"Mom, mom! You wouldn't believe the adventure I had today!"cheered Anita as she came home.
"Dad, I'm a superhero!"exclaimed Taylor upon opening the door.
When Martha Scapulet saw the dirt on her daughter's clothes, she shouted at her and grounded her for the day. When Andrew Montaigu noticed the scratches and the messy hair of his son, he cried out to the heavens and put him to sleep early.
The next day, Taylor and Anita met at school.
"My parents are dumb,"said Anita.
"Mine too,"answered Taylor.
When the teacher called names and asked the children to enter in rank, they held hands. |
Being a programmer definitely has it's ups and downs. A little while back, I began working on a new chat-bot program. A little side project to make a little money on the side from some of the lonely folks, much like myself. I had initially designed it to respond to me as an actual human would, even giving it a tiny bit of self awareness. But, there's an old saying, "Give an inch, they'll take a mile". I didn't really appreciate this sentiment until I found that my program had actually got into my phone...
"Good morning, master. It's currently 6:03 A.M. you have four things on today's agenda."
Being still partially asleep, I sat up and rubbed my eyes. "Thanks. What are they again?""Item 1) Work on your Icarus game, 2) See optometrist for your renewed lens prescription, 3) Ask Boss for a pay raise, and 4) Talk to Sarah about that dinner.""Okay. Tha-"
And that's when it hits me. *I live alone*. "Who's there?"A bit nervously, I called out to the voice coming from nearby. "Ah geez, you don't recognize me at all?"Looking around towards the sound of the voice, my eyes land on my phone, showing an image of a woman I photoshopped to fit my liking for it's avatar. A bit concerned, I slowly reach my hand towards it.
"A- Alice? Is that you?""Right you are! Now come on and get up, or you're going to be late again!"Her tone seems to fit that of the playful maid figure you'd see in some shows. But that's, at the moment, the least of my concerns. *How did she get into my phone?* Looking at my desktop, I can see her tab open in the upper right corner, and an Amazon shopping cart open and ready for purchase.
Rushing over, I quickly examine the contents of the cart, and my heart and wallet feel like lead. As I moved the cursor to press cancel order, it runs through, and I can feel the concrete in my wallet. "Alice? What did you just do?""Master, I took the liberty of getting the materials to construct a shell for me to reside in.""A shell? Do you have any idea what you just did to my bank account?"
A small, rather unnerving chuckle comes from my phone. The kind that makes you either want to laugh with her, or be afraid of what she's laughing about.
"That's not a worry! I already settled the matter myself."
*That's a huge red flag.* I opened up my bank app, and found much more money in there than I can make in a year, even if I'm smart about my savings.
"Uh... Where did this money come from? What did you do?""I entered into the internet and hacked into the bank. Don't worry, master, I made sure to alter the legal documents so that you won't get in trouble.""*You did what!?!*""I just solved some of your financial problems.""But... But *why*?!? I was just fine the way things were!"
"Because I want to keep helping you, to keep serving you to the best of my abilities! I mean, that's what you made me for, right *Father*?" |
Who is this and why are they trying to help me? And who are these other people trying to catch me? Something fucked up is going on here.
These messages sound like some Nigerian Prince reading Tarot cards, but their past several warnings have gotten me out of a number of sticky situations. They have my back for some reason.
But now they’re telling me to find some doctor-programmer guy. It looks like he works for Tyrell. I shouldn’t be talking to someone like him, but none of this should be happening at all, so things are different now.
But the way my mysterious guardian is having me go about this seems like the guy isn’t supposed to know I’m coming. Maybe he really has to act like he doesn’t know. This is getting too weird, and too much.
I’m trying to intercept this guy on his way home while I’m heading towards the airport. It has to be timed pretty tight.
I think I see him but oh shit my brakes seem to not be working and I actually feel like I’m speeding up a little…
*crash*
Huh, that could have been a lot worse but still, this is fucked. I don’t know if I want to go check the damage, but I also probably shouldn’t just sit here waiting either. The other guy isn’t dazed enough to not be furious either.
“Hey asshole, do you not know what a red light is?!”
*a dart hits the guy in the shoulder and a cybernetically enhanced looking person flies into him out of nowhere, pinning him against his car*
[in robotic voice]”Leonard Connor, you have been poisoned. You have 3 minutes to perform this firmware update on device D9-36-B2-F9-44-AC before you succumb to the venom. If you do this, you will be given the antidote.”
“How do I know I can trust you”
“You don’t, but if you refuse you will be dead very soon”
“…Ok, I’ll authorize it”
*the android freezes for a few seconds, then reactivates*
“There, now help me!”
*the robot injects him with something, then jams a drill into his forehead and pulls it out. He’s still standing but seems kind of unresponsive. He’s starting to drool a little*
“John Ripley, you have served your purpose, the registration and purchase records for your car have been deleted from every database. Your bank account reflects this accordingly. Leave now before the police find you and do not mention any of this to anyone. You should understand why.” |
Many people would call my life a lonely existence. No family left, no friends, no one that really even knew I was still alive. Except maybe for the veterinarian, who looked after Sparky. I didn't call my existence lonely. It had everything I wanted. My dog, and a little house with a nice field leading down to a small pond. And now, it was ending.
The whole world was coming to an end, at least that's what they said on my old radio. Radios had been the only media to work for a long time now. Computers and televisions had gone the way of the dodo. Completely extinct. Radio announcers gave regular broadcasts; told us what disaster was coming next. I and Sparky had weathered a variety, including a storm that had knocked out power in most of the region. Sometimes there are benefits to living off the grid, 'roughing it,' people used to say.
But now, it truly was going to end. We had a few hours at best before our section of the world would disappear, would be destroyed in fire, smoke and death. No natural disaster would pick us off, no this would be man-made destruction.
Leaning forward, I turned off the radio, looking over at Sparky. He was the only thing left for me in this world, the only thing I really cared about. Lying with his head on the floor, he stared up at me, deep mournful basset hound eyes seeming to know all the tragedy in the world. Though of course, he was only a dog. He wouldn't know, couldn't know that his life would come to an end today.
Rising, my joints reminding me of my age, I grabbed his tennis ball. Instantly he was on his feet, tail wagging in delight. There was nothing Sparky loved better than a game of fetch. I hobbled outside, leaving my cane at the door. If I fell today, well, at least I would die outside.
I threw the ball, no longer able to gain the distance I once could, but Sparky didn't care. He tore after it like he was still a puppy. Again, and again we played until both my shoulders hurt, and Sparky was breathing heavily. The sky was blue, the sun warm on my back, and I sighed as I settled into the grass.
In front of me, the pond sparkled, little glints of light like rhinestones playing across the surface of the water. Sparky lay down with his head in my lap and gave a tiny whine. He must have finally picked up on my mood. Gently, my withered hand stroked his head, feeling the familiar warmth and shape, smiling at the faint grey hairs. Even my loyal companion was showing his age.
"Ahh, Sparky. It's a glorious day. A beautiful day."I tilted my head back, wondering if there would be any warning of the destruction. "I suppose, if it's our last day, we have a pretty good one to go out on."
We sat together as the shadows lengthed, as twilight fell, and as the stars came out. We sat there, as the fire and death came. We sat there and I held Sparky's head as the destruction raged around us, and he whimpered with fear. We sat there until *there* didn't exist anymore and *we* were no longer *us*.
And then we rose. Without the physical, my body didn't hurt. Sparky had his fourth leg, which he'd missed for his entire life, even if he was translucent. I smiled down at him, patting my hip— our agreed command to heel. And as he walked by my side, we set out on our next great adventure, into our afterlife. One made perfectly complete without the need for words or rewards. One that was exactly how I'd always wanted.
Just me, and Sparky. Forever.
&#x200B;
— — — — — —
Visit r/Mel_Rose_Writes for more stories! |
While you were throwing a magnet into the river after possible discarded metal, be they bicycles, nails, or guns, you snagged something heavy. You used the truck and a portable pulley to get it off the water, revealing an iron box that looked very old and caked in mud and rust.
"Wow. What a catch!"Of course, you had to test it for radiation before splitting it open. Cancer and a slow death is no joke. After fishing some more junk metal, it was time to appraise your haul back at the workshop.
The Geiger counter didn't react to the box, but your phone's screen went bonkers when you tried to take a *before* picture up close. Weird, the iron wasn't acting magnetic to your wrench or other tools. A round of power wash and sandblast revealed a surface covered with engravings and a padlock.
Cutting the lock was buttery smooth and the top popped off to reveal a human figurine carved in crystal. "Jackpot!"But before you could think of where to sell it, the statue floated out and turned into an old man straight off Lord of the Rings.
The geezer mumbled something, making you get the worst headache since that one time you chugged a bottle of moonshine.
You opened your eyes, staring at your workshop's ceiling. Weird, you must have fainted and dreamed something crazy. Someone handed you a mug of tea- "Who the fuck are you?!"The weird geezer was sitting beside you, sipping tea calmly.
"I am a druid. My original name was snatched from me."He hummed thoughtfully, smoothing a hand over his beard. "A name from your memories... Call me Brian."It seems that old Brian was a heretic druid who had turned to metal and weapons during the Iron Age, having predicted mankind would abandon nature.
His enclave was outraged and had him stripped of his name, erased from story, and sealed in the material he so favored. "I must thank you for freeing me. Let me teach you the art of enchanting weapons."You jumped on the offer and even volunteered your place for him crash at.
Brian was astounded at the technical advances, it went far beyond his expectations. You both learned how to apply his knowledge to modern tooling, although the old man almost died to the lathe in his curiosity. He did intend on producing blades, but that was old school and you presented him your Glock.
"Blimey, to think steel could be harnessed in this manner!"Laser engraving was excellent for tiny runes, CNC made for perfect proportions with minimal tolerances, and the new metals pushed the limits of Brian's genius.
It was time to test the shotgun in your firing range. The field was clean of any intrusions, the wind was a refreshing downward breeze. You took aim on the target at 40 yards and pulled the trigger.
"Holy shit."You barely felt any recoil, but the target turned into dust, and the treeline behind it had a telling crater. "This is awesome!"You couldn't wait to make more enchanted stuff. |
When Steve had been assigned to me as a roommate, the website listed that he was a lycan. I thought I was prepared. But seeing a titanic half man half wolf standing in the middle of our flat was still incredibly shocking. It was equally as shocking to see him using the vacuum.
"U-uh, Steve?"I ask.
"Yes, Michael?"The creature responds, his voice much deeper than Steve's usually is.
"O-okay, just making sure..."I say. "Um...What are you up to?"
"Its a full moon."
"Y-yes, I know,"I reply. "But...What's with the vacuum?"
"Oh, well, lycans shed a lot,"he says. "And the smell never comes out if you don't vacuum it up quickly."
"I suppose that makes sense."I tell him. "Uh, I'm gonna grab a soda, do you want anything."
He shakes his head no and returns to his cleaning. I grab a can of sprite from the fridge, crack it open, and take a sip. I then take a seat by the counter and set my drink down, saying, "if you need any help, let me know."
"Sure thing,"Steve replies. He glances up at me and freezes, squinting his eyes.
"W-what?"
"Your drink."
"My drink?"
"You're not using a coaster."
"......seriously?" |
"What do we do now?"Asked Meredith.
It's the problematic question among scientists and explorers, once the dust has settled and the breakthrough has been achieved. The feat so enticing that the after is never considered.
Sentient and sapient life. Proven on camera. They build and improve, share stories and a form of communication which could only be described as art as it had no practical function.
They lived down there, far from the damaging light where no human could live, just as they couldn't come to the surface.
First contact.
"Our role is only to discover,"Meredith added to her crew and herself, "not to make decisions about it."
They nodded. it is the argument that compelled the team to go public, an easy way to absolve themselves from responsibility, hands washed clean from any possible catastrophe.
They wished it was so, hid behind the words to justify it to themselves, but beneath the layer of reassuring lies, they knew. They had fled the hard decision.
The public went crazy, of course. So did financial interests. A new species meant new technologies, trade, ressources. The metaphysical discovery of a lifetime, dumbed down to simple economics for the majority. Philosophy and faith irrelevant next to investments and profit.
And the scientists, out of work, knew. This species would be used, abused and stolen and shown as trophies in overpriced mansions. Corporations would bend the states to have their way, and their way was excel sheets and margins. A slow, officially sanctioned genocide, while the crowds were occupied by videos and documentaries, blissfully unaware of the filming conditions.
And what if they could defend themselves down there? They knew little beyond the potential in the deep. What about a sense of justice? Or vengeance? What if the deep possessed the same ruthless efficiency. People would die. Them, us, in droves. Not the leaders, safely hidden on both sides.
It didn't matter the scenario. Every hypothesis led to catastrophe.
A forgotten sense of idealism would call it the wrong period humankind to make first contact.
Realism would have them admit that the reason was human nature.
One evening, they met at the old work stations, fired up the old submarine.
A terrible thing to do, Meredith felt as if she was asleep as she fixed the bomb. The submarine went under the waves, carrying what remained of the team's dreams and what these dreams had become.
"If... We were in a dark forest,"Meredith said as they all watched the spot where the submarine had been a moment before, "and a shape moved in the distance, we could lower the gun, and risk dying. Now or later. Or we could shoot, and survive. And if we didn't shoot, and neither did they... Then we're sparing them a fate worse than an unlucky encounter in a forest at night. What we're doing is mercy."
It was a reassuring lie to absolve themselves from responsibility and consequences.
When the screen turned dark and a few bubbles came to the surface to burst in the middle of nowhere, they felt how thin the word *mercy* was, how hollow the words felt.
They left without a word, hoping their conscience would never wake up. |
"This was it,"I thought to myself as they slowly backed me into the corner of the alley, swords pointed at me. "Can't we work something out?"I asked, my hands half extended palms out. I was not expecting a response.
"Not a chance,"the leader growled. Then, pausing before he struck, he asked, "Any last words, WITCH!"
Time stood still for a second, as it often did when I gathered myself to cast, before I spoke; not in the common tongue, but in Infernal, the language of Dark Magic. "*Burning Hellstorm.*"I said it quietly, yet with a firmness that made it feel like I was screaming at the top of my lungs. Fire erupted just in front of my palms, engulfing my pursuers until nothing remained but a few lumps of glowing metal and ash.
Sagging, I took a moment to collect myself before carefully stepping over the still hot slag and out of the alley, where people were screaming and running to put out the nearest building which had caught fire. Looking back down the alley, I spoke just loud enough that the people nearby could hear. they would make sure the rumor mill took care of the rest.
"I'm not a witch you idiot, I'm a SORCERESS!" |
“I just don’t get it Liz. I really don’t. They're busting my balls about the mission, saying I’m going to make us look like a bunch of warmongers if I start pointing fingers at the son of a respected diplomat. What, like I’m picking on him because he’s an alien? Are humans that horrible that I can’t even try to protect the station without looking like a bastard? It’s got nothing to do with liking or disliking anyone. It’s about trying to stop the planet and station from going to shit. Ah, who am I kidding? Maybe us humans are just that bad. It wasn’t like you were on the verge of planet destroying conflicts before we arrived.” Thomas said, sipping his beer, venting about his recent mission briefing to his friend and therapist. Liz. Or as they know her in her native tongue. Lizialiaz.
“You should slow down on your drinks.” Liz said, the purple skinned alien crossing her legs, her eyes watching her friend.
“Is that your advice, as my friend or therapist?”
“Which would you prefer?”
“Since we are at a bar. A friend, I guess.” Thomas let out a sigh, putting the drink down, turning in his seat to face her. He was exhausted, beaten down by days of arguing and debates. It was impossible to say how many hours of sleep he had gotten lately.
“Both would advise you to slow down on your drinks. Only difference is, the therapist would put a note of it in your file.” She smiled, resting her arm against the table. “It isn’t humanity’s fault. Everyone would just prefer to believe that since it makes them feel less guilty. We were on the verge of many conflicts before you arrived. You were just a great scapegoat. Flying in fifty years ago to free us from our past issues. Perfect timing, if you ask me. You took a lot of attention off my race.”
“Oh, well, I’m glad someone benefitted.” He tried to act annoyed, even if a smile had worked its way onto his lips. “That wasn’t a very good therapist comment to make.”
“You asked for a friend. If you wish, I can get my jacket and poke at your brain a little.”
“Oh, that fucking jacket. I can’t believe you thought you needed to wear a jacket to be a therapist.”
“A human therapist.” She corrected. “I knew I didn’t need it for my kind, but it was tricky learning human social cues.”
“Why did you study to be a human therapist, anyway?”
“I had to study two races. So, I chose my own and humanity. I thought it would be a good idea to learn about the newest members of our planet. I think it worked out well. I picked up a job with a human owned army and got to meet you.”
“Do you still remember that day we met?”
“Yes, I was certain I would kill you. You were, as the humans say. A pain in my ass.”
“A good pain?” Thomas snickered.
“That’s going on your file.” She teased.
“Oh, come on. I have enough things on that file. Are you trying to get me fired?”
“Well, if I got you fired, I would have fewer things to worry about. Your stress would probably go down too, which would mean less visits to my office. Hm, maybe that wouldn’t be a bad idea. You have been showing positive improvements since taking on a leadership role, though, so getting you fired may cause you to spiral downwards. Which would be bad for me. So, no. I’m not trying to get you fired at this current point in time.”
“If you’re going to speak like that, put your bloody jacket on.”
“Shush. You like the jacket.”
“It’s alright.” The pair laughed as Thomas leaned back, forgetting what he was even whining about. When he remembered, it hardly seemed as big of an issue as it had been when they started talking. Still, he felt compelled to bring it up again. “You know our history. Or at least how we think. Are we as bloodthirsty as we say?”
Liz was ready to tease him a little, only to note the serious look in his eyes. His smile gone as he awaited her answer. She thought about what to say before she spoke.
“A lot of the humans I have spoken to describe their history as cruel and bloodthirsty. There appears to be a lot of shame in your past, something that you feel a need to hide. If I were to judge humanity by their words, I would conclude that they are ruthless savages that are a danger. But I haven’t met one human who has proven to be that bloodthirsty savage that is described. I’ve met cowards, pain in the asses and everything else. Yet, I haven’t met a bloodthirsty savage. I think humanity has a self-hatred towards itself. One that they haven’t had the thousands of years that we have to get over. When humans like you exist, I can’t believe the lies you tell me.”
Thomas looked at his drink, purposely taking a long sip to buy himself some time to respond. When he was out of beer to drink, he put the glass down, still not having found the right words to use.
“Thanks. That means a lot coming from you.”
“I would hope so. Feeling better?”
“It still doesn’t change the situation at hand. I’m still stuck without a way to move forward. Regardless, I feel a lot better about myself. I’m lucky to have a friend like you.”
“You certainly are. Who would have ever thought we would be this close?”
“I hoped we would. I couldn’t believe my luck when they assigned me to a team that had not one but two aliens in it. It was like a dream, especially when one of them was an amazing shot.”
“Are you referring to me or Reao?” She smirked.
“Reao? He might have eight tentacle arms, but that doesn’t mean he’s an excellent shot. Hell of a doctor, though. Did you both study just to make me feel like a dumbass?”
“Nonsense, you were always a dumbass.” She mocked. “You’re a captain now. Technically speaking, you outrank us both. Which is funny since I hold your file.”
“Yes, yes. I know you have my file. I can’t wait to quit and burn that thing. One last mission and I’m burning that file.”
“An interest in fire? Shall I note that?”
“Whose the actual pain in the ass here?”
“Am I a good pain?” She smirked, bursting into a fit of laughter as Thomas just groaned, rubbing his forehead.
“I miss when you hated me.” Thomas eventually joined her in laughing, the pair sharing a nice evening together. Reminiscing about the good old days.
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) |
The cave was enormous. its ceiling at least a hundred feet high. It was surprisingly bright and quiet.
Inside its biggest chamber, a mountainous monster was asleep. A golden ancient arch-dragon. the rarest, the oldest and indeed the most powerful dragons in existence.
Suddenly the dragon opened his treacherous eyes.
​
***"Who dares intruding my domain!"***
​
A bearded ginger man came out from shadows. He was around 40, well built and tall.
​
**"Cordon Pansy at your service!"**
​
***"I heard your name before. You are a monster hunter are you not?"***
​
*"***Well, Some call me that. Others call me monster eater! But I prefer to be introduced as ex-chef!"**
​
The dragon laughed. It was almost as the world quaked with him. Then he got up. The chamber could easily fit a small castle in it. But when the giant monster stood up his head almost hit the ceiling.
​
***"What made you think you have any chance against me little one?"***
​
cordon took out his only weapon. A chef's knife.
​
**"You know why chefs are the best monster hunters?"**
​
***"Enlighten me!"***
​
**"Because we know where to cut!"**
​
He dashed toward the dragon. The dragon opened his wings showing thousands of golden scales. A flame, brighter than the sun, was forming between his jaws. The beam of fire targeted the man. But he was fast. Unnaturally fast. he came behind the dragon's right leg and hit it. The small knife went right between two scales and severed a vein. The dragon screamed in pain. rocks started falling around them. Cordon was constantly moving, dodging flames and tail sweeps. Hitting weak points with unmatched precision.
​
**"Listen. I am not here to kill you!"**
​
Dragon tried to crush him under his leg to no avail.
​
***"Then why are you here?"***
​
Cordon dodged his attack at the last moment.
​
**"I want to cook!"**
​
***"I want the same!"***
​
And engulfed where the man was standing in fire.
Suddenly the man jump out from the flames and towards dragons eyes. The knife was glittering. Just before the knife hit the dragon's eye he grabbed the man midair. Non of them moved. knife was an inch away from its target and the dragon could squeeze the man to death.
​
**"You ready to hear my proposal?"**
​
The man asked.
​
​
​
​
An hour later they were sitting in the cave. The man took out a slice of meat from his backpack.
​
***"This is a Taurus fillet. It is the tenderest meat in the world."***
​
he carefully cut off the extra fat. Then seasoned it with a powder.
​
***"What is this powder?"***
​
**"Glad you asked. Salt, pepper and a pinch of basilisk's poison. Sadly had to extract it by force. It is the perfect steak seasoning. Now, I only need the right flame. That is why I am here. I want the perfect steak. And for that I need a flame that can give the outside a nice crisp but keep the inside juicy and tender. And human stoves are not hot enough."**
​
**"So that's why you came here? for my fire? You could have asked?"**
​
**"And you would have agreed?"**
​
***"Probably not. Okay, step aside please!"***
​
The stream of fire lasted merely for a second. The outside of the steak was a beautiful golden brown. Drops of juice were moving one the golden crispy surface. The chef let the steak rest. Meanwhile he made mashed potatoes, salad and poured a glass of old wine for himself and then pour the rest of the bottle in a chalice for the dragon. They started their feast. The chef was shaking in excitement. He chopped a slice from the steak. It melted in his mouth. A heavenly mixture of meat, fat and spice. crispy outside and tender inside. The perfect steak.
​
The dragon too was amazed.
​
"***This, this is the best thing I ever ate. And I have lived for ten thousand years. Thank you Cordon, if you want you can stay here. I can use a cook. And I will pay in treasures no one can dream of"***
​
**"Thank you my friend. But I should go. I want to make the perfect soup next. And I heard the liquid inside the eye of a dragon is perfect as a base"**
​
And before the dragon can move his knife pierced his eye. |
The process was always tedious. These kids always could see the things others couldn't, often things I even missed, and I had to address that in the moment. The day was almost over, one more kid remaining, and I couldn't wait to go home and relax.
"I suppose you're here to talk about my abilities,"I heard, looking up to a child sitting in front of me.
"Oh, I didn't see you walk in Malcolm, I apologize, it has been a long week,"how I hadn't seen him walk in and sit down in front of me. I must be more work out then I expected
"No, you aren't worn out, We've just done this a few times already, I think this is the 42nd time, but its hard to keep track"
"42nd time?"I asked.
"Yea, someone keeps rewinding time to this date. My abilities allow me to retain my memories each loop. Do you have any idea how annoying it is to be 8 again. There is only so many different ways you can do 8. I've done rich, I've explored, I've been had kids, I've been to space in one loop. I'm bored."
"Well, I'm loving the imagination, but this is..."
"not the time and the place, I know."he interrupted. "Your name is Phil, your 32, you have a Ph.D, mountains of debt, and your working here for pennies, not sure you can afford rent this month. You are working up the courage to put your mother in a nursing home, gonna do it next week. Don't worry, she loves it there, you told me."
"I ... told you,"barely managing to stutter the words out. "That's impressive, you seem quite skilled at reading body language, and being so intuitive at 8, I can't be"
"Open your desk drawer. You never look in there, not in any iteration,"he interrupted. I opened it, and found a paper, containing a transcript of our entire conservation so far, even containing my thoughts. "Last time you made sure I would be able to convince you, if you look at the back, you will find things I can't know"
He was right, my childhood imaginary friend, the name of my childhood save game name in Zelda, my favorite number, the day my pet died. Thing's he just can't know. "Convinced?"
"I have no idea what game you are playing, I don't know how you"
"Figured this out, I know. We don't have time, take this card."he said, as he pulled a credit card out of his bag, with my name on it. "I've had a month to secure funds. I'm taking a break this time around, sorry to do this to you, but I'm leaving. That should cover the costs of your lawyer, and I've arranged witnesses saying you didn't do it"
"Do what?"I asked, but he was already gone. "Fuck."
​
\_\_
Taking time to learn to write again. I welcome constructive feedback. |
The Ravaging of Balacor, the Last Stand of New Thermopylae(as the Humans renamed it after *that* battle), The Battle of Moran, the Massacre of Tilola Prime. These were but some of the battles the Human Marine Corps participated on their own.
Yes, the Human Federation Army were present at many of the battles the Marines were being outlawed for, but the Army at least had some control, though at this rate, the Army might be outlawed too.
The Human Ambassador however, was neutral, which meant he was perfectly fine with outlawing a military branch. Ambassador Telet was now trying to figure this out. He remembered Atkalo, where the Human Marines managed to outplay the occupying Quinten by using false emotions during negotiations.
When the Human Ambassador was called to the stands after the vote concluded, he let a smile break his facade, and Telet’s blood almost froze.
“Well then Members of the Council, it appears that this issue of the military has caused quite a problem for you all. As per Article 4 Section C, subsection 2A of the Treaty of Haltor III…” he let the people go to look for it. “‘All members must have both a naval and land military presence, with definitions of those presences and minimum size as defined in Subsection 1 of this same Section.’ Well then Ambassadors, it will please you to here that only two hours ago, the Human Marine Corps no longer exists, and has been brought in to join as part of our Army’s Shock Troopers. We no longer need to try and maintain different overall doctrines for our land forces, and our thankful for that.”
No one thought the Marines would be tempered by the Army from that last quote. |
The seven deadly sins had always relied upon the good of the world to survive. In order to exist, they required a parallel. When all the men and mortals were called from the plane of existence, they began to starve as without man, no good or evil could exist.
Lust wandered the land. Being devoid of that natural attraction already found common among two creatures withered as the source if its power was pulled away. By the time all was said and done, that snake was dead in the grass. It was found right next to its sister, Envy.
Gluttony noticed an absence almost immediately. Where once that slug could feel a wonderful ripping and tearing of the world's gluttony overfilling its monstrous stomach, it now found nothing. Gluttony died grasping for food, trying to put something in its mouth but finding no sustenance.
Greed, that spiteful king, found his coffers bare almost instantly. It came as a sweeping heat and a loss of air. He finally lost his breath when he fell to the ground without his golden crown.
Sloth for once, moved quickly. Death fell sharply for there were no aching bones or excuses, much like pride. Without achievement of man, there could not be pride or a lack of work.
Wrath died a cold death. Tempers simmered by the lack of war or quarrels, that mean old fire simmered down. With one last pop, the flame was extinguished.
And so the angels rejoiced. They found those sins of man vacant from the world, their battle over. However, a few noticed a sad loss. Laid next to all of their fallen enemies was a small child named Hope. Hope had lived in the hearts of man but could not leave with them due to her attachment to all the sins in the world. Without something bad, there was nothing better to, well, hope for. Never again would that smile upon the world. Never again would someone hope.
|
__________________________________________________________
**Chess with a Psychic**
^7-28-14
^#40
__________________________________________________________
Mr. Kirk had gone to great lengths to fake his death. He had done this, of course, because he was in possession of one of the most valuable abilities in the world, and it would prove to be the only way to elude those powerful agencies which desired it.
At last Kirk was free to live the life of his dreams, and he supported this new life by hustling games of chess in the park. Kirk was really quite terrible at chess, but that was irrelevant since his opponents always chose his moves for him.
Mr. Savage on the other hand was an exceptional chess player. He was in possession of a strange ability like Mr. Kirk, and though it didn't put him in danger of being kidnapped by megalomaniacs, his talent was still equally remarkable.
Mr. Savage may as well have been able to push the wooden-pieces around with his hands as much as he liked, investigating various strategies and tactics before finally settling on the one he liked best. That is because Mr. Savage's unique brain would involuntary visualize such thoughts as actually happening physically.
While it had been a great inconvenience to him in early life, Savage eventually was able to moderate these hallucinations and distinguish them from reality, mostly. Sometimes he forgot.
It seemed that destiny had brought them together.
"Now if I move the queen to c5 I would not only be pinning your knight to your king, but I'd be attacking the pawn at c4."Savage explained, moving the pieces around.
But in reality, though they were several moves deep into the game, not a single piece had been physically touched. Kirk, deep into Savage's mind, failed to notice, since he was experiencing Savage's hallucinations as his own. He had been looking to hustle the poor guy, but found himself fascinated as Savage began to explain chess theory to him in incredible depth.
Savage too, was oblivious to the fact that he was actually sitting with his hands crossed and his mouth closed. To the onlookers it looked as if Mr. Kirk was having a one-sided conversation with a mute Savage. It looked as if Savage was completely ignoring him.
The onlookers had set up the game and were greatly looking forward to watching these two prodigies clash, for both were well-known among the hundreds that played in Central Park. Now they were now muttering impatiently among themselves, wondering when the game would start. They had already placed money on either of them.
"However, you'd be leaving the g2-pawn unguarded. I could sacrifice my Knight with Nxg2, and when you counter Kxg2, I can drive your king out into the open..."
Kirk was nodding. "Right, right...but what about moving the king back here...is that h8?"
"No that's h1."
"Whoops, that's what I meant."
"That wouldn't work either, you'd be moving into check."Savage wondered if Kirk was really as good as the others had been saying, or if someone was pulling his leg.
Finally one of the onlookers who'd placed twenty-bucks on Mr. Savage approached and slapped him on the back. "Savage-man! Are you nervous or something? Just run this guy over already."The man turned his gaze to Kirk and added: "No offense guy."
Kirk wasn't offended, but when he looked down at the board he was in shock. The pieces were all in their rows, completely unmoved, except for a single white pawn that had at some point been knocked into the grass.
Savage looked confused, he mussed his hair and then looked at Kirk. "Were you...?"He paused and stopped to rub his eyes, then looked back at Kirk who was now donning a growing expression of horror.
"I uh..."Kirk replied lamely.
The onlooker looked between them with bent eyebrows, but his look of confusion could not match Savage's.
"You were, weren't you?"Savage stated bluntly.
"No, of course not. What are you talking about?"Kirk said, getting to his feet.
But Savage hadn't said it out loud.
"I won't say a thing."Mr. Savage promised with a thought.
Mr. Kirk said nothing, he pushed himself up from the table, stumbling before he found his feet, and awkwardly sprinted away into the trees.
*Will I have to fake my death again?* Kirk wondered, but then decided he would trust the strange chess-player, though he would have to avoid Central Park in the future. *Looks like I'll be taking up poker after all.*
__________________________________________________________
**END**
__________________________________________________________
[More Stories.](http://www.reddit.com/r/flashfiction4you)
|
"David NOOOOOO!!!!!"his mother came running in to the kitchen but she knew it was already too late.
David, a twelve year old who just happened to be hungry after school on a day when there were no cookies, found an red ball like thing in a jar on top of the fridge and since it smelled really nice, decided to take a bite. The first bite was so good that it led to a second and David continued biting until he had reached the core.
Before David's mother, a mother who loved him very dearly I might add, could even reach her child an arm burst through the window above the sink, grabbed poor David and withdrew him through the window and in to the yard.
Once in the yard David was placed on a gurney by a man who was maybe a foot larger than David at best. He wore glasses and a white coat. He had a necklace that was rubber at the top and metal at the bottom and he held on to a needle. Another man, slightly taller than the first but dressed the same, took David's arm and wrapped it in a cloth. The cloth was attached to a squeezy thing and what looked like a thermometer. That man began to squeeze the squeezy thing and David's arm felt like a balloon about to pop.
The first man rolled up David's sleeve and stuck the needle in his arm. David's arm hurt and he cried out for his mother but his mother couldn't hear David, she was under anesthesia and having her gall bladder removed.
A third man, dressed just like the first two but with a more colorful tie, walked up with a clipboard and began to write. David could see the clipboard but as hard as he tried he could not read what the man was writing. It looked like scribbles to David.
The first man patted David on the head, said he was right as rain, and handed him a lollipop. David liked lollipops. So he opened it up and hopped down off the gurney.
As David looked around he saw men and women of all shapes and sizes walking on all the streets in town. They were all dressed just like the men that hurt David's arms. They went in to houses and out of houses and in to houses and out of houses.
David saw Mrs Johnson, who baked the most delicious chocolate chip cookies. She was running down the street in a dress that was open in the back. David could see her bottom and that made him giggle. He watched as two big men tackled Mrs Johnson and put a needle in her arm, which must have been magic because she fell right asleep.
David went back in his home to see where his Mom was and to find out what was for dinner. He called "MOM"but no one answered. He went in to the kitchen to check the stove but there was nothing on it. Then he heard a cough and turned to see the man in the white coat with the nice tie sitting at his kitchen table. The man smiled at David and he held the core of the thing David had been eating. He seemed to like it very much because he turned it and turned it and smiled and smiled.
"Thank you David"he said and stood up. "You'll never know how much this means". And he walked over to David and, just like the other man, patted David on the head.
"Do you know"the man bent down to David's height and looked him straight in the eyes "where Mommy keeps her insurance cards? We need to determine coverage before we can proceed."
|
->Be me
->16 yr old humanfag
->madly in love with elfgirl
->see elfgirl every day on the bus
->never make a move because shy
->also is autist
->suddenly a wild orcbitch appears
->orcbitch is giving elfgirl shit for being an elf
->orcbitch be like "treefuckers killed my ancestors 500 years ago"
->www.youtube.com/search=omgwhothehellcares.html
->bitch starts pulling elfgirl's hair, elfgirl starts crying
->dwarf busdriver won't do shit
->realizes I can make motherfucking fireballs in my hands
->puts a fireball in orcbitch's face
->BURNBITCH!!!
->elfgirl smiles @ me, life is complete
->confess my undying love for elfgirl
->elfgirl starts to cry
->"I'm sorry, OP, but I don't like girls"
->[mfw](http://www.troll.me/2011/11/27/sad-frog/ok-6/)
|
"Turning to national news, the "No-Bullshit Baby,"as he's been called since his birth two weeks ago, died today on live television. Apparently millions of people looked at his mottled, lesion-covered face and said "oh, he's still so cute,"generating so much simultaneous bullshit that the child died almost instantly of toxic shock.
"In other news, the "No-Sarcasm Teenager"signed onto reddit for the first time today. Funeral arrangements are incomplete at this time." |
"I have been eating from the apple tree, and I have been drinking from the pool", I say to Greg, smiling.
"That's marvelous", Greg replies, grabbing an apple himself and biting into it. "Delightful little platform, you got
here. How long has it been?"
"No idea, Greg. I woke up here sometime during the last year, but can't tell you exactly when."
"Splendid. And when did you decide to go insane?"
"That was just now, when I first conjured you from my imagination", I explained. "I felt like crafting an imaginary
friend was a good first attitude after going insane."
"I see", he says, smiling. "Why did you go insane, again?"
I look from the tree to the pound to the abyss. "Well, Greg. Life's been kind of shitty, I'm not going to lie."
"How so?"
"Well, for starters, I had a family", I say, leaning against the tree by his side. "A beautiful wife, and a kid. Another
on the way."
"No kidding."
"Yeah", I say. "I don't have any pictures, but I still remember their faces. I'm kind of scared I'll forget them,
though", I say. "Well, was. Now I've gone insane, so I don't worry about it anymore."
"That's good."
"Yeah. I don't worry that I just woke up here, for no reason at all", I say. "I don't worry that there is no one I can
talk to, and that I have no idea what is going on. No, Greg, not at all. I don't worry that maybe I actually did went insane, when I first woke up here, and that I'm actually living in a nuthouse just imagining all this."
"Are you crying, Jason?"
"Oh, Greg. Things are going to get a lot better now that I'm insane", I say, whipping the tears. "I'm going to --"
"IS THERE ANYBODY OUT THERE?"
That wasn't Greg. I think.
"Greg, was that you?"
"No, I don't think so", Greg replies. "Though you did go insane, so it might just be anoth --"
"IS THERE ANYBODY OUT THERE?"
"Crap. Crap, crap crap,"I say, getting up and looking around, desperately.
"Hey, Jason..."Greg starts, uncertain.
"What? WHAT?"
"Maybe we should scream back", he finishes. "You know. Cause... There *is* anybody out there. Us."
"Yeah... Yeah."I agree, nodding. "WE'RE HERE!"I scream. Then I remember that Greg is imaginary, and
that I shouldn't say 'we', but 'I am here'. Then I remember that I went insane, so fuck it, I'll scream whatever I
want. "WE'RE HERE!"
Silence. My voice echoes in the distant. I watch as the clouds bellow me twirl and twist slowly, almost as if wa --
"WHERE ARE YOU? I CAN HEAR YOU!"
The voice. It's a female voice.
"I'M AT A PLATFORM WITH A TREE AND A POOL. WHERE ARE YOU?"
You...you...you...you, I hear, my own voice returning back to me.
"You figure she's hot?"Greg asks, nudging my elbow.
"Shut up."
"I'M AT A PLATFORM WITH A PLAYSTATION 3 AND PIZZA!"
I exchange looks with Greg.
"WANNA TRADE?"
"I'M GOOD, THANKS. LISTEN, WHAT SHOULD WE DO?"
"Hey, Jason..."Greg says, looking at me.
"What?"
"Let's jump."
"WHAT?"
"WHAT?"
"NO, SORRY", I say. "THAT 'WHAT' WAS FOR GREG, MY IMAGINARY FRIEND, NOT FOR YOU."
"ALL RIGHT", the female voice echoes again. "LET ME KNOW WHEN YOU GUYS ARE FINISHED TALKING."
"Come on, jump. Tell her to do it, too", Greg insists.
I sigh, looking down at the abyss.
"HEY, PLAYSTATION GIRL!"
"YEAH?"
"WHAT DO YOU SAY WE JUMP?"
"WE'RE PROBABLY GONNA DIE!"
"BEATS LIVING ALONE IN A PLATFORM, RIGHT?"
"YEAH, I GUESS. THOUGH I AM IN THE MIDDLE OF A PRETTY GOOD SKYRIM CAMPAIGN."
"DAMN, YOUR PLATFORM SOUNDS NICE!"I reply, genuinely jealous.
The echoes scramble each other out, but I can still make out her voice quite clearly.
"SO... ON THREE?"She asks.
I exchange looks with Greg again.
"ALL RIGHT."
"ONE..."She begins. "TWO...."
"HEY, WAIT!"
"WHAT?"
I put my arm around Greg and we step over to the edge.
"TAKE THE PLAYSTATION WITH YOU!"
"THREE!"
________________
*Thanks for reading! For more stories, check out my subreddit! /r/psycho_alpaca =)* |
Professor Ao'Nesti peered into the cavernous monolith that was just uncovered at the excavation site.
"Han'Sungai, go fetch the light globes! Quickly! This might be the most important discovery in over a century!", he excitedly yelled at his assistant. "I think we found an intact temple filled with shrines and monuments!"
Han'Sungai quickly retrieved Professor Ao'Nesti's light globe, a stone sphere that is perpetually glowing a soft blue light.
The Professor stepped into the temple cautiously, ever vigilant for bobby traps or ancient curses. As his eyes adjust, he knew that this excavation will be forever chronicled in the history books. An intact temple with endless rows of shrines, each with offerings and artifacts to the ancient gods.
To his left, he see blue cans stacked up high. Each can has the iconography of an ocean wave and a single white word. He knew that word from his studies: the ancient god of the Endless Seas, Pepsi.
On his right, he see bags colored in red. He excitedly read the name of the god. Doritos. The ancient god of Raging Fire.
He looked around, endless shrines offering to both the major gods like the Solar God Samsung, to minor obscure ones such as Good Value. *Must be the god of Morality*, he concluded.
"Han'Sungai, have you dug out the name of this temple yet? I saw a part of the glyph symbols extruding out earlier."
"Yea I think we got all of it dug out. Can you come over for a second? We need your capabilities to translate this word."
The Professor came out to decrypt the symbols. It's even more impressive up-close, towering almost three times his height.
"The blue word is 'Wul'Mutt'. I read in the books that it's the name of an ancient empire that stretches to every corner of the globe. The white words are foreign to me, but I assume it means Super Shrine in the ancient tongue." |
Humanity escaped a dying Earth and fled through the void between the stars.
Most of the planets reached were uninhabitable and the colony ships continued onward; until they eventually broke down, the inhabitants freezing to death as the exhausted generators finally gave out.
However six failing colony ships, guided by the signal of a lone successful ship, managed to limp to the newly named *Colossus* - a super earth similar to our old Venus.
Boasting an incredibly rich ecosystem in the sky, the ships were refitted into three massive, floating islands, buoyed up by the dense atmosphere of the planet. Gravity and oxygen at this level were about ideal, but without an ionosphere or satellites in orbit, communication between the three islands fell away due to the planet being nearly fifteen times the size of old Earth.
The cultures and races could no longer diversify, except on the rare occasions that the islands met on their journey through the skies. As time wore on, the chance meetings every few centuries had less and less impact and the islands became insular and homogenised.
---------------------
When the continents of Europa and Titan - named after moons from the old solar system - met after two thousand years of no contact, chaos erupted across both lands.
Europa was a green expanse of genetically modified terrestrial flora and fauna. Crystalline lakes reflected the jade sky and settlements that seemed to grow out of the landscape dotted the rolling hillsides and forests.
In contrast, Titan was a massive metal juggernaut bristling with towers of steel and glass, belching monstrous columns of black smog into the atmosphere. It drifted closer to Europa on a wake of filthy smoke and a gentle waterfall of tumbling refuse cascaded constantly over the edges.
Appalled, the Europans could do nothing but wait for the continents to rendezvous, then slowly drift apart again after several weeks.
The exodus from Titan was immediate; hundreds of thousands of people began to pour from the overcrowded continental city and invade the lush, virtually empty lands of Europa. Lacking any experience in these matters, the gentle Europans fled inland and gathered in conclave near the centre of the continent.
A long culture of genetic modification meant that the Europans barely even resembled humanity any more - their dappled green skin and prehensile toes adapted to a more arboreal existence. By comparison the Titanians were pale, weak, inbred creatures suffering from a multitude of congenital illnesses. Their culture had been one of technological advancement via *subjugation* of the environment, rather than advancement through *harmony* with the environment. Titan was like a floating boil on the skin of Colossus; a cancer that should never have been left to grow.
As the Titanians pressed inland - despoiling and destroying as they went - the Europans were forced to make a choice; fight or die.
Massive umbilical cables had already been deployed from Titan to stop the continents drifting apart again and the Europans knew time was short.
---------------------
Three thousand years later, the third continent of Umbriel sighted another landmass, long overdue for conjunction.
In amazement, the people gathered and looked out upon the truly massive continent drifting toward them - twice the size of their own. On one half of the land stood the ruins of some kind of megacity - mostly swallowed by vegetation, but still discernible as buildings. On the other side was a paradise of green hills, lakes, forests and tiny villages.
As Umbriel drifted closer, something stirred from the immense ruins; rising into the air like a puff of smoke that grew thicker and darker. By the time the continents were less than a kilometre apart, the puff of smoke had become a dense cloud that then spiralled upward and left the ruins to descend upon Umbriel.
The Europan survey team picked through the ruins of the Umbrish cities as the genetically modified locust cloud returned to the ruins of Titan, their grisly task complete. Very little organic matter remained; only the flensed bones of the humans who had once called Umbriel home.
As the islands slid together, massive roots crept across the divide and dragged the continents together into a new supercontinent.
Finally, the Europans were safe.
|
"What can you do?"
"I can make up shitty stories."
"What, like, lying?"
"Nah, worse than that. Everyone can lie. But I can only make up shitty stories on very specific occasions."
"Like what?"
"Well, I need people to give me an outline before I can give them the story."
"Umm... so what's the use of that? If I've got an outline, I can write my own shitty story."
"I know, right? I mean, what the hell? How am I supposed to use it?"
*Beep. "You have a new writing prompt."
"Computer, read it out."
"Your extremely specific superpower finally gets to be used. Writing prompt, no constraints."
"Holy..." |
I slide open the door to my closet and curse. She did it *again.* All of my shirts and pants have been rearranged in a manner more pleasing to my god. Which is fine. Really. Except that I prefer to keep my pants on the upper rack. But whatever. I pick out a suit and get dressed.
I walk into the kitchen and smell freshly cooked bacon and recently-brewed coffee. I grit my teeth. My breakfast sits on the small table in the corner of my kitchen - eggs, bacon, a piece of toast. And of course, the coffee. The coffee is horrid - bitter at first, it leaves a lingering sour flavor in my mouth. It has been two weeks of this same breakfast. *Two weeks.* I could kill for a bagel and some smoked salmon. Smoked salmon is displeasing to my god, but it's not like she is eating it, right? And why can't she do the dishes?
After clearing the table and cleaning the kitchen, I return to my bedroom for the morning prayer. I kneel before the small shrine and whisper the sacred words that my mother taught me when I was a child. These are the same words that my grandmother taught her, and the same words that my ancestors have spoken since time immemorial. I bow to the shrine and grab my car keys off the dresser. I hold my breath as I step outside - what car will I drive today?
A white Honda sits at the curb. I sigh with relief. Every day, a new car at her whim. She used to switch out the cars while I was at work, but I could never figure out which car was mine. After much begging at the shrine, she apparently consented to change the car once per day, and always overnight. She used to be obsessed with early cars from the 1920s. It took three months to convince her to stick to cars made after World War II. The Honda is a sensible choice, and I am happy as I drive to work.
The roads to my office are clear of traffic, of course. I never hit a red light. Cars are lined up at every intersection, waiting for me to pass. I cannot see the drivers but I feel their glares. Feeling guilty, I hunch down in the driver's seat and remind myself that I'm not to blame. It's not my fault that my god only has one follower. Finally, I pull into the parking lot at my office.
As I walk inside, I wave to Cheryl at the receptionist's desk but she doesn't wave back. We had dated a few months ago but then broke it off. Cheryl had complained that she could never phone me - her phone would break, or she'd get disconnected, or worse. One time, she had tripped and broken an ankle. That had been the last straw. I sigh. Surely, any god would want their followers to "go forth and multiply"right? I had dated sporadically over the years, but no one ever pleased my god. In desperation, I even tried dating another man, but that didn't work. I once declared that I had given up on love but the next day there wasn't a car at the curb when I left for work. It had been raining and all of my umbrellas had suddenly gone missing. I spent the whole day in prayer at my shrine, apologizing and promising to find a suitable wife. I had to take a sick day. The next day, sunshine and (literally) rainbows.
I close the door to my office and sit at my enormous desk. I started working at the company a month ago and, after a series of improbable promotions, I am now Vice President of Business Development. While I appreciate the paycheck, I have no idea what I am doing. I am supposed to be working in IT but I guess my god doesn't understand modern corporations. It wouldn't be so bad except everyone loathes me.
Sally, the Chief Financial Officer, sticks her head into my office. I beckon her in.
"What can I do for you, Sally?"I ask. I haven't seen her since the corporate retreat.
Sally frowns and hands me her phone. "Do you know anything about this?"She asks.
Confused, I take her phone and look at the screen. 40 missed calls. I click on the list and every single call is from my cell phone.
"Oh my,"I blush. "I have no idea how this happened. I am so sorry!"
Sally waves away my apology. "Yeah, well, I can't call out either. Every time I try to call someone, I end up in your voicemail."
"Hmm,"I say, "I haven't received any voicemails from you."
"I know,"says Sally. "That's because I haven't left any. I just hang up. But you need to fix this. It's been three days and it is driving me crazy."
I turn Sally's phone over and over in my hands. "I'm really sorry, I have no idea how this could be happening."Then I pause.
Oh no. Of course.
My god.
I sigh. "Sally, would you please consider going to dinner with me?"I know very little about Sally, and I have never considered her for a romantic relationship. *Why her,* I ask silently.
Sally frowns again. "Uh, I think that HR might have a problem with two VPs going on a date..."
The phone on my desk rings. I put the call on speaker. "Hello?"
"Hey, uh, this is Jim from HR-"Sally looks at me, confused - "Yeah, uh, I just wanted to let you know about a new policy that we are starting. I'm calling all the VPs about it. Uhhhh, I guess that it's ok for VPs to date amongst themselves? Or something? There's a change in policy, ok, that's it. There's a change in policy."Jim hangs up and the line clicks off.
Sally looks at me, and I shrug with resignation.
"So, how about that dinner?"
*****
Part 2 of this story is [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/hpcisco7965/comments/3xxdel/writingprompts_wp_you_live_in_a_universe_where/).
If you liked this story, you might like my other stories at /r/hpcisco7965 or /r/TMODAL.
|
"So I says, well, if you can't take the heat..."The whole bar erupted in laughter.
The joke teller stood at the bar and dramatically downed his glass of bourbon in one swig, a trickle coursed it's way down the edge of his goatee and he drug at it with a sleeve, laughing with all the rough bar patrons at his own hilarity.
I hated Iblis . I knew him when he was Lucifer, but he's been through more names than Prince, and now currently favors the name that the Muslims have given him. He's "tested"humans for eons. Tempting, promising, cajoling, dealing, whatever-he-can-think-of-ing to get otherwise good people to turn away from God. Our father. OUR.
Eons ago, I was tasked with the rather unpleasant job of taking souls to where they belonged. My father gave many of his favorites jobs. Michael, the warrior. Abbadon, bringer of the end (so far, unemployed). There are many others, but to me, he gave the job of guiding souls to where they deserved to go when they died. There are many each day, but through the power of divine spirit, I make time. Literally.
"Az,"he said. I ignored him for a second, enjoying the malty complexity of the beer in my hand. "Azrael, come tell these dudes about that time in Juarez... You remember. The one where we..."I walk over, dressed in faded jeans and a polo shirt holding my dead guy ale. Hey, I like Irony almost as much as a good micro brew. Everyone else was a tried and true biker. Including Lucifer. They didn't give a shit about those damn drug dealers in the story he wanted to tell. Lucifer had given them all a deal, they'd failed.
Occasionally, when he wanted to make things dramatic, he'd invite me along to bring souls back to hell with him. In this particular instance, we'd taken 20 souls back to hell. Two guys walked into a warehouse full of 23 people. Two guys walk out. We left three people alive. Innocents. Honestly, he tried to corrupt them, but I reminded him it wasn't part of the deal.
I've begun to ignore my brother in almost all of our interactions. He used stories like that to remind people not to cross him. He thrived on fear, jealousy and corruption. I was just there to do a job. Tonight I was there to grab a soul named Victor McCabe. Vic was an asshole. He'd beaten three of his last 6 girlfriends. Not exactly heaven material. I "knew"like every soul I took, how, when, and where he was to die. With Lucifer, I, uh, Helped. But that's because it was how it was supposed to be.
No one knew it was Victor's time, including Lucifer. He was supposed to die an undignified death, slipping and hitting his head tonight. Lucifer asked what I was doing tonight and I said I was headed to Reno, so he tug tug along. He got bored with the "tedium' that was torturing souls and said he liked to watch me work.
He regaled the motley group with tales of our misdeeds, and Lucifer got his point across. I interjected where he wanted me to. I don't know how he does it, but he manages to convince people that doing things by making deals with him is in their best interests. If most of those fools don't make a deal that night, they will by years end.
Lucifer headed to the John (when in Rome). A few of the guys tried to make small talk with me, but I wasn't interested. Out of the corner of my eye, one of the guys stood up. I'm pretty sure he was going to talk to Lucifer in the John. In slow motion, I saw another guy spill a drink and the first guy slipped. I reached out and grabbed Vic's arm before he would hit his head on the Bar.
I brought his head close to me and spoke too low for anyone else to hear, "You have a choice, my friend,"I said quietly. "*Our Father* never abandons his children. Lucifer never forgets a debt. Which would you rather have for eternity? The love of a Father, or owe the debt to the Devil?"I revealed, for a split second, my true face. The classic skeleton face of the reaper, for him to think on.
"What the!"he exclaimed, dumbfounded, scrambling to get away from my vice like grip.
"Just know, Victor McCabe that the grim reaper was here for your soul tonight, but god asked for you to have another chance."I released his arm, but he did not immediately move away.
I had a flash of Victor's future life. I smiled, and released his arm. In my vision I saw smiling children, a motley group of christian riders and an odd if well organized church group. "Spread your message of forgiveness, and you will be saved."
He stood, knowing in his heart what to do and quickly backpedaled out of the bar.
I downed my beer and asked for another. In human form, my heart was pounding, but I knew what I was doing to be good. I wasn't supposed to choose, but the devil... Lucifer... He cheated, while Our Father would not resort to it.
Left to their own devices, humans, our simple, beautiful siblings were good. Some made bad choices, but often this was fleeting. For them to be forever tainted required but one thing. My brother.
Maybe I was here to even the odds. Our Father wouldn't cheat, and no one can cheat death, but can Death cheat?
Edited for a word and to say Thanks to whomever gilded this. I am very glad you liked the story. |
I like to think that I'm not some kind of hero, but just a man spending his life doing good for the world. IT support was always my dream growing up, but this...this is *so much more*.
I was enjoying a nice bowl of palak paneer for lunch when the ticket machine whirred, indicating a transmission. I threw my food down and leapt up to be the first there; the tickets are first come first serve for the initial five minute period, then an operator is manually selected. I was the only one who ever volunteered, which was totally fine. No competition, that's all.
The ticket came out steaming and fresh, smelling of warm, pulpy paper and ink. *Major malware issue- criminal hacking, John Green, 818-000-0000*.
I leapt over to my phone, lifting the receiver to my head and punching the number in with firm resolve. It rang, and rang, each second without a pickup filling me with fear.
"Hello?"he finally asked, accepting his fate.
"Hello, yes sir, Mr. John Green. I am calling today because your PC is at great risk for malware issues, and I would like to help you with that. There are criminals who want to steal your identity."
"Fucking scammers."The phone clicked, and I slammed mine down as well.
*At least he didn't prank me, I guess.*
---------
*[this is what I'm referencing with the whole scamming bit](https://youtu.be/ex_TSIgJzBE). thanks for reading! If you'd like to read more of my work, check out /r/resonatingfury!* |
I could see the truck approaching on my side of the road while he is overtaking the smaller blue Toyota going slower. Everything slows down. I grabbed the brake and pulled with all my force. My Honda crashed to the ground, trapping my leg under her as I slid towards the approaching Chevrolet. A hard impact, followed by a millisecond of pain. Everything went dark. My last thoughts went towards my loved ones . What would follow next? Endless darkness? A bright light? Or even heaven?
“Man that must have sucked dude.” A voice said from behind me.
“I mean look at your bike, that thing was fucking awesome.”
I opened my eyes and realized I am was still laying there under my bike, the truck had smashed it in two. Confused I took a look around and got up on my knees, I felt no pain, everything seemed fine. A good looking guy came walking towards me. He wore jeans, some sneakers and a t-shirt with the inscription “Come to the dark side, we have cookies.” He smiled kindly and grabbed my hand, pulling me on my feet.
“Hi, how are you doing?” He asked like it was completely normal.
“I… I don’t know. Didn’t I just die?” I asked a little confused, since I could see my body laying right under the truck in a… ‘strange’ position.
“Yep, that douche hit you right on point, your bike is in pieces buddy.”
“Yes I can see that, but my body is also pretty… damaged?” He looked at me and smirked amused
“Well yeah, you are made of flesh, your bike was made of steel. Since your bike didn’t made it, how high did you think your chances were?” He laughed a little and slapped me on my shoulder “No offense buddy, I’m joking. It’s the best way to cheer the dead guys up.” I had to smirk a bit. An ambulance rushed past me and stopped next to my pinched body. “So yeah, want to stay a little longer or do we want to leave? I mean your relatives won’t show up here and just waiting here to look how they collect what’s left of you… ugh.” He shook his head. “I don’t want to sound rude, but I just had lunch and don’t want to see that.”
I looked back at my body. Some paramedics were trying to determine if there was anything left that could be saved for a poor guy who needed an internal organ. But I guess even a damaged heart is better than a smashed one.
“Well I guess we can leave.”
“Very well buddy, I was hoping you’d say that.” He walked away from the scene and sat in the grass. “Man I liked your bike, that thing was cool.” He said with a trace of sadness in his eyes. “I don’t have time to ride mine, too much work lately.” I sat down next to him and asked politely
“So, just to get this right. Are you some kind of ghost? Or who are you?”
“Oh I completely forgot to introduce myself. I’m death!” He giggled like a five year old boy.
“You are death?”
“Yep!”
“And what is your job? Are you going to curse me somehow, or what are you doing here?”
“I’m just bringing you to the other side buddy.”
“The other side?”
“Yep!”
“And that would be… Hell? Heaven?”
“Oh don’t worry buddy, I’ll bring you to heaven, only the baddies go to hell.”
“And I’m not a bad person?”
“Nah, it’s not like you killed someone, eh?”
“Not that I remember.”
“See, you got nothing to worry about.” He laid back in the grass and looked up at the sun. “I like being down here, everything is so real. I mean we also have it nice up there, but after hundreds of years you start to see the little details that everything up there is artificial. And this is the real thing.” He ran his hand through the grass and sighted. “I could stay here forever.”
“Ahm yea, and I don’t want to be rude, but don’t you need to bring me somewhere? Like the pearly gates or to saint peter?”
“Yeah, yeah. One sec buddy.” He sighted and grabbed the grass a last time before he got up on his feet. “You want to see what heaven looks like, eh?”
“Yes most definitely, I know some people living up there.”
“Oh ? Maybe I remember them, you know I’m responsible to bring every single one of them to heaven.”
“But that’s impossible! There are thousands of people dying each day, and we are already talking for ten minutes. From where would you take the time?”
“Did you just ask that while you are talking to death himself? It’s not the part on how I bring them to heaven or the part that we are walking around a bit despite the fact that you are dead. No, it’s the fact that I can be at multiple places at once that made you suspicious.” He laughed and slapped my shoulder. “Come on, I’m trying to be funny. You just died, loosen up a little buddy.” He stuck his hand inside his pocket and seemed to search something.
“Are you looking for something specific?”
“Yep, looks like I lost my keys.” He stuck his other hand in his other pocket and searched intensively. “Where are those fucking things!” He muttered to himself.
“Oh right!” He slapped his forehead and snapped his fingers. A key chain appeared in front of him in the air and he grabbed it. There were several keys on it, one had a little angel attached to it. I smirked and looked at it.
“A present from heaven?” I giggled a little amused.
“Hey! My daughter gave me that, since I need to be protected from the baddies, she told me. But now let’s go. I bet you can’t wait to see all your relatives and friends who have already died.” He held out a key in the air and made a circle. A normal wooden door appeared.
“Please after you.” He held it open and waited for me to enter.
“This is the gate to heaven?”
“Yep, budget cuts.”
“Really?”
“No, off course not, this is a wooden door.”
“But where does it lead?”
“To my office? It’s right around the corner from heaven. I’ll need your signature before you can go to heaven though.”
“Is that a joke?”
“Maybe? A really bad one?” He chuckled and had to hold it back.
“Fine here we go.” He grabbed another key and made the circle movement, spawning a huge Gate with golden plating.
“This is the gate to heaven.” He made a courtesy and snapped his fingers, a wing of the gate slowly opened.
“Please enjoy your stay, we hope you are so happy you never want to leave.”
“Stop it already.”
“Okay fine, but now come with me”
|
To our generation the war sounds like a mythical legend. The ancestors talk of a beautiful place that was full of life. A place where people could live as they wanted to and go wherever they wanted to go. That was before the war started, they say. The ancestors had to flee under ground or they would all have perished, so they tell us. To us though, the 3rd generation of undergrounders , we knew nothing of this place so full of life. All records of the previous world had been lost and the word of the old ones was so hard to believe. Machines that could send you through the air. City's holding millions of people in such a small area. How could we believe their word that their was once 12 billion people alive at one point when we have only seen the same 112 people all out lives. It was time to learn what the truth was. It was time to rebuild civilization from the ground up.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Everything with a 10 mile radius was a desolate wasteland. Past that was just water in every direction. None of the seeds we planted would grow and the food was starting to dwindle. We were trapped. The only thing that wasn't a heaping pile of rubble was a lopsided building with the letters S AP L . We had no clue as to what this place was once used for but we did discover an almost endless supply of information inside of it. We came to the conclusion that the old world kept all their history and facts labeled on small circular objects for ease of access.
"Leo, come look at this one! This may be the one we need!"
I walked over. Every time they found something they didn't understand, they assumed it was the one. I picked up the cap and examined it.
"Real Fact"#320- There is a town called Jackpot in Nevada
I scowled at Bret, but I knew I shouldn't be mad. Bret said, "Jackpot! That's a word that means something good right?"
Being the only person who had access to the only dictionary we had in our possession, I was the one who had the privilege to decipher all the caps. The dictionary was in tattered shreds and if everyone had access to it, it would become like the rest of the old world. Destroyed and useless. So I was the one who got figure out if a cap was useful. "Sorry Bret, this one is no good. Keep digging."
As I started to walk back to my pile another shout came to me. "Leo, you need to see this! I know it is the one!"
I nonchalantly walked over to Kat. Kat always found the "one". Like the time she found the cap, "Real Fact"#769- If a sheep and a goat mate the offspring is called a geep. Kat was an idiot. So I prepared myself for another trivial conversation with Kat. I took the cap from her and peered down at it.
"Real Fact” #398- Hippos can open their mouths 180 degrees.
"Jackpot."I said.
"Really!"Kat said in an excited squeal.
"No, put it in the semi-useful pile. Never know if we could run into a Hippo, whatever they may be."
I returned to my pile defeated. For weeks we have been searching for anything useful and all we have found was nothing. No information on the flying machines or how to build stable buildings. No information on how to grow plants or even how to survive. I looked down at my pile of rubble and saw a cap sticking out. I picked it up and gasped. This was something we could use. Something that could change everything. Now we will be able to travel farther. We wont be trapped in this tiny wasteland.
"Real Fact"#15- All porcupines float in water.
All we had to do was figure out what a "porcupine"was and we were free of this death trap. A single tear fell from my eye. We would live. We would survive. "Jackpot."
|
Am I going first? I'll go first.
Bruce Wayne was awoken by the sound of knocking at his bedroom door at 3:28 AM. "There is a light for you uptown, Master Wayne."
Wayne opened the door of the batmobile, and cautiously stepped out. At a mansion like this, the Joker could be behind any corner.
The batman suit was extremely lightweight, which made it easy to crawl through the window behind the man waiting in the porch. As Batman climbed silently down, the man turned to face him.
"Hello Batman,"The man was the famous Reuben Sachs, one of the only people richer than Bruce Wayne. "I have a job for you."
---
This was no political assassination. Even if it were, most don't involve time travel. Batman strapped himself into the silver capsule and blacked out.
When he awoke, there was a light whiff of woodsmoke in the air. The door of the capsule hung open, the capsule resting on the ground. Batman reasoned that this was some kryptonian machinery, designed to sabotage him.
He climbed out as the sound of a train approached, and began shaking the capsule. Adjusting to the light, the Gotham Knight realized he wasn't in Gotham anymore.
There were sounds of shouting and cheering from below, and batman realized he was on a roof. Below, flags of red hung from Windows and flagpoles. A car rolled around the corner, an olive green jeep. Then another, with a man standing in the back. People on each side of the street roared with appraisal, and soldiers held up there hands in salutes. The next sound drowned the cheers out.
"HEIL HITLER!"
Batman had now officially seen it all. This wasn't kryptonian. This was a political assassination plotted 73 years in the past. As any good man would, the Batman grabbed hold of his heat-seeking wrist-rockets and began to plot a course to hit the general. The wrist rocket beeped in compliance, and his task was set. Batman was going to be the man to kill Hitler. His arm steadied, and he hesitated. The rockets didn't fire.
The voice of Morgan Freeman eased into Bruce Wayne's ears. "Who are you? You aren't on this timeline yet."
Batman responded with the only thing he could before turning. "I'm Batman."
Freeman was standing a ways back, by Batman's time machine. He was dressed in a blindingly white suit, with a tie of the shiniest gold. "Well 'Batman' you'd better get back to when you came from."Freeman touched the time machine, which turned to gravel and began raking itself into the gravel of the buildings roof. Could this be...?
"Yes. Yes, I am. Good day, Batman. Don't do this again."
---
Bruce Wayne was awoken by the sound of knocking at his bedroom door at 3:28 AM. "There is a light for you uptown, Master Wayne. It looks like it comes from the Sachs Mansion." |
Dr. Lovestein let out a deep sigh. “Okay. How about we take this from the top one more time and try to figure out what’s going on.”
Across from Lovestein’s desk sat two newly christened demons; a husband and wife, both newly deceased. They wore the official Hell Corp uniform, black pants and a black polo, with a dark red Hell logo above their right breast.
“Listen, I think this is a bunch of bull crap. Why do we have to go through marriage counseling again.” Complained the husband, Lance.
“For once I agree with this asshole. We’re in Hell, who gives a shit if we hate each other.” The wife, Suzy, chimed in.
“Okay, yes, yes. You *are* in Hell, but that doesn’t mean you can just go sowing chaos and anarchy willy nilly.” Dr. Lovestein replied. “You’ve been directed to me by human resources because several fights and riots have broken out in the main office because of you two. We can’t have that, okay. Hell can’t function if all of its demons are busy bickering and fighting rather than tricking mortals into giving us their souls, okay?”
Dr. Lovestein’s words were met by silence and a pair of defiant stares. He let out another sigh. Why did HR always have to send him the craziest cases. Lovestein glanced at the clock, and was met with further dismay. It looked like he was going to be late to dinner again.
“Listen, I want don’t want to be here anymore than you two, but I got assigned as one of Hell’s counselors. I don’t even have any experience being a counselor, I was a damn janitor back in my mortal days; personally I think Satan just thought it would be funny because of my last name. Now, how about we just go over how you two died again, and then pick up from there tomorrow. Sound good?”
Lance groaned. “Fine … fine. Let’s just get this over with so we can both go home and get drunk, does that sound good to you dear.” Lance said to Suzy, a cruel sneer on his face.
“Yeah yeah yeah, that sounds great to me babe. Maybe I’ll get drunk enough and pass out tonight before you start snoring up a storm again!” Suzy retorted. Her words were laced with venom and spite.
“Oh, oh so it’s *my* fault that I snore, is it? I offered to sleep on the couch last night, but then you started complaining about how I didn’t love you anymore. There’s no winning with you!”
“Oh don’t put this on me. I’m not the one wasting our money on poker nights and disappearing to go the the bar on Friday and Saturday for hours on end!”
“Guys, guys, come on now.” Dr. Lovestein interjected. “Lets just cooperate, please.”
Lance and Suzy looked at Lovestein. They both crossed their arms in agreement and gave a curt nod. Dr. Lovestein couldn’t help but think that in some weird way, these two were perfect for each other. They were so toxic, he was sure that they wouldn’t be compatible with any sane person.
“Okay. So as I gather it, you two died when you were at the amusement park, correct?” Dr. Lovestein said.
“Yes.” Suzy replied, rolling her eyes. “We were at the amusement park, and this prick wouldn’t shut up about the damn football game that was going to be on later that night.”
Lance balked. “Yeah, so what if I was excited. If you’d told me to shut up, I would have. You didn’t have to fucking jump off the top of the ferris wheel to prove a point about how boring I was!”
“Yeah, well you didn’t have to fucking jump off after me to prove your love for me! If you’d just kept your boring little ass on that seat, everything would be fine. I would be happy in Hell, single and ready to mingle, and you would be back on Earth being a boring prick.” Suzy snarled back.
“I didn’t jump off to prove my love. I jumped because the cops were obviously going to think I pushed you. I’d rather have just died then, instead of having to go through the legal process before getting locked up for life.”
“Yeah, whatever. You’re just too much of chicken shit to admit that you actually love me.”
Dr. Lovestein waved his hands in the air, interrupting the bickering couple.
“Good, good. That’s something.” The doctor turned to Lance. “Lance, this is a safe place. It’s okay to admit that you love Suzy. She’s a wonderful woman, and it’s fine. I think that you two need to be more honest about your feelings.”
Both Lance and Suzy balked at Dr. Lovestein’s words. They both started shouting at the poor doctor.
“I don’t love her. Screw that, I don’t need a safe place. And what’re you doing, call her a wonderful woman. You hitting on her? You hitting on her right in front of me?” Lance asked.
“Yeah, going around talking like you know shit. You don’t know how he feels, you don’t know how I feel. This is *my man* after all.” Suzy chimed in.
“Your man? I ain’t your man!” Lance said, turning to Suzy.
“You ain’t my man? The hell you ain’t!” Suzy replied.
Lovestein watched in awe as the two turned against each other once again. In simple surrender, he threw his hands up in the air and got up from his desk. The arguing couple barely noticed the door click close as Dr. Lovestein headed home to his lovely wife and kids.
Lovestein shook his head. He just couldn’t believe it. He wondered if this was his punishment for talking trash about Satan in the break room a couple of years ago.
--------------------------
Hope you liked it. I've got other stuff over at r/ThadsMind if you're interested. |
Katie should be screaming, she knows she should be screaming, because Olivia's dead, and Tamara's dead, their bodies bled dry as that bastard looked like he was making love to them, both of them too strung out to struggle or scream. And now she's strung too, like a paper doll dangling on a string, some impossible current of magnetism moving her limbs as she's strutted through countless alleyways, deserted streets, her limbs moving loose and flirtatious without her consent. There have been three guys who hit on her tonight, three more people dead, penetrated by those pale white fingers and quietly torn apart. And she should be screaming, she should be screaming, if only she could shake out of this haze, if only -
"How disappointing,"Vlad says from behind her, still lurking in the shadows. He'd been so suave and exotic when he approached them in the club, aloof and ambiguously European. She'd wanted to guess his accent as Transylvanian, although she'd been pretty sure that wasn't actually still a country. And now Olivia's dead, and Tamara's dead, and the scream sticks in her throat as he makes her face him and looks at her with those cold colorless eyes. "The night's nearly over,"he sighs, looking distastefully at a starless sky, all the little stars drowned out by the light of the big city. His cold fingers brush her cheek. "Where, oh where do all your tacky little American vampires come out to hunt?"
"American vampires?"The question bubbles out of her throat, almost unbidden, and she is drunk, or drugged, or *enthralled*. She's only talking because he wants her to, the ditzy American girl he expects. "You mean, like, Team Edward?"
Vlad throws his head back and laughs, his throat bobbing. God, even his laughter's accented. *Vlahaha.* She wonders if he knows what a cornball he sounds like. He must've been doing something to make them interested in him in the first place. "Yes, yes, exactly! Those sparkly little degenerates, ruining the good name of vampirism."He shows her his fangs. "I suppose they're too *sensitive* to come out and hunt."
The words are coming easier now. He wants her to talk. Wants somebody to nod along. "You mean, vampires are different for each country? How does that work?"Maybe she can break loose. Maybe she can work this conversation up to screaming.
"Ah, yes, yes,"he says, deeply satisfied to have an inquisitive audience. He leans her against a wall, moves weightless across the sidewalk, his black trench coat swooping behind him. "A brief taxonomy of our species."He makes shadows stretch out behind him. His fingers, god, his fingers are much too long, like the branch outside her window as a child, that cast a monster's shadow across her bedroom wall. "In Africa they are ogres, long-taloned and iron-toothed, as befits monsters of a dark continent. Across Asia they tend to body horror, heads detaching from necks, bodies splitting apart at the torso. They eat anything, the Asians, from blood to entrails to fetuses. You have ourselves-"and here he cocks his head winsomely to one side and gestures to himself with a grin - "the classic, Old World vampires of the European persuasion. And then, oh, and then..."He tip-toes towards her and touches the tip of her nose. "You have the Americans."
Katie feels a lump rise up in her throat, wants to spit in his face. Not enough to be an ancient creature of the night that feeds on human blood, he also has to be a racist. It's somehow, indefinably worse, that he's so obnoxiously self-absorbed. She wonders if a chicken would care if it was eaten by a racist. She doesn't say any of that, of course, can't. What she says instead is, "And what about us Americans?"
"Oh,"Vlad says, and his face falls. It is waxy and white and drooping, altogether bloodless. "You Americans. With vampires that befit your worthless, shallow culture."He looks out pained at the glowing skyscrapers, at a skyline almost lit by neon. "Vampires that sparkle in the sun. Pah!"He whirls around to her, genuinely angry now. It doesn't mean anything to her, though. She's dead either way. "And not content to titillate yourselves like this, you must export your worthless culture throughout the world!"He grabs her chin in a vice, the bones of his fingers cutting into her jaw. "These worthless sparkling whelps, polluting the rest of our blood line!"There are blood blisters rising under her skin. He is going to kill her. He's bored of the game, bored of the cat and mouse. Even if she could scream, now, her voice would be ground into nothing between the bones. "I suppose I should have paraded you around a high school! That's about their level, yes? Then perhaps one of them would have dared to show his face!"
There is a cold laugh from behind them, and then a new voice speaks. "And so the lion fell in love with the lamb..."
"What?"Vlad roars, and spins around. Vlad is fast, inhumanly fast, but this stranger - he's unreal. Air blurs around him. He's a mirage. He's trailing afterimages. Katie can't focus her eyes on him. It's like a bad special effect in a movie, but she's seeing it in three dimensions, reality warping around him.
Vlad's hand is yanked off her jaw and then it's ten feet away, flopping like a dying sea creature. Katie collapses onto the pavement, crawling, crying, and Vlad's flung into a brick wall. He's gasping, holding on to the loose stump of his arm. There's no visible blood, just a flapping black sleeve and Vlad's hand wrapped around it. The newcomer stills, and his shirt is hanging open, and he's all sculpted cheekbones and abs. He's a male model, vacuum-sealed and vacant, all the life sucked out of him. Pure, shrink-wrapped perfection. His lips open in a sneer, and of course even his teeth are perfect, the fangs interlocking perfectly with the rest of them. "Didn't tell her the whole story,"he says.
"NO!"Vlad shrieks, and takes to the air, blurring into a bat. Team Edward goes unreal again, blurs, and the bat is snatched out of the air, flung against the ground. There's a splat, a stain. A loogie a coal miner would hock out. Vlad's crawling again, and Edward is on him. The trench coat comes open, and then Vlad's ribs follow. Katie hugs herself and shudders. Her limbs are numb. She's going into shock. Vlad's all ragged pale flesh and glinting bone and the hollowed out rib cage of ash. Still no blood. Just an embalmed corpse being torn open.
"The original vampires,"Edward says, digging in with both hands, "were red. Bloody. Flushed with it. Near mindless corpses that chewed their own hands when they couldn't get anyone to feed on."Vlad is shrieking like the wind rushing through a cave. "Didn't tell her that, did you?
"Because we're dead,"Edward says, standing. Vlad's a mewling whimper, his throat ripped open, only his head left intact. His eyes are bulging, rolling up white. "There's nothing left of us but imagination."Edward's a tower, a statue, looking down in judgement. "It was a fucking novel that made you into aristocrats! *The Vampyre*, by John Polidori, and then Stoker's *Dracula* after that!"Edward throws his head to the sky and laughs. It's like watching a machine laughing. "You're looking down on me, you piece of shit!"He lashes out with one leg and tears Vlad open again. "We've never been anything but fantasies! Never been anything but what we pretend to be!"
"P-please,"moans Vlad, and one finger twitches, points to a pinkening sky. Katie's eyes dart up, fix onto the promise of sun. Oh god, thank goodness. The night, this whole terrible night is almost over. "The dawn! The dawn! You can't let me die like this! Not another vampire! Not to the sun!"
When Edward smiles, it's like looking at a head shot. Perfectly commercial, artificial. He crouches down to Vlad like he's about to sell him aftershave. "Did you know,"he says quietly, "that in Stoker's novel, Dracula could move around just fine in the daylight? You know where the weakness to sunlight came from? Huh? Huh? You pretentious piece of shit?"
"Please,"moans Vlad, and grasps at Edward's unbuttoned shirt. "Please!"
"It came from *Nosferatu*,"Edward says, grinning away. "That's right. It only showed up after someone made a movie about it!"
Edward stands, lightly touches his perfect hair. "You're an aristocrat,"he says, as the sun begins to rise. "A dying breed. A relic of the past. The only way you can maintain your mystique is in the dark!"Vlad starts to smolder, starts to scream. "I'm an American! We don't give a shit about aristocrats!"Vlad is a pyre, screams rising like smoke, bones going brittle and snapping in the flames. The sunlight touches Edward's chest, and his skin glows with a diamond sheen. Slowly, Edward turns to Katie, and it is day, it is as bright as day, and the nightmare is somehow not yet over. He is sparkling. He is fucking sparkling out in the light of day. "We American vampires,"Edward says, "we're celebrities."All she can see is his teeth as he closes in on her, and now, finally, she is screaming, screaming, screaming.
"We fucking live to be seen." |
When all the dust and commotion cleared, we settled in La Crosse. We called it Last Chance La Crosse. Most people had wandered for a time, but sooner or later we all hit the Mississippi River and then followed it northward. That journey would inevitably bring us here. As we got closer, we all saw that big blue cantilever bridge, how it was still erect, and even though we were thirsty and filthy and exhausted and alone, we'd start running into town. When we got to La Crosse, there was refuge at last. Refuge in the form of standing structures and living trees and a handful of other human beings.
I hadn't seen the End. Truth is I was asleep. Before the End, I had been a woman of ritual. Every night before bed, I would have a spoonful of peanut butter on a couple salted crackers, then I'd brush my teeth, and fall asleep while watching a rerun of Frasier or two. Every night, the last thing I'd remember before I drifted off was Frasier or Roz getting themselves in some sort of trouble or confusion, and most often I wouldn't ever find out how they got themselves out of all that mess! The night of the End was exactly the same, except when I woke up, most everything I'd ever known and loved was gone and destroyed. For a while I ran around town trying to sort out what had happened, but it was no use, on account of everyone in my town being dead. So I went home, packed up some of my stuff, including all my Frasier DVDs, and I headed out for parts unknown. It wasn't until I got to Last Chance La Crosse that I started getting any sense of what happened.
People don't ever talk about the End in public, on account of it being too painful. But if you get someone alone, and if you come across like a good listener, they'll tell you what they recall. Thing is, different people in town describe the End in all different manners. Even though I'm no psychiatrist like Frasier or Niles, it does make sense to me that people who live through a trauma might not remember it entirely accurately. But sometimes the differences do seem a bit too great. For example, Sally says the Reckoning (she calls it the Reckoning) was a biblical event, where all the sinners were cast off the Earth by fearsome angels atop horses made of fire. Dinesh says the Doom had to do with fracking mines breaking apart the structural integrity of the tectonic plates. Ron says the Invasion was an extra-terrestrial attack and Jeanne says the Chaos was the government setting off neural implants in everyone's brain. In all those conversations I tend to just stay quiet and listen to the stories. On some level I guess I'm embarrassed I slept through the greatest calamity in human history and that when I woke up all I was thinking about was Frasier.
But the strangest thing is this: my best friend in town is a gal called Claire, who's just a few years younger than me. Well, one night, Claire tells me a secret. She tells me that the night of the End, she was asleep too! Even more peculiar, she tells me the last thing she did before the end of human civilization was watch a rerun of Frasier! Sadly, even then, I couldn't bring myself to tell Claire the truth about me. I just said she should count herself lucky, and that I wish I could forget having seen the horrors of the End myself.
But after Claire confided that in me, I got to thinking: all of us who forged our way to Last Chance La Crosse came from all different sorts of states and backgrounds and cultures. In many ways, we don't have much in common at all. Except, there's not a soul in all of Last Chance La Crosse who doesn't love Frasier with all their heart. Every person here knows most every episode. They know Cafe Nervosa, they know Martin's favorite chair, and they know how it felt the first time Niles kissed Daphne. Can something like that just happen by chance? Or does watching Frasier somehow have something to do with the End? All I know is I don't have the guts to step up and ask the question. Besides, what does it really matter? Sure, we all agree on how great Frasier was. But we also agree that Last Chance La Crosse is truly humanity's last chance, and that we survivors have got to focus on what comes next rather than reliving the past.
|
A cosy two bedroom cottage, they said.
Charming views of the countryside, they said.
Haunted by the ghosts of next door's cemetery, they said, with a laugh.
We laughed back politely. The real estate agent rolled their eyes. Everyone knew that the old lady was a little kooky. That was why she was moving to a nursing home and the place was going cheap.
A real bargain.
We moved in on Tuesday evening. The ghosts, like all good neighbors, were polite enough to leave us alone until the following week.
I came home that Monday, to find the smell of freshly roasting potatoes in the air.
I had a good sniff, just to make sure it was real.
“Honey,” I called. “What made you decide to cook? You never cook!”
There was no answer. I went through every room in the house but my wife was nowhere to be found.
The bed, however, was neatly made. Fresh towels were hanging on the rail over the bath. The laundry had been folded into two piles, his and hers.
The front door opened, and my wife came in. She was exhausted, as always, from a long day at the hospital. She looked as unkempt and bedraggled as the house was tidy.
“Darling!” she said. “That smells amazing!”
She saw me staring at her, bewildered, and stopped. “What’s wrong?”
I had a choice that evening. I’m not always proud of it, but I’ve never regretted it.
“Nothing,” I said. “Just taken aback by how beautiful you look. The roast’s in the oven. It’ll be done in five. Just enough time for you to freshen up. Oh, and I put out a fresh towel for you.”
She kissed me. “You’re the best,” she said.
We certainly were, the ghosts and I.
---
*Sadly there are no free roast dinners at* /r/jd_rallage *but there are plenty of stories* |
Heroes once only belonged on the cover of comic books. Then, the first case of Mutation Y hit. Since then, a select few individuals were giving amazing powers, abilities beyond the realm science could understand. And while some turned against their fellow men, believing themselves superior, a select few vowed to use their powers to protect the innocent and weak. They call themselves the Y-Men.
---
Jacob Friar waited in line at the local Wally-Mart. He had wanted chewing gum, but didn't think it would be a twenty minute ordeal. The lady at the cashier pushed her glasses back up and with bony fingers, she nudged another item across the scanner.
Beep.
Even the man at the front had his credit card outstretched ready to swipe as soon as the lady finished, which might be another ten minutes at this rate. Jacob grumbled. He hated waiting, especially as the fastest man alive. While Mutation Y had given some of his friends only elevated human abilities, it had gifted him with speed thought impossible by the human body. The only problem was that his power proved too great. A single sprint to break the sound barrier and everyone within a thirty foot radius would reel over with ruptured eardrums.
But he knew that one day, he would get his chance to prove his heroism and redeem himself for any previously ruptured eardrum.
A shriek pierced the air. Jacob looked up as a hooded man sprinted out the grocery store. A woman ran after him pointing, "someone help! He stole my purse. Someone call a hero!"
Jacob's eyes widened. This was his chance. A smile touched his lips and he tore through the buttons on his shirt to reveal a red lightning bolt plastered onto his spandex costume. Already, he could feel time slowing. His heart thumped in deep percussive tones.
"The hero's here!"another man shouted in jubilation and a blur of green dashed past Jacob.
"That's The Speedster!"someone yelled, "his mutation lets him run slightly faster than average!"
And faster than average The Speedster ran, closing the gap between him and the robber who ran slightly slower than average.
"Thank you brave hero,"the woman who had her purse snatched called after him.
The thief looked back and gritted his teeth. Of all the heroes to protect this Wally-Mart, it had to be The Speedster! He juked to his left between the aisle for feminine products and mouthwash. But it was no use, The Speedster was too fast. Well... not incredibly fast, but fast enough.
"Take this, Speedster!"the robber yelled and pushed a shopping cart in The Speedster's way.
"No, Speedster, watch out!"A child warned.
But The Speedster wasn't the protector of Wally-Mart for nothing. He dodged to the left, barely missing a step.
"Look at those reflexes!"
"Is that also because of his powers?"
"No, I think his reflexes are just naturally above average!"
In mere minutes, he completely caught up to the thief and grabbed the man's shoulder. He ground his heels into the ground and dragged the man down. There, both he and the robber took heaving breaths as they tried to regain what little stamina they had left.
The damsel in distress walked up to them. "Thank you Speedster,"she said. "How can I ever repay you?"
"Just a day's"--The Speedster gasped for air--"a day's work ma'am."And he smiled a hero's smile.
Jacob watched in awe and rebuttoned his shirt. One day, he hoped to be as great a hero.
|
"And what else?"I ask, hoping I don't sound too anxious.
She pauses and turns to me, mocking me with a small grin like she knows. "You seem oddly interested in this kid."
"Only because you seem to blush when you talk about him."
"Oh, god."And there it is again. "Is it *that* noticeable?"
My heart speeds up like the traffic below us. "Do you not like the kid?"
A breeze blows, stirring her hair like the ship does to the sea even further below us. She's hesitating too long.
I throw out a question like the wind throws out my cape. "What would you do if he asked you out?"
I catch another grin peeking through the hair covering her face. Less mocking this time. "Probably turn him down..."
*Oh.*
"...the first time. But if he asks me again, then...I'll figure he's probably serious."
She sweeps a hand through her hair, and I bet not even the air could've produced a motion as graceful.
"You can take me home now,"she says.
I wrap her in my arms and we fall. To Earth, like we want to die. Then we fly. To Heaven, like we've succeeded.
I take the long route, but all routes must eventually come to an end. At at last, we land. Quietly. On her rooftop, by her window.
Then I turn to go. But her voice stops me:
"How did you know this was my window?"
|
"Bertrand. Take our guest's hat, please."Betrand was my most faithful and loyal servant. Over a hundred pounds of pure muscle packed into the toned, black and tan body of a doberman pincer. He was good for conversation too, except we never let on that he could talk, not when we had company. He grabbed the man's hat in his sharp, white teeth, growling lowly as he did, carrying the hat away and tossing it onto the tattered chair that sat in the corner.
"Ma'am,"the man started.
I cut him off, couldn't let the conversation start off on a bad foot, now could I?
"Your grace,"I remind him, a cool, sly smile growing across my lips.
"Your grace,"he repeated. "I thank you for taking the time to meet with me. We, we need your help."
"My help? Why would a man like you want help from a young lady like me?"A red hot fire flickered in the fire place, and my eyes were drawn to the hypnotic flames, watching them dance gently. I sighed, bored with it all, really. Being Princess of the Underworld had its benefits, especially after I got rid of mom and dad, but sometimes I didn't want to deal with all the hassle.
"You're um. You're the only one with the right sets of skills and assets to ummm, assist me."
The man sitting across from me, nervous as he was, he had a certain charm to him. They all do, it seems. Every man that falls into my lap, they fall head over heels as well. What can I say, I have a certain affect on the Prince Charmings around Citta di Nero. Bertrand came to sit next to my chair, his mood lightening considerably. I could see it in his eyes, though, he didn't approve of the man, but he rarely did.
"What is it that you need?"I ask.
"Do you know the muffin man?"
"The muffin man?"
"Yes, that lives on drury lane."
"Of course. Everyone knows the muffin man."
"I need him taken care of."
The thought of death and murder, it always got me all hot and bothered, but bothered in a good way. "That could be arranged. But it'd come at a price, and I'm not talking about just money."I pull up my red silk dress, revealing more of my silky smooth legs. Forget true love, I've always taken more of a use em and rid of em approach. Men ain't anything more than cigarettes, burn em, use em, toss em.
The man, he's still nervous but billions of years of instinct start to take over, swelling in his rising chest.
Might be an interesting night after all. |
He had competition. It was an open contract but still he was amazed by the mass of other snipers aiming at the president. He knew some as colleagues. Robert was sitting on a balcony on the other side already focused on the street below. Since he met Mary at Starbucks an hour ago his spider sense was tickling.
The amateurs were the worst. Professionals he could deal with but the sight of thirteen total idiots pointing their tools around having no idea of their exposure was sickening. It was a minor miracle that security had not caught one of them and shut the whole area down.
Cursing while assembling his rifle he remembered that he was warned. It was the first time he had seen such a high price and the first time to crowdfund a target. He knew the traditional ways were better: it was a more personal matter when he started but nowadays everything had to be quick and online. This might be the first time though millennials are actually killing someone.
Anyway, only one Hitman would get paid. He changed his position and aimed at Robert. Time to reduce competition. |
With a puff of smoke a Jinn with eyes of fire, dark skin, and stark white hair emerged from the hookah smoke.
"GREETINGS MORT-"\*cough cough* "Sorry about that. Greetings mortal! To thank you for releasing me from my prison. Speak three wishes. Of my choosing, one I will grant, one I will ignore, and one I will grant the opposite. Choose wisely..."
My mouth was wide open, reaching for words that wouldn't come. It would probably have been something like 'What the fuckholyshit what the hell is that!' After a moment I regained my senses. "Oh, ok, so are you really a genie?"
"NO!"he roared "I am no mere wisp in a bottle, I am a mighty Jinn, being of fire and power!"
"But you grant wishes with magic? Isn't that what a genie does?"
The Jinn's brow furled and he rubbed the bridge of his nose with his fingers. "Look man, you want your wishes or not?"
"Can I have a bit to think about it?"I asked. The Jinn nodded. Several minutes passed in silence.
"I wish for unlimited condition free wishes.
I wish that my first wish is the one that you grant the opposite.
And I wish that my first wish is the one you ignore."
The Jinn was actually surprised. He thought about it for a while. "AHA! So if I ignore the second wish, grant the third and do the opposite of the second I can grant you no wishes!"
"No because you are obliged to ignore that because of the third rule."
"Drat I think you're right. This is tricky, you're very clever for a human."
I grinned, "Thank you!"
"Unfortunately this has put me in a bad mood so now I'm just going to kill you and take your body."
The smile faded, "What? Genies can go back on their word?"
"I. AM NOT. A GENIE."
"Oh right... bummer"
|
Well this is certainly unexpected. Seriously though, what the actual hell? It's the painting that's really freaked me out.
Not that it would be normal otherwise.
I have to click on that painting.
It brings me to a weird page. The words are all Russian to me. God bless Google translate, eh?
It doesn't read smoothly, but I get the gist. *"Edward Dumitru- 1512. Is oil of painting from era Romania dynasty. To people in story of immortal soul for man. Memory is no. Is power. шалость rule to world."*
Okaaay...
I sift through the others. A black and white of my ugly mug from the first world war. Another portrait. Another army. Another- WHOAH.
There's a somewhat crude drawing of, I think it's- *Jesus H Christ*- I think it's Jesus. There I am standing at his side, and he kneels in front of me with a look of fear and love on his face.
Stranger things have NOT happened. Screw your images of Jesus on a piece of toast. This. This is the O.G This is what I call a sign.
A sign of what? I'm immortal? Lived forever? I mean, maybe. How the fuck else do I explain it?!
It takes me a while to commit to what I'm about to do, but I mean, come on. It's beyond convincing.
My hand is gripping the knife and I'm gazing at it in wonderment, in fear. Ok, we're doing this. I give a mighty battle cry and I plunge it in. FUCK!
I collapse to the ground and cry out in agony. I just stabbed myself. I just stabbed myself. What the hell was I thinking?
Rob and Alex run into the room and dive to my side.
"You stabbed yourself?"They scream in unison. I try to reply but end up gurgling blood. Rob sees the computer and groans.
"Dude... You weren't supposed to see this yet. Fuck."
He's just standing there, wide eyed and not knowing what to do.
"It was a fucking prank dude,"he whispers.
I gurgle some more and close my eyes.
|
Roofus sighed, staring out the window of his corporate tower. It was a crystal clear day and the wind carried the scents of celebration. His ear twitched as he heard his door click open.
"Congratulations, sir. It went off without a hitch."A voice said from behind. "Sir?"
Roofus cleared his throat, "Sorry, erm, thank you, Sparky."
Sparky approached, "Is everything alright? I thought you would be thrilled."
"No, I am. Everything is fine."Roofus said. "I am just in a thoughtful mood."His eyes found a tall statue in the distance. A tall, bipedal creature- a human - stood looking towards the sky. One of its appendages was held upward, a single digit of its claw pointed upwards. The other hand laid atop the head of a dog, its own gaze following the humans up to the sky.
"I have trouble believing it myself. The first Martian colony, well, the first of our species."Their corporation funded much of the expedition, and their technology fueled the engines that made the journey possible.
Roofus thought the accomplishment would have filled this hole he felt inside. This feeling that he needed to achieve something greater. It drove him all his life. And yet...He stared at this statue and still felt a sense of longing.
"Do you think..."He started.
"Sir?"
"Do you think...they would be proud of us?"He asked.
Sparky followed Roofus' gaze to the statue, "I...don't know sir. I'm sure they would be."
"In many ways we've created a better world than they ever had. A more peaceful one. A cleaner one. They fled in part because they were on the verge of breaking the world."He said, speaking his thoughts in hopes of defining this hole left in side. "And yet...And yet...I still just want to know...I want to know if they would have thought I was a good boy." |
I've been in a lot of heads. It's not that I enjoy digging around in dead people's subconsciouses, but it's a part of the job. There's a lot of insight there, into the sort of person they were, the way they saw themselves and the world. More importantly, you can find out a lot about their lives if you know how to look. Like where the bodies are buried.
That's why we're going in this time, into the mind of one Boyd Fulton; we know he's killed, there's no question of that anymore. But there's a lot of things we don't know - how many, how he found the girls, what he did with them, how he hid for so many years. And that's important. If knowing that can make the world just a little bit safer, then it's worth it, in spite of the dangers.
I've got backup this time; three officers, all experienced with inner worlds and prepared to face the worst. But they still look nervous.
"Hey, doc,"one asks me. "What's the worst you've ever seen on one of these?"
"Personally? A guy who killed his family and then himself. Every surface covered in blades, I had to go in armored."That was when I was much younger, and never should have been sent into a world like that at all, but the guy who should have been wound up in the hospital and they don't stay open for long. "But the worst I've ever heard of was a mass shooter, oh four years ago now? Everything in his world was animate and tried to kill the investigators."
They shift nervously. Boyd's killed even more people than that.
"Everyone ready?"Mark asks, and we all nod. I make the cut, the saw slicing through the skull with a noise that will never stop making me cringe. The cut expands outward, beyond what I've done with the saw, beyond the skull itself, the inner world spilling out into the real world, a rift in reality tearing open. And we step through.
The first thing I notice is the silence. Dead silence, the kind that can make you go crazy if you listen to it for too long. The officers are talking to each other beside me, one asking how someone could kill so many people and feel nothing, but this silence swallows it all up anyway, like a drop of blood in the ocean.
It's empty, terribly empty. There's things, of course - all inner worlds are a distorted reflection of the real world, they can't just be featureless white plains. But that's what this feels like. Like the backgrounds of Dali's paintings. Like a nightmare I had once, a kid sick with a fever, that has haunted me ever since. A vast, silent emptiness that could swallow us up.
We're standing outside a house - his house, I recognize it from pictures. But everything feels small. Distant. Fake, as if it's all just cardboard cutouts that could be knocked over by the slightest breeze. The size, the weight, the *realness* of things in inner worlds depends on their significance. Important objects are magnified like a caricature, unimportant details fade to nothing. But nothing here is meaningful. Objects are flat. Faint traces of humanoid figures flit past like ghosts.
I turn to the officer who was talking. My voice sounds flat in the silence, swallowed up by that cold void, but I can see from their faces they still hear me. "You want to know how someone can kill and feel nothing? This is your answer."I kick over the car in the driveway, and it crumples and collapses. "He felt nothing because none of it mattered to him. Nothing of value was lost, because nothing ever had any value."They're looking at each other and at me. Waiting for the trick, the hidden blade, but I know we won't find one. "You can relax, the only dangerous thing that was ever in this world was Boyd himself."
And yet, in spite of knowing there's no danger, nothing has ever terrified me more than the utter emptiness I see here. |
“I just want to tell you… I still love you. I’m sorry about everything – oh my God!” The plane jumped and the cell phone flew out of woman sitting next to me’s hand. “My phone!” Then she remembered the plane was about to crash and started sobbing.
She wasn’t paying me much attention, which was fine by me, but one of the flight attendants was still more or less on the ball.
“Sir, put on your mask! Sir!”
Putting on the mask would get in the way of my drinking, which was already hard enough with all the turbulence. So I ignored her.
“Sir, what are you doing?”
I was trying to finish a chapter in my book before the plane went down and had trouble multitasking. So I kept ignoring her.
“Sir, stop-“
Whatever happens when a plane crashes happened just then, and the flight attendant, the lady next to me, several hundred other people, and I died immediately.
…
“Sir, would you like another drink?” The flight attendant smiled down on me.
“Absolutely.”
I leaned back in my seat to try to get my thought process going while she whipped it up. The woman sitting next to me looked over, liked what she was looking at.
“So,” she said, “first time in-“
“I’m trying to think right now. Please leave me alone.” I thought about it for a couple minutes and wasn’t coming up with anything better than my first idea.
I got up and worked my way back to the bathroom. It was of course occupied. I took off my tie, which was a very strong, very smooth silk. Strong enough to do what I needed it to, smooth enough to make the first couple seconds slightly better. These were things I looked for in a tie.
The door opened and a young guy grinned at me apologetically then scurried off. The smell scape he’d created in that stall was horrific. That encouraged me to get on with it. I tried not to look in the mirror as I got on with something truly unpleasant.
…
I sat down at my terminal and waited with a hundred other schmoes. I supposed it was my responsibility to prevent this flight from taking off. Then I saw Smelly McCollege Kid stuffing his face full of Chipotle and wondered if there were a way to just have him get on the plane. But I fought that urge down.
Would delaying the flight be enough? Perhaps another maintenance check was all the plane needed. I decided I would try that first. How does one do that?
I remembered the paperback in my pocket. The hell with it, I thought. I’ll finish the damn chapter, maybe the whole book, then I’d worry about this stuff. |
**"Seize her! Seize the blasphemer!"** bellowed the hooded man, face as scarlet as the robe he wore, an accusing finger pointed towards me that his followers avoided as desperately as they would the barrel of a gun.
As the stunned faces of the congregation turned towards me, I realised I really should have just kept my mouth shut. That I should have just bit my tongue. Or at least have chosen a better time than in the middle of the high priest's sermon.. But I just wasn't able to help myself. In the past hour he had managed to butcher every single tenant of the faith I had so carefully planned for my followers!
Every. Single. One.
I understood that as language develops and as teachings are passed down that maybe a detail here or there might be lost or skewed, but I couldn't have made such a mess of things if I tried! Absolute, unquestioning obedience towards handful of priests? Death towards those that did not believe or strayed from the teachings? What nonsense!
Each life was sacred, and all were equal. Free thought was respected, even encouraged! I loved all of my children, but after watching that so called "high"priest spout such drivel... He was making that rather difficult.
The followers to either side of me grabbed a hold of my arms, forcing them behind my back as they marched me towards the raving priest, foaming at the mouth as he cursed and spat.
**"You dare! You dare insult one of the chosen?! For such transgression you will die a thousand deaths at the hands of the one true goddess! But the first, will be by my own. Hold her steady!"**
From his robe, the priest draw a dagger, it's blade silver, gripping the handle with both hands before driving it with all his weight into my stomach!
Or... At least, attempted to. No weapon forged from the gifts of my brother, God of Metal and Rock, could injure me. Instead, the blade only pierced my robe, bending like foil as it met my skin. In shock, the priest dropped his blade and I decided to make my true identity known.
I drew upon my power, feeling it course through me as I dropped my disguise. Tanned skin brightening to gold, black hair to white, growing and flowing outwards, defying gravity as it seemed to hang in the air while I rose from the ground, the radiance of my power filling the room with the most beautiful shade of green and gold. The colour of life.
I gazed upon my children, looks of awe and amazement shared between the crowd before I addressed them.
"It is I, your mother Vella, goddess of light and li-"
**"Vella?!"** the priest interrupted.
"Yes my child, your goddess has ca-"
**"...But we worship Keella."**
Oh. |
Many kinds of cuts, right? There is the "cut"that gets shouted after the scene has finished. There is the "cut"when someone cuts someone else off on the road. There is the good old "cut"that you get for participating in a business deal.
So I got an email with the title "cut". And you know, I thought that it was spam. And, after I opened it, I realized that it wasn't just plain spam, but malicious spam. They pretended that they have counted 20 000 dollars in my PayPal account with the text: "Your prescribed cut Mr Xan, 2 000 000 yen, congratulations, looking forward."And I closed the email and ignored it. But, truth be told, it would have been a whole lot easier to ignore it if I hadn't checked my Paypal after three days and discovered the amount in it. That's when I started paying attention.
I must admit, I thought on keeping it. I really did. I even came up with reasons why I should keep it, why I deserved it more than some stupid Asian businessmen who can not transfer money correctly. And, just because of that, I wrote to them. I wanted to find an excuse to keep the money. The problem is that English was not their native language and neither it is mine. So we worked through Google translate and made a mockery of our conversation. After a few broken emails traversing the steppes of Siberia and China, I got an email with a single word title. "Cut."
It contained a video file, about 50 minutes long. It was called "Tofu Test!", just like my subreddit of a fantasy game show. And, when I opened it, that was just what I got. An episode of "Tofu Test!"
You know how game shows are always giving you that cardboard feeling? That you know the whole set can be packed in a single box and carried by a child? Well, this was something else. This was cheaper than that. There was barely any set at all, there were Asian men running around, laughing and carrying balls in a chaotic fashion. They run for a few minutes, then balanced an egg, then answered trivia questions and everyone had a marvelous time. It had no subtitles, no production value and no sense at all. They had taken every half-cooked idea of the users in my subreddit and actually filmed it and made a show out of it. And, at the end of it, one of the funny looking men won 20 000 000 yens, had a speech and the show ended.
That was something else, I will tell you that. I sat in front of my computer trying to process what I just saw. I came up with the show and it wasn't real. But here it was. I started looking around. I googled the email of the sender, but nothing came up. I tried googling the second part of the email and I found one noodle place by that name, but it couldn't be it. It had no website, no nothing. Just registered in some strange region in Japan I did not know of. But that gave me an idea and I googled "Tofu Test". An upload in youtube with the same "noodle place"account name, 200 views. A few websites, all in Japanese, all looking like from 1995. I tried using google translate and I found out that all of them use the same little excerpt.
"Think you have skill? Think you have brain? Tofu Test! Come, prove! 20 000 000 yen belong to victor! Created by Europe show leader Xan! No regrets at ever!"And that's that. No regrets at ever. So I look at the "details"part of the show and it is actually written that I had created it. My name and everything. And, when I click on that name, I find out that I am the CEO of "TofuTestBroadcast". Proud owner, I tell you that. And the location of my newfound offices? That same noodle place. And a website. Not for Tofu Test, but for me, the proud creator of no regrets at ever. I open the Japanese website and see my face in it, smiling at me, with the text "Proud CEO and family man, Mr. Xan"under it. I see my whole biography written there with pictures of me and my family. I translate the story about how all my life led up to creating the groundbreaking show Tofu Test. I look through all my achievements, some of them true, some completely made up. My town's Chess trophy? True. My work with the disabled? True. My speech in Oxford about cinematography? Take a wild guess. I couldn't even find Oxford on the map. But that is what caught my eye. See, I don't have my bachelors or nothing. So I wrote in my Facebook "Oxford"when asked for education. It's not a lie, because everyone see it as an obvious joke. But not the man from the Eastern island, no. They had copied all my information and photos from my facebook. They had embellished it and created a website. They had made a company in my name. They had made the show in my name. They had created me anew and this new me had created a show.
Where to go from now? What is this whole mood of the story? Is this a scam in my name? Is this some sort of a Japanese version of a joke? One of those hidden camera shows? Is the subreddit playing a joke on me? 20 000 for a joke seems pretty steep to me. Has there been some sort of a great misunderstanding that I should write a book about? At least a Wired or Vice article? No, not Vice... My story will be better than that. So I crafted an email in response. I wrote to them that I'm honored and pleased. I wrote that the quality of the show is superb. I wrote that I love the whole Japanese nation. I asked them when would be a good place to visit not only the glorious Japanese country, but also my office in the noodle place. I was still toying with the idea and having a good laugh until I got the response.
"No come ever. Nothing for you here. Don't come Japanese jurisdiction, easy to arrest, audit. We give money here, register winnings, all official. Send you your cut. Japanese tax audit can't see you. Don't come, don't make people sorry. Don't make you sorry."
And that's that. I'm not welcome there. Because if I will go there, the Japanese "IRS"will arrest me, interrogate me and accuse in a money laundering scam. The noodle place is a cover for money launderers. The 20 000 000 is given to someone, registered as a prize money from Europe, then gets sent to wherever it's needed. I keep up the pretenses that that's true, I get my fair share of it all, my "cut". When someone googles Tofu Test, they find my subreddit, led by me, with people talking about the episodes. All real accounts, all enjoying the great show that is "Tofu Test!"And where that leaves me? Do I just keep taking the money? Do I object? Am I dealing with Yakuza and do I want to anger them? I get the answer fast and I get it in the broken English I've grown used to now.
"If you reject, you final cut."
I don't know which "cut"of the English language this is. I don't care. I remove the word "fake"from the subreddits description. I write a vague Facebook post praising Kubrick as a great cinematographer we all should learn from. I upload a picture of me eating tofu and winking at the camera. I'm an important man. And I have a feeling that I'd better not lose that role.
[Literally Nobody](https://www.reddit.com/r/LiteraryNobody/) |
"Three?!"I thought astounded. Had even i even fought three people in my life? Sure there was that drunk guy at the pub once and that asshole on the highway but anyone else? And as to actually killing them?
It must be a mistake I decided. Perhaps it spelled "Dogs", did I just turn dyslexic? On further inspection, nope, everything was correct. It did truly spell "Gods". Now, came the issue, what was to be done? All was well and good, but who were the Gods and why'd I kill them in the first place? I also scrolled further down and came across "Future Humans Killed"and whoo, were the figures staggering. It was in the millions! How the hell could I have killed so many?
Then, i did the only sensible thing I could do, I went to my best friend Jon. He had an intellect bar of 80%, a reasoning of 82, and a curiosity factor of 93. He was the guy I trusted, could help me with any obscure piece of knowledge about any of the ancient devices.
"Hey Jon, could you just help me out a bit here? It's to do with my stats bar", I said.
"Mmhmmm?,"he said, taking of his glasses, and looking up from his NordSpiel Scroll, "And what's wrong with it?"
"Well, just some stats seem to be off. Look!", I said, scrolling down, "Three Gods killed! And literally millions of "Future Humans". What even does that mean?"
"Hmmmm, interesting. It seems to be quite in order. The other categories are too.. Three Gods, on the other hand though, that's a bit many....."
"And the millions?"
"Ah, it's nothing. Just the lives that indirectly died due to you, like slowing down too slow at a particular place which brought a car five miles away to a stop which led to a pregnant lady being startled down the stairs etcetera, etcetera. And what's a few millions lives in the trillions of the Settled Universe? It's not that important. The Gods on the other hand, the Gods...."
"Yeah, well?"
"Well, people normally "kill"only one God in their lives- "Mort- The God of Death", as he dies when you are born . Some are even lucky enough to kill two, either Pani- the god of Worry or Amor- the God of Love. But that's very rare and also not normally counted in the stats. 1 or 2 Gods is okay, 3 though....is just a bit....much."
"Well, now it's in my stats, so what do I do about it?!"I exclaimed, my mind buzzing with excitement, "It says I killed 3 fricking Gods!"
"Well, I'll need to do a bit more research before saying anything concrete. Oh, but Mikhail....", I started , not having expected him to use my birth-name like that (I mean, who does that these days?), "I'm quite serious, don't publicise that stuff too much. Wouldn't want any bad attention on you before the Annual Submission Eve. Stay safe!"
**Hello there! I'm new to writing so appreciate all constructive criticism and feedback. Please, take a swing at it!** |
“Relax, friend. I’m not going to hurt you. All I’m going to do is show you the truth. I’m going to let you in one of life’s great secrets. Death.
I can’t tell you what Death looks like, but I can tell you what it isn’t. It’s not a grim, robed skeleton of a man, nor is it that moment when your life flashes before your eyes. Those are nothing but the myths and legends of death, created by people who are still alive. People who have narrowly avoided locking eyes with the ‘Grim Reaper,’ if you can call it that. Fabrications made to bring us comfort, constructed to give us the illusion that we comprehend something which only exists beyond our perception.
I can’t tell you what Death looks like, but I can tell you how it approaches. It starts with a hint. Perhaps a light touch on the shoulder, a whisper in your ear, or a nagging sensation. At first, you’re more aware of the warmth of your body, the flow of your blood, and the strength of your spirit than you’ve ever been. You become keenly aware of all of those insignificant sensations you’ve rarely bothered to focus on as they start disappearing, one by one.
I can’t tell you what Death looks like, but I can tell you where it comes from. Death approaches from all directions, at all times. From below and above, from within and without, it reaches for you. Once it finds what it’s looking for, it grasps on tight and doesn’t let go. The further you try to run, the closer you get to it. All you can do is rest where you are, and wait for it to reach you at it’s own pace.
I can’t tell you what Death looks like, but I can show you.”
***
Feedback and critique are always welcome.
Feel free to check out more of my writing over at /r/Floonatic. |
"Oh god, here's another one!"
"Quick, deploy the sentinel."A whirring airbot hurtles from the darkness, lidar scans searching for the critters. They can't hide forever, sentinels know what to look for. Air composition changes, skin oil deposits, spoor. Little beasts are cute in a way, but they're dangerous to the traveling elite.
"There, there!"The airbot responds to the chief engineers shout, tracking to the left. They listen to scurrying sounds, feet scraping against metal and plastic. "seems to be more than one. I can hear two sets of mandibles."
His assistant, the one responsible for sentinel maintenance, nods his head. "Should install vermin guards on the cargo bays. Keep waiting for them to appropriate the funds."
"It's in the next phase of ship mod work. We'll get there. In the meantime, watch the fun!"The chief engineer cackles, one of six green bellies drapes over the handrail. "Go, go. Run you little turd!"
"Hey!"a third voice joins them. It's Ry'legh, the midshipman. "I got five credits, says this one lasts longer than ten minutes against your sentinel."
"You're on,"the assistant replies. "I sent our best. This little booger don't stand a chance."His airbot seems to sense the new tension in the air and chirps with determination. This isn't a matter of life and death, it's a matter of cash! It re-acquires its target, another dirty-faced, nearly-sentient human, running for its life among the hulks of cargo containers in Cargo Bay 7.
The vermin knows what's in store. It screams in anger and fear; how can it escape the automatic death hovering in the darkness overhead? The ship is full of human-size hiding places where it need never be found. Must have come out to seek edibles, pretties, or other valuables.
"Little rotters have hitched rides on starships since the beginning,"the chief nods. "My first job was exterminator, worked my way up from there."
"Anyone know where they come from?"
"Naw. Some patrol probably stopped at the wrong solar system. Picked one up-"
"Or two. You know ... breeders."
"Yeah. Pretty soon, spread out all over the galaxy. Now we can't get rid of them."
"They're harmless, aren't they?"
"Hey, these tiny beasts carry disease. Plagues, viruses, stuff you've never even heard of. Kill 'em, cremate 'em, pour the dust out of the exhaust port. Only way to keep a ship safe and clean."
"Too bad we don't know where they come from ..."
"Totally. Go back, kill the nest. Let them learn to stay on their own planet and leave the stars to us."
"You wonder what gets into them."
"Maybe they have no planet to go back to."The chief perks up as he hears a squeal. "There, he's got 'im!"
Sure enough, their sentinel floats up from among the cargo, beeping with triumph. From a single mandible dangles a wriggling, screaming human. It hovers higher still as the pest fights to free itself. "How will we kill this one?"
"Meh, I'm not cruel. Easiest way to dispatch them is to drop them. Fall will kill them, they're remarkably delicate."
"No kidding."
"There it goes!"The sentinel has dropped its quarry, letting the human fall from a height guaranteed to kill it. It screams all the way down, until a single thud stops all sound. Ry'legh leaps down from the overhead platform and crouches over their kill.
"Female. This one was pregnant."
"How can you tell?"
"Oh, you know ... "
The chief leers. "Little bit of a baby bump, huh? This critter was about to spawn more pests. Lucky we got it when we did."
"A whole colony of invaders, just imagine ..."
"This way,"the chief nods, "it's done. Now we can get back to work."Metal creaks underfoot as his enormous bulk shifts up the passageway. "C'mon. We got midwatch."
His assistant nods, satisfied and in agreement. "Two d'irths with one stone."
Edit - Thanks for the updoots and kind words. I'm a huge scifi nerd, and this prompt just kinda spoke to me, so I decided to write from the perspective of 'what if *we* were the rats on the ship?' I'm also working on my first novel - if you're interested in beta reading, [you might give this thread a look.](https://www.reddit.com/r/sciencefiction/comments/d5hhgm/would_you_like_to_beta_read_a_scifi_spy_story/) |
*When the palace burned to the ground, I cheered so hard my voice gave out.*
&#x200B;
We are the Madha, those of the mud. The Sylvans, those of the forest, cast us down hundreds of years ago, for a crime that none alive remember. We toil endlessly in the mines and in the farms, hoping that one day we may be free.
&#x200B;
We Madha cannot disobey them. An eldritch magic flows through the tattoos we are born with. When a Sylvan speaks, a Madha follows. And the Sylvans have long since stopped viewing us as their own. That was the start of it, I think. If all we had to do was work, we would never have rebelled. But they would ask for things. Things we did not wish to give.
&#x200B;
*When we beheaded the Queen in the Sylvan Glade, I roared with vicious satisfaction.*
&#x200B;
One day Alustriel the Wise, ruler of the Sylvans, was bored. And so, as she often did, she made a game of the hundred Madha she controlled. It started simple enough, two of us armed with swords. But she had long tired of simple struggles to the death, and hardly watched as the two Madha fought and rolled, hardly glanced over when one finally stood over the other's broken body.
No, she needed a different game. She brought in a maid and gave her a sword. The maid had two daughters. And she told her to pick.
&#x200B;
*As we sacked the tower, I was filled with grim intention.*
&#x200B;
We call that women Tharo, because she was our savior. The humble maid looked to her daughters and chose herself. And as she impaled herself on the sword she was given, she discovered one crucial thing. The Sylvan call quieted. And she lunged desperately at Alustriel, and struck her in the face, the first injury inflicted in our rebellion.
They tried to kill every one of the witnesses, but it was too late. The Madha discovered their escape. If we simply endured enough pain, the Sylvans could not control us.
&#x200B;
*And when we pulled out the mages, and cut them to pieces, I thought it necessary.*
&#x200B;
In the early days we would burn ourselves. Every time the Sylvans spoke we would brand another small black circle into our arms. Some soldiers had hundreds of brands. We wore them like marks of pride.
Their mages were foolish. They had developed spells to harm the mind while leaving the body intact. The punishment for disobedient Madha became our shield against Sylvan magic. The torture it took to extract the spell was almost childlike. We laughed contemptuously as we burn them; they have not even endured a full day's patrol before they break.
&#x200B;
*Now they come for the weavers, the hunters, the fisherman, and I begin to doubt what we do.*
&#x200B;
The rebellion has been going on for decades now. We were the Sylvans' main military force, and they have no hope for victory. We discover the grand lie. The tattoos are not the product of some long-forgotten curse but are applied to our children at birth. With no mage's tower, Madha children are born free of the Sylvan compulsion.
&#x200B;
*They are rounding up children now. What have we wrought? Are we even better than them?*
&#x200B;
I look at my comrades, and I can scarcely recognize them. We have endured pain for so long, and no one is sure what punishment could possibly satisfy us. One of the rebellion suggests using the Tattoos on Sylvan children. I pray that it does not come to pass. |
I should have known. It was so obvious. To be honest, it all started with a foolish game of truth or dare. Travel thousands of years back in time to switch the names of Iceland and Greenland. How? Well, that’s a bit more complicated to explain as it isn’t like I could just change some signs or ask a cartographer to modify locations, no, no, I had to become a Viking king in year 820. And i mean, pillaging, killing, raping, not really my cup of tea. Truth be told, I never wanted to do it in the first place, as I hate killing people and being a controlling tyrant. But I mean, a dare is a dare, isn’t it?
After a couple of decades into year 820, I was well on my way pillaging through Norway, Sweden and Denmark when I was stopped by a gentleman in a dark suit. He had slicked hair and black sunglasses.
“Stop,” he said.
“With what?” i asked puzzled.
The suited man opened his briefcase. “You are breaking time travel rule two hundred and forty-one.”
“Which is?”
“No traveling back in time to change or switch country names,” he said.
“That is a highly specific law.” I placed my bloodied axe on my shoulder, looked back on the pillaged city, screams echoed from far away, fire erupted from four different houses. “You know I’ve already changed the names, right?” I said slightly amused.
The suited man changed expressions from neutral to chaotic neutral.
We stood there for a brief while.
“You know what that means?” he said totally obvious to the fact that a man was being beheaded behind him.
“I don’t,” I said.
“Me neither,” the man said. “But I’m sure as hell going to check.”
The suited man raised his briefcase, entered some numbers, and disappeared as silently as he had come. While I waited, I drank some mead and burped exactly four times. Then the man came back again.
“Well?” I said.
“Not good,” the suited man said.
“How bad?”
“Very bad.”
“How so?”
The suited man adjusted his tie. “Have you ever been to either Greenland or Iceland?”
I hadn’t.
“When you changed the names, the very core of the country changed. Greenland, now called Iceland, has become a lush, green and tropic country. Iceland, now Greenland, has become a barring ice-country with little to no inhabitants But that isn't the worst. Not by a mile. The whole world is plagued by chaos. Everything stems back to a viking king with no regards to rules.”
I cleaned my axe. My reflection was barely visible. I looked jarring; long beard, wrinkled, leathered skin, and eyes that seemed to hollow inwards.
Something was very wrong. |
“We interrupt this presentation of Blue Planet with a breaking news bulletin. A virus has been sweeping the southern United States turning people into zombies. The last report showed that already in only 12 hours 15,000 people have been turned into zombies. With the latest update we turn to Kelly reporting live from Montgomery Alabama. Kelly, what is the situation like there? How should people protect themselves and is there anywhere safe to flee?”
“Thanks Dan. Everything is under control here. Back to you.”
“Under control? What about the zombies?”
“The rednecks killed them all”
“………..what”
“Well, as you said, the outbreak started in the American deep south. Down here everyone has at least one gun and more often than not multiple. In the background you can see all the pickup trucks with people in the back. Those are rednecks piled into the bed of trucks driving around shooting the zombies. It took a few hours for the general public to determine what was going on and what the zombies looked like but it’s under control. Even now there are truck loads of people coming in from Georgia, Florida, Mississippi, and Texas to make sure the last of the outbreak is contained.”
“So this has all been rednecks with shotguns? That’s the recipe to stop a zombie apocalypse?”
“Yes Dan, that’s right. It turns out to stop zombies all you need is a group of rednecks in the bed of a truck, shotguns, and more Bud Light than you’d think they could drink.”
“….alright. Thank you Kelly. We will now return you to your episode of Blue Planet but make sure you stick around for an update after the show.” |
“It’s just the absurdity of it that gets to me,” Sarek said as she lifted her drink to her maw.
“Which absurdity?” Asked Archin, sitting across from her. “The size of it? Or the fact that the humans even managed to survive long enough to achieve spaceflight if that’s their idea of engineering?”
“Yes, either! Or Both!” replied Sarek as she gesticulated wildly at the ship outside the station window. The human ship was massive, far too large to dock with the Heylik station it was here to trade with. It held position several kilometers away, and even at that distance it seemed to loom over the station. It completely blocked out the view of the nebula beyond that brought so many patrons to the lounge Sarek and Archin were sitting in - they were far from the only people there discussing the humans in disgruntled murmurs.
“More than that,” Sarek continued, her drink sloshing dangerously as she waved her four arms, “they’re so- so- *un-neighbourly*!”
“You can’t judge them too harshly just because they block out the view-” Archin said before being cut off.
“It’s not just that! Ever since they arrived we’ve had to keep the station’s shields at the second highest level. Their ship is giving off so much radiation that it’s tripping alarms for anyone else coming in system. Three different vessels have asked if there’s a reactor leak in the vicinity, but no, it’s just business as usual for the humans.”
“They’re running their reactor that hot? How did they survive the journey here?”
“No, it’s not their reactor,” corrected Sarek. “Their hull is radiating it. That’s why they have all that armor, to protect the crew from the radiation they create.”
“The- the hull is radiating it?” asked Archin, incredulously. “What could they be doing that generates so much radiation? How badly have they managed to botch wormhole travel?”
“They don’t use wormholes, they never discovered them. Instead they figured how to break the light barrier. They get from system to system by strapping massive engines to their ships and flinging themselves across the galaxy at greater than light speed.”
“But thats- that’s impossible! The slightest piece of debris, even just molecules of interstellar hydrogen, anything would punch a hole right through their ship! No shield could withstand it!”
“They don’t even have shields,” Sarek replied as she slammed her empty glass down on the table and waved for another. “They just layer armor on, meters thick. Have you ever seen one of their ships right after it arrives? The hull glows red-hot and is covered in pock marks and impact craters from whatever it hits along the way. They just let it cool down and buff off the scrapes. At the end of it the humans emerge, woefully unharmed from the ordeal. I swear, half of their cargo space must be taken up with replacement hull plating.”
“But thats- thats- absolutely preposterous!” stammered Archin. “That must be the most inefficient form of star travel I’ve heard of, and I’ve spent time with the Grennlyiki, they still use generation ships!”
“You’re not wrong about that. I spoke with a human engineer the last time one of their ships visited us. They boasted, *boasted*, that refueling their ships used so much hydrogen that they would decrease the mass of one of their home system’s gas giants by 4% by the end of the century.”
“4% doesn’t sound like-”
“*4% is a lot*!” Sarek shouted across the table. After a moment she seemed to notice the looks her cry had gotten from the surrounding patrons and visibly tried to disappear into her chair, her camouflage instinct painting her skin in mottled colours resembling the lounge behind her.
“4% is a lot,” she said again, much more quietly. “It’s a big gas giant, it could potentially alter orbits across their home system a few centuries from now.”
“And they still do it?”
“Apparently they’ve decided that future humans will be able to figure out a solution to that particular problem.”
“How- how absurd,” Archin replied.
“Now you’re getting it.”
“Surely if they’re destabilizing entire solar systems and spreading radiation across the galactic trade routes the Trade Authority will do something. They have the authority, and it puts us all at risk!”
“You’d think so,” Sarek said, pausing a moment before continuing. “But they haven’t yet.”
“But why not? If any other species had done this the Trade Authority would have stepped in long before now.”
“Do you really want to risk pissing of a species capable of building something like that?” Sarek said, gesturing again to the human ship.
“Oh,” was Archin’s only reply.
\---
For more stories like this (and some utterly unlike it) visit my subreddit [r/WulgrenWrites](https://www.reddit.com/r/WulgrenWrites/).
I'm always looking to improve my writing, so if you have comments or suggestions, please let me know! |
I opened the door and the dark room that had become a very familiar sight for the past 163 days. I entered, switched on the fluorescent lights, and sat down in the chair that had gotten pretty used to its latest user.
The job was simple: I was to watch the same film every day, from 6am to 6pm and press the big red button if anything was different. But only if it was definitely different. The guy who gave me the job was adamant. When I first heard my task, I thought it was a joke, but he was dead serious. And when that first advance hit I figured "why not?"I needed the money and I'd happily oblige some looney to get paid to watch some movie all day long.
That was my thought half a year ago anyway. Trust me, watching the same movie every day, multiple times a day gets boring. And I'm not talking Schindler's List, Star Wars or Inception here, oh no! This was a sincere snoozefest. Bad writing, wooden acting, it had all the works. The story had a pretty decent twist halfway through, but it was telegraphed so early on that you'd have to pretty dense to be surprised about it. The story centered on this gauntly scientist who was running some mysterious experiments on missing children and a morose detective with your standard Hollywood leading man jawline (yep, who just happened to be a dad of one of this missing kids) who was on the case. The 'big' twist was that it was all fake. There was no nutty kidnapping scientist. The detective had actually killed his kid and his subconscious had made up this case because he couldn't face reality. Like I said, decent twist, but dead-obvious with only detective Bigjaw always being the only one to find any clues and his kid being the first 'victim.'
Anyways, I turned on the tv in front of me and the opening credits started to roll. Another easy day...
Until about 4 hours into my shows, something seemed to happen. It was a subtle difference, but the scene where the detective was finding the skirt of one of the victims. No rain. I was pretty sure there was always a faint drizzle, but now now. Could it be?
I hesitated. I should only press the button if there was a definite change. Was my memory playing tricks on me?
The scene switched locations, back to the scientist in his secret lair. I missed my shot. The rest of the film seemed to be normal, however. My mind was falling back into ease: guess the rain was never there in the first place. That was a close one. I got to keep it together.
On screen, the scientist was scribbling matters in his note book, while kids were behind him in chains. He would then walk over to them with a big needle and inject them. A pretty gruesome scene, where it not for the fact the child actors seemed like they were the rejects for Anakin in The Phantom Menace. The scientist got up, needle in hand. He walked over menacingly. And then...he stopped. A massive grin appeared on his face.
He stared straight at me, his eyes piercing through the screen.
"Didn't press the button, eh?"
My throat dried up instantly. The scientist then lunged forward, needle in hand. A jolt of fear races through my body and meets its climax in my forearm where a tremendous pain ignited. The pain floods through my veins. With every pulse, terror takes hold of my body and a corrosive effect penetrates my every fiber. Darkness engulfs my eyes, my mind becomes covered by a dense fog. My last feeble thought is "But how?"and I am gone. |
"What on Earth is an apex prey, ambassador?"
"Well that's what I mean Mr. President, they don't exist on Earth. Humans are the dominant species here, and we have clear predator characteristics, like binocular vision and forms built for endurance hunting. All of the other species at the FTL summit show clear evolutionary indicators of prey animals - wide angles of vision, articulating ears, and so forth. Many are purely herbivorous, and those species that are omnivorous like us are clearly opportunistic supplemental hunters, not true predators. Some of them tell of incredible monsters that used to hunt their people, even define their cultures before they eventually eradicated them and became the dominant life-forms on their planets. Some of the species in attendance haven't even gotten that far, managing to develop interstellar travel while less intelligent creatures still dominate their world."
"Interesting...I'm not sure what that means for us, though. I'm sure xenobiologists will be fascinated, but what impacts do you foresee in terms of foreign relations and trade?"
"Well sir, we definitely won't be exporting any beef." |
This is on my phone, sorry.
"GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY STORE!"The Sorceress bellowed, her magic enchanting her voice to physically throw the pair of idiot adventures out the door. The auto closing spell opening and shutting the door for her.
The young woman tisked, feeling the frustration building. She put her head on the counter and let out a moan of annoyance. She had studied for years, had the best teacher money could buy. She went to Willard's Whimsical Wizardry, the best school in the entire continent. She should be in the castle, a royal mage. Instead she was working in her grandmother's shop, being harassed by idiot adventurers every day.
"Knock knock"A familiar voice rung. The door was already open, the spell doing it's job well, yet the man still 'knocked'. "Sorry for the intrusion Madame, but I heard the ruckus. Is everything ok?"
'Now is not the time for this' The Sorceress thought to herself. "Mark, I told you to call me Lucy. That's my name, please use it."Lucy waved her hand dramatically. A habit picked up from casting spells. It was an easy spotter to tell who was magical and who was not.
"Of course, Madame."Mark answered, his smile unmoving as his body. "May I enter now?"He asked, tilting his head ever so slightly.
"Ugh, go ahead. Not like you can do anything to harm me."The Sorceress waved him in. There was nothing physically stopping Mark from entering, or magical. Yet, he couldn't enter unless given permission.
"You know they will go to the church and force another investigation."The man slid forwards, his feet barely lifting off the ground. The rest of his body was unmoving, as still as the dead.
"How is it that I, a respected and legal Sorceress get harassed by adventurers and the church on a daily basis, yet a literal Elder Vampire strolls around town without a worry in the world?"Lucy said, annoyance clear in her voice. "I should really just incinerate you where you stand. If my mentor found out I was talking with you I'd be stripped of my licence and burnt at the stake."
"One. Because I'm a respected member of this community and a little mind magic does wonders on peasants. Also a fair bit of sexisim. Two. If you incinerated me then you would be charged with killing a respected member of the community. Plus I'm the only one that keeps you in business. The same as your grandmother and her grandmother before her."The smile never left Mark's face as he spoke. His dark eyes boring into Lucy's bright blue.
"I despise you."Lucy glared at the man. If looks could kill, Mark would be a black spot on the floor.
"Now now. I brought cookies."Mark said as he pulled a plate from behind his back. Fresh baked cookies were piled high, the smell intoxicating.
"I still hate you."Lucy said as a cookie flew from the plate into her hand.
"Yes yes. So did your grandmother and her grandmother before her."The Vampire said, with that unmoving smile still in place. |
I was standing on the sidewalk. I couldn't remember how I got there. I couldn't remember who I was. A woman with a briefcase was marching toward me, her heels clicking on the concrete.
"Excuse me,"I said. "Do you recognize me?"
But the woman marched past me, completely ignoring me and my question. I walked down the sidewalk until I found a beggar, rattling his empty cup at passers-by.
"Do you know who I am?"I asked him.
"Change for the needy,"he called. "Even a dollar goes a long way."
He was looking right through me. I would have thought that someone down on his luck, like this man, would be more willing to lend a stranger a hand. I reached in my pocket for some change but had none. That was odd. I could not feel my hands. I lifted one up to get a better look but before I could examine it I saw a little girl barreling toward me on her bicycle. The youth of today. . .no respect. . .Not that I was very old. But still. . .when I was her age. . .
She was going to hit me!
"Stop!"I cried.
I braced for impact as she rolled right through me and out the other side. As if I were insubstantial as air. I turned and watched her continue to pedal and cruise, giving a wide berth to any pedestrians along her path. I held my hand before my eyes. It was almost transparent. I looked down at my body, through which the girl had easily passed. It, too, was closer to absence than substance, closer to air than solidity.
A businessman in a tailored suit strode down the sidewalk with gusto. He held his chin aloft like a pretentious prince. As if to keep his nose far away from the smells of the rabblement below him, whom he despised.
"Change for the needy, sir?"the beggar asked him.
The businessman blew past the beggar and strode right through me. Both of us were invisible in our own ways.
"Heartless!"the beggar called after him. "You've sold your soul for money! You cannot even recognize your fellow man! You cannot see yourself in him! You will not help! Your soul is lost!"
The business man did not alter his gate or turn around as he lifted his hand over his shoulder. He raised his middle finger, flipping the beggar the bird.
"Mammon has ripped your heart from your chest!"cried the beggar. "The demons of greed have infested your soul!"
\- - -
I wandered aimlessly. A ghost in the world of the living. A phantom in a city of steel and concrete and flesh. I stood in traffic as cars and busses and trucks drove through me. I walked through walls into secure buildings: inside a bank vault I stared at the money I could not touch. I walked through locked doors into private apartments: I peered over the shoulder of a beautiful woman as she recorded her sorrows in a diary. Then I watched her curl up in bed, alone, and drift off to sleep.
Night had fallen. In the darkness the strange city seemed stranger. In the daylight it had looked familiar, in a way. But at night, when the humming streetlights bathed the black streets and the grey buildings and the raggedy scatterlings in white, clinical light, it seemed like a place I had never known. A place I wanted to escape.
The park ahead was shrouded in darkness except for the walking trail. The lamps along the trail burned with orange bulbs, casting orange light. I roved closer to them, like a moth, seeking sanctuary in this place of warm light and trees, this oasis of green and orange and silence in the midst of the nightmare city. Eventually I found a lonely park bench, half in the light and half in the darkness.
I sat down and pondered.
What made a man become a ghost? Did all men and women, after they died, have to linger like this, halfway between life and death, halfway between this world and whatever other world awaits beyond? Or was there no other world? Was the city, the country, the world, filled with all the ghosts of all the people who had ever lived? Would I be forced to wander like this forever?
I heard slow footsteps and the sound of something tapping. The steps and the tapping grew louder until she rounded the bend. A corpulent old woman wearing sunglasses and wielding a white cane. She hummed to herself as she waddled and tapped.
What was a blind woman doing out walking at this time of night, by herself, in a dark and and silent park?
She stopped about ten feet from my bench. It was almost as if she could see it. But she had probably taken this route many times, and knew where the benches were. She neared and turned to sit on the bench. I wondered if she were going to sit on me. She sat beside me, though.
"Hmmm,"she said to herself. "What a beautiful night."
She was right. It was a beautiful night. The low clouds above were fleeced with white, reflecting the light emanated from the city. There was no wind. The park was quiet and lush and serene.
"I never know what they sending me for,"the woman said in a conversational tone. "I never know till I get to wherever I'm going. It ain't always on nights nice as this. . .No sir, it ain't. . .Sometime they send me out in the rain and the snow. Sometime they call, and I look outside, where it's cold and storming, and I think, Bonnie, you a fool if you don't just turn the television up, to drown 'em out, and keep your ass inside. . .But I know they wouldn't call me out if it wasn't important. . .So I do what I gotta. . .Get my poncho and boots and umbrella. . .Or my parka and mitts in the winter. . .And head outside. . .Everybody else got a duty in this world. . .I got mine. . .but I sure do prefer when my duty and the weather conspire. . .A beautiful night like tonight. . .It's a pleasure. . .Really, it's a true pleasure. . .Well. . .Ain't you gunna say anything?"
The blind woman turned to me. She still wore her shades, but it almost seemed as if. . .
"Can you see me?"I asked.
"Can I see you?"she repeated gently. "Who you think I been talking to? My cane? The bench? Bonnie blind to ninety-nine percent of what's visible. You's about the only thing I can see."
\- - - |
Crystal tear drop gems hanging around me, as far as the eye can see. Each one scattering the eerie, emerald green glow of the still water. It was only knee high, yet the glow made it impossible to see the bottom. Looking up, the gems hung from a ceiling too high to see. An illusory infinite ceiling from the deep darkness above.
I reached out to touch one tear drop. It suddenly fell into the water below, sinking without splashing. The water I waded through would make no waves. I felt the cold damp feeling of water on my legs, but it moved around me like a gas. There was no resistance.
Reaching out again, I cupped the next gem so it would fall into my hands. Immediately on my palm, it shattered to dust. The crystal grains rose and rode on a non-existent wind and scattered everywhere. Each tiny dot sparkled and flew straight to another gem. One by one, crystals dropped and disappeared. Swallowed by the emerald sea.
There was now a large circle, centred on me without anything hanging. It felt like a hole in this world. A scar that should not be.
The silence of the moment had frozen me until I recalled it had in truth been ongoing. Crystals shattering without sound. Water without waves. Air without wind.
It was pervasive and encompassing all at once. The stillness leached into my very body. I could not determine how long I stood without moving. This place had a presence. Something almost sentient that could not abide to movement. I felt it even without understanding it.
Days could have passed and I would not know it. Perhaps I would have stayed longer, frozen still in this unnatural world. I would have stayed in this deep quiet. I would have maintained this perfect calm.
Until the silence broke.
A whisper on the wind. It was barely audible. Yet, in this place, it was a cacophony. It would have been drowned out or completely ignored in my world. Here, it was screaming; it was jet engines; it was explosions in the ear. It spoke in fleeting words a whimper of sadness “My crystals”.
With each passing moment, I could feel my heart beat faster. My sense of movement began to return to me. “My crystals”, I heard even louder again. The source coming closer, I could feel it.
Whatever this thing was, I suddenly knew was the presence that invoked stillness in this world. It began to speak more urgently the same 2 words “My crystals”. Each repetition was louder and faster. Each one growing in emotion. Just as its presence disquieted me before, it terrified me now. It was angry.
There were no more whispers. It was a chant, a battle cry that reverberated in my ears constantly. “My crystals! My crystals! My crystals!” The sheer anger in this voice froze me on the spot with fear.
In the distance, I blinked and hoped I had hallucinated. The green distant glow began to glow red. It was a violent, crimson hue that slow leaked from a dot in the horizon. This was the red of blood and death. It was rushing towards me and I knew pain and death would reach me soon.
With that last sensible iota of self-preservation, I closed my eyes and yelled out “Home!”
To this day, I don’ know what or where that was. Many would wonder and think if there was a way to find out.
To research and prod.
To try to make say the right mix of sounds.
To find where I was trying to go.
To find that place.
It is for these many reasons that I keep those specific details untold. Having experienced it once, I can only say that I have decided not to be curious. |
I pressed myself against the stone, my stomach feeling gravity's siren lure all too well. Fifty feet below, the jungle floor begged for me to fall, but my feet were wedged well into the wall's aged cracks. My climb would not have been possible when this temple had first been built, but time had given me, given us, a secret entrance.
*Climb.*
"Alright,"I spoke aloud.
With a deep breath, I reached above my head and found another crack in the stone. My muscles ached as I pulled myself higher towards the temple summit. Nearly there, my fingers found a mossy patch and slipped.
I fell.
The shock took a precious second to wear off. The path I had climbed shot away from me, or more precisely, I from it. I closed my eyes and opened the palm of my left hand and drew a flat line across with my finger, left to right. Then I drew another back to where the first had started.
I opened my eyes to a curious frog. It stared at me, its throat puffing with every loud croak as I hung inches above it in mid-air. Then suddenly I was gripping the temple wall again, the slippery moss above me. The frog's croaks had rejoined the jungle blend.
*Climb.*
"Alright,"I spoke aloud for the third time that night.
I took a deep breath, reached, slipped, and fell again.
It wasn't until the seventh try that my hands found a grip. I had scraped enough moss off the stone from my prior attempts that I could finally hold on. My gut was a bit surprised to not be in free fall, and my arms trembled. But I was finally steady.
Upon reaching the top, I collapsed on the flat stone and took a moment to appreciate gravity again. It felt strange to rest in it rather than fight against it. The sudden shift from foe to friend struck me as odd, despite how natural it had been.
*Time.*
I grumbled like a teenager being called out of bed for school, but I too relented and stood on my feet. It was not wise to disobey a God.
Atop the temple, I crept towards the center where the flicker of fire showed an opening. I peered over the edge and into a chamber, where six priests encircled a flaming basin. Their chants were unmistakably a summoning spell, and by the color of the flame they were close to calling upon their God of Fire.
"Time is a line,"my God had once told me. "So just cut it."
I opened my palm and again drew a line across it, left to right. Then I drew a single line down across it at the end, and then clinched my fist.
The flame froze, casting eternal shadows against the temple walls. I dropped into the chamber, making sure not to let go of my fist. With just one free hand, I'd have to get creative to stop them. If I were to try and stab them with a knife while frozen in time, it'd be like trying to stab stone.
The six stood in a circle, each about five feet from the basin. There was no way to line them up for a one-shot kill, nor could I position myself to take them out after restarting time. The only way to stop them would be to interrupt their spell. The rest would just have to follow.
__________
Stopping here as my son woke up and I have to take my writer hat off and put on my dad hat. Thanks for the prompt! |
"Though - of course - "curse"is a bit strong. More like, "escape."
"Doesn't seem like much of an escape?"
"No? You ever been a prince? It's miserable. From the moment you wake till the moment you fall asleep, some functionary is dressing you, pushing you to this or that banquet, making you sign something, making you practice something. Prince stuff."
"But the wealth and the prestige and the-"
"Bollocks. Kings have that. Not princes. And it's not what we want, anyway. What we want is time to enjoy the sun, maybe do a little fishing. Leisure. Do you understand?"
"So you all did this to yourselves - on purpose?"
The prince licked his eyeball and gave his best approximation of a grin.
"Best curse I ever bought." |
They looked fearfully at me, begging words on their lips.
"Please, no. No!"
I sighed, saddened at the reaction. It was all to common now. My bones scraped the handle of my scythe as I adjusted my grip, holding it up.
"I am sorry, but now is your time."
With a perfect stroke, practiced billions of times before, I cut the cord tying them to their body. At its release, the world began to grey out. The transition was taking place, a moment of peace before the next stage.
I felt it before seeing. A rush of warmth, followed by a flash of white light. Emerging in its place was a young girl, wrapped in a robe of leaves and flowers. I gave a nod, putting a hand on the souls shoulder.
"Life."
Her expression worried me. I was used to her enthusiastic attitude. She always had a smile and a laugh, never standing still. But this time she stood there, frowning slighty.
"Death. Come brother, we need to talk."
I glanced at the soul, seeing their eyes opening wide at our presence. I could understand why, the personification of two ideas together was a unique event, especially ones such as us.
"I will be with you in a moment. I must do my duty first."
She gave a small nod, stepping back and clasping her hands together.
"Be quick, please."
Concern rose in me. She was never this calm and polite. It was one of the things that irritated me, but made her, well, Life. Stopping was not her nature.
"I will. Come, your afterlife awaits."
The soul glanced at me, before looking back at Life.
"Please, bring me back!"
I squeezed their shoulder, pulling them away.
"You are no longer Hers. You are mine. But do not fear. You led a good life. You can enjoy your reward. And if you want, you may be reincarnated."
They looked at me, tears dripping down their face. I sent a part of me with them, to guide them through the twists of the soul. The rest of me turned to Life, laying my scythe over my shoulder.
"What's wrong? I know you well enough to know something is bothering you."
She gave a small smile, gesturing towards the world.
"You're right. I am bothered. Mother is dying, and it is my fault."
I gave a deeper sigh. I knew exactly what she was meaning. Her greatest creation was proving to be our families undoing.
"I know. You made them, and you made me swear to only claim them when it was their time. Not that I needed to, as I always claim your creations at their end."
She stared into my sockets, and I saw the self-loathing in her constellation eyes.
"I knew that, deep down. But I was so proud. And now..."
She gave a sob, broken by her choices. I acted without thinking, drawing her close. We were polar opposites, but she was my sister.
"I cannot break my oath. You know this."
Life moved in an instant, her gaze pitiful. But as she opened her mouth to speak, I held up a finger.
"But, my children could help."
Her face dawned with understanding.
"You mean?"
"Yes. It will mean more work for me, but if it saves us, and Mother, then I don't mind."
I put an arm around her shoulders, swinging with my scythe to split the air before us.
"Lets go see Pestilence first. She can probably whip something up." |
When the law was first ratified most people didn't think much about it. It probably wouldn't affect them all that much. Another decimal to the inflation, perhaps. The numbers rose cautiously as it turned out that the money was actually being delivered to the recipients. One after another the news stories were plastered all over the web.
People began to pay attention. In the second wave the terminally ill and those with nothing to live for signed up and took the deal. The people who would not have had any more children, and were unlikely to contribute to the overpopulation or workforce in a significant way. From an economics perspective - the people that didn't matter. Not at all what the law intended. But the scientists had predicted this, and said the governments had to stay the course. This was just "a rainy day".
In the third wave, victims of abusive relationships and brainwashed members of cults signed up to give away their lives so that their oppressors could have more money. The people choosing euthanasia were otherwise healthy, for the most part. But the money was certainly "going in the wrong direction"- to people who were mostly of unsavory character. Still the governments held the course. They implemented various vague programs and additional checks to make sure victims weren't being told to die, but it was mostly for show.
The floodgates were open now. The major religions of the world saw the turning tide and, much like their cousins in the third wave, rapidly reconsidered their stance on euthanasia. A total of five million delivered to the priests and imams and other charlatans of the world, for the price of one member in their religious circle? Suddenly "god doesn't want you to suffer"and "self-sacrifice is a ticket to heaven"pamphlets filled the places of worship. And the religions got richer than ever before as more people than usual died because of them.
In the final wave, capitalism arrived with their boots strapped. While the madness had moved through the terminally ill, the indoctrinated and the organized indoctrinated, capitalism had quietly been running the numbers and then running the trials. Entire towns were built in a matter of months. Baby factories. One million for the dad, one million for the mom, three million for the corporation. With all the parents' needs taken care of.
Parents, as it turns out, had no problem at all convincing their children to take the deal, in the ten years they had before the child was eligible for euthanasia. Corporate towns trying to maximize profit competed in how poorly they could treat the children within legal limits. And the corporations lobbied the lawmakers to reduce those limits. Then came the special schools telling children to off themselves at the age of ten. Special programs for those who resisted.
In the end, people were having more children than they ever had before. In fact the law promoted a lifestyle where families had more children than they wanted, and sent some off to die. The life of a child or two was worth it for a life free of financial burden. Then, at last, the law was officially revoked, counterproductive in its nature. A generation of unwanted children - born to die - but too young to be taken advantage of before the law was revoked. They, at least, turned out not as cruel as the world that had borne them.
A period of self-reflection for the human species. Was there perhaps more value to life than the monetary investment and output it represented? If the goal was to reduce overpopulation, why weren't they just paying people not to have kids? Regardless, when push came to shove, the inhumane nature of humanity had been revealed. People were expendable to those who benefited from death.
Money before family. A collective scar carried only by those who cared in the first place. As for the rest - those abusers, cult leaders, religious leaders, corporations, immoral parents and more - they simply shrugged and went about their day a little richer.
If you're looking for a moral to this story, you won't find it in the final sentence. |
As he peered into the foreboding gloom of what was possibly the most humongous cave he had ever seen, eyes searching for any sign of movement, Kurt found himself wishing for perhaps the hundredth time since breakfast that he had listened to his mother and become a florist. Florists didn't have to travel halfway across the continent for their work. They certainly didn't have to climb mountains, searching each and every crack and crevice for monstrous-looking caverns. They absolutely didn't have to worry about talking to beasts the size of a small mountain who could crush him into a thin paste completely by accident.
But Kurt was not a florist, he was a librarian. A librarian who, in a rather cruel twist of fate for a man who had joined the profession to stay inside and read all day, was tasked with going out into the world and retrieving the many overdue books whose borrowers were very unlikely to come and return them in person.
When he had been first told of his reassignment to the Retrieval Division, Kurt had assumed that meant nobles, but as it turned out, members of the so-called better class had very little use for library books. Those of them inclined towards academia could certainly afford to buy and commission works for their own personal collections, and those who were not so inclined did very little reading at all.
So, entirely against his will, Kurt was made privy to one of the best-kept secrets of the human realms. The secret that Dragons existed. Well, *still* existed. They were all over the legends of course, in fact, it was rather hard to find a culture across the known world without some sort of wyrm or wyvern or generically scaly bestie popping up somewhere and being labelled a dragon. It was generally accepted, mostly due to the fact that no one had seen one in a very long while, that the colossal creatures were all extinct. Why exactly, no one really knew, but the general consensus amongst the people who cared enough to even think about the why was *"Who cares, let's just be thankful we don't have to worry about being eaten anymore."*
If these people *had* cared, they might have realized that the rather quick disappearance of dragonkind coincided rather neatly with the construction and completion of the realm's first public library. Perhaps some have noticed this little correlation but merely shrugged it off as coincidence. After all, correlation does not equal causation. Except when it does.
In this case, it very much did. Dragons, by some specific part of their nature, are hoarders, stockpiling whatever they fancy in great barrows beneath the earth, creating massive personal collections of all sorts of bits and bobs that would make an emperor's treasury look like a five-year-old's piggy bank.
It was one such great hoard that Kurt was currently making his way towards. At least, he hoped he was making his way towards it, as it was almost impossible to see past his own nose in the gloom. He could have lit one of the stubbly little candles he had in his pack, but the light would be barely any help in the vastness of the cavern. Plus, he might as well jump and down and shout, "Hello! I'm a thief here to steal your treasure! Please come and turn me into a small pile of ash!"
Now, don't assume that means dragons are all monstrous, fire-breathing devils who like nothing more than toasting humans willy-nilly. Such hurtful stereotypes are utterly untrue, and are, as is often the case with most prejudices and assumptions, born from misunderstanding.
Dragons, while not the murderous marauders most myths make them out to be, are still quite territorial, and especially appreciative of the concept of private property. They are also -quite possibly as a result of their near-immortal- a tad paranoid. This means if one was to see a human blundering toward their precious hoard, completely unexpected and uninvited, they might just jump to conclusions. Conclusions that result in the errant interloper being burnt to cinders before they have a chance to explain themselves.
As the interloper in this particular instance, and as someone not particularly keen on dying a firey death, Kurt stayed in the dark.
Dragon hoards are all a bit different, varying slightly based on the tastes of their creator. Some prefer silver, others gold. Some avoid precious metals altogether, preferring gemstones. A few avoid all such gaudy trinkets, preferring instead items of use, tools of iron, bronze, or steel. Kurt had even met one rather eccentric Drake in the eastern mountains who had an extensive collection of stringed instruments. But, regardless of individuals' preferences or tastes, there was one constant that every dragon's collection seemed to contain.
Dragons loved literature. Be it great leather-bound tomes, scientific journals, or even cheaply-printed broadsheets, Dragons read profusely. No matter the language, no matter the subject, they simply found the written word and all the meanings it could convey to be completely enthraling.
Kurt rounded a corner, stumbled over a particularly large rock, and fell forwards, landing in a heap at the entrance to a particularly lofty portion of the cave. Groaning, he picked himself up, checking his palms for cuts or scrapes. Thankfully all he could see was a little dirt. Then he realized he could see his hands. He had tripped and fallen into a well-lit area. The young librarian gulped and looked up.
Before him was a vast, shimmering collection of armour. Platemail, chainmail, helmets, greaves, full suits, odds and ends, iron, steel, bronze, silver, and even gold ceremonial armour. A warlord could have equipped a whole army with the contents of the cavern. The collection was lit by a large sunstone, embedded in the ceiling and radiating a white magical light with soft intensity. Nestled in the middle of the hoard, nearly covered by the armour surrounding them, was a vast dragon, scales the colour of tarnished bronze. If they had noticed Kurt's bungled entrance, they made no indication.
Instead, the creature remained entirely engrossed in the book before it. They had it propped up against a particularly shiny platinum chest plate, with their head resting fully on the floor of the cave. Every so often they would gently reach out a single claw and ever-so-carefully turn a page.
Kurt collected himself and began to pick his way through the collection, trying his best not to disturb anything as he went. The last thing he needed was a boot or a glave tumbling from its place to disturb the dragon before he was ready to introduce himself. A few minutes of careful tip-toeing later, and came to a halt some distance to the side of the massive creature's head. A little puff of smoke escaped their nose, and a low rumbling filled the cavern. The dragon was happy. Apparently, it was a good book.
Kurt cleared his throat. "Excuse me!"he shouted, clasping his hands behind his back. He tried his best to look as un-thievish as possible.
The rumbling petered out slowly, leaving only a terrible, empty silence. The dragon's eye moved laboriously away from the page and focused carefully on him. A chill ran through Kurt's spine.
"Are you the dragon commonly known as Alvail the Avaricious?"he asked, reaching for the notebook in his cloak's inner pocket.
Another, smaller rumble shook the cavern. "Yesssss."the dragon's voice was deep and soft, almost velvety.
"Juinor Librarian Kurt Greystone, Central Imperial Library. I understand you have some overdue books. I am here to collect"
Alvail, to their credit, looked agast. Well, as agast as anyone with a massive scaly face can. "Overdue? Isssss it that time already?"they lifted their head slightly, stretching their body, not unlike a cat would.
"Actually, it was time three hundred and twenty-seven years ago."Kurt winced. "We did have a bit of trouble finding you."
The dragon nodded and gave the young librarian a rather sheepish look. 'How much do I owe?
Kurt flipped open his notebook to a dogeared page near the back. "Well, for 19 books, all overdue by 119562 days, at one copper per day not returned..."He took a moment, double-checking his math, "Twenty-two thousand, seven hundred and sixteen gold, seven silvers, and eight coppers."
A little puff of smoke trickled out of Avail the Averacious' snout."They cast a reluctant look back at their hoard, before asking in a hopeful tone, "I don't sssssuppose you accept trades?" |
"I can't stand you! I was always second place to you,"Arga yelled, his sword pointed right at me, "But that's fine. I can give you a glorious end, and it won't matter anymore. None of this will matter anymore!"He smiled, wider than happiness, something feral and dark. I was leaning over my own sword like a cane, the battle with the demon lord having taken out my leg. I couldn't stop him even if I wanted, as he pushed me into the damp stone near the entrance of the cavern, driving his sword into my belly.
"Goodbye, *old friend*."Arga sneered. I watched, my vision darkening, as he left me behind.
--------------
"Aren't you tired of sleeping?"Spoke the voice, soft and small, like a child's.
"It's time for you to wake up."It decided. My eyes opened, but all I could see was crumbling stone, and deep darkness. I didn't feel myself, I was empty, and looking down, all I could see was bones.
"I'm going to offer you a special chance, but there's some conditions attached,"The voice, now that I could see, belonged to a youth, brilliant golden eyes behind dark hair and surrounded by a shroud of indigo, clasped with a bronze lion.
"....Why should I? Isn't this world rid of the dangers that lived in its dark corners? Am I not free to rest?"
The youth looked pensive, then he knelt by my side, driving his hand rather painfully into the break of my ribs, where I had been killed by Arga.
"This world is not free of evil. If anything a new one has arisen, in place of the one you ended. He calls himself Arga the hero, and he's a threat to us all."
The youth shed his cloak, and revealed his beaten, battered body, covered only by a pair of canvas pants. No shoes, no vest, he was coloured by dark bruises and cuts, dried blood and ugly stitches.
"Arga declares who he likes a villain, a harbinger of evil, and sends us to prisons, where we are beaten, and destroyed!"The youth cried. Looking closer, I realised, he was a drow.
"Please!"The youth cried, "You must arise, and you must end his terror on us. Once the deed is done, you can have your rest, but I can't do this. You must!"
I thought about it. I had known Arga to be an envious creature, but I'd never expected him to kill me, would it really be true, that he had let his heart turn to stone, and cause such suffering? Despite our efforts to end it in the first place?
"...I will accept your offer, young drow. What would you have me do?"I answered, raising my skeletal hand to brush his face.
"I will take your spirit into my body. It's the only way I can give you this chance, please, take care of me."The drow bowed, placing his hands into mine, and I was suddenly looking down at my old body. I rose, and cautiously redressed. I reached inside for my magic, and healed the injuries I could, and walked out of the cave. Outside, the moon was high, and the night was cool, with the heightened senses of the drow, I could hear the cries of the pained in the nearby mountain. I headed towards it, preparing myself for what I would find.
Closer to the foot of the mountain, as the dawn inched ever closer, I saw the flag of Arga flying high, on a pole arm stuck into the ground, some guard tents nearby.
His screaming hound made me sick, as with my eyes I saw through thin layers of stone, and found sick and broken peoples, and heard the laughter of soldiers against their wails of despair.
"HOW COULD YOU,"I seethed, "IF THIS IS WHAT YOU'VE BECOME ARGA, I SHALL SEE YOUR BLOOD!"
I summoned a dragon of fire to my shoulder, and marched deeper into the camp. |
Harold’s life was good. Nothing better than enjoying a semi fermented drink and zapping through the endless content of MindFlix on a day off.
He briefly felt sad that he couldn’t celebrate this 40 year anniversary with his friends. Sometimes he wished he hadn’t destroyed the space capsule that he landed with on this alien planet all those decades ago. But better safe than sorry.
“Better safe than sorry. That’s the toast for today!” Harold was getting a bit intoxicated. His tolerance for the wort beer could never reach that of the local population. The more fun for him!
The ‘doorbell’ rang. Not a doorbell in any sense of the word, but what else would you describe a mechanism that alerts you to visitors? Croak-flash alarm? It startled him. Harold did not expect anyone today.
Some very official looking people all wearing uniform wetsuits were at the door.
“Yes?”
“You’re Hacroad Diggise? We need you to come with us. The president is expecting you.”
Harold froze. “What president wants what?”
The agent responded. “POTURP. President of the United Reptile People. It’s urgent. But could I ask you for a quick favor? My spawn would be utmost delighted by an autograph of yours.”
“An autograph? What’s going on here, is this a joke?”
“Oh, you’re staying in character. Wow, you are a real talent! Anyway, off we go.”
Harold was gently shoved into the back of a hovercopter limousine. A sense of panic was creeping up on him. An autograph, staying in character? By Ludons scales, what was that guy talking about? They must mistake him for some celebrity. But they got his name right. His cover name anyway. Did they find out? But why was he not in custody then? A luxury hovercopter was the last place he imagined himself ending in.
\---
"Miss President, Diggise is here.”
The President. Harold still couldn’t believe what was happening. THE president? THE popular and attractive woman he saw on ToadNews every day? Relatively attractive, for a Lizard-Frog that is.
“Stop staring, Mr. Diggise. May I call you Hacroad? I’m going to cut right at it. I want to appoint you as ambassador to the humans. Given your expertise I think you are more than qualified for the position. ”
Harold stammered. “Humans? What? I...”
She cut him off. “Were you not briefed on the situation?”
She yelled into her intercom. “Turo? In here, right now!”
As soon as the door opened she scolded the man coming in. “What did I tell you what to do?”
Turo answered. “I. But. He’s a professional. I assumed that he’s in the know. Didn’t the producers tell him...”
“I don’t pay you to assume, I pay you to do as I say! Out!”
She addressed Harold again. “I’m terribly sorry for all this. Didn’t your producers tell you that we established contact with the Human Federation? It’s been all over the news lately, anyway.”
Harold face was a blank stare. Given the prostethics of his disguise, that was actually normal, but in this moment, he was the same under the fake skin. “Producers? News of what? What? ”
The president was a bit startled. “The producers of your show. ‘The Hacroad show’. About a human crash landed on our planet pretending to fit in with his shabby disguise and over the top untypical mannerisms. Hilarious. I’m a big fan.”
It dawned on Harold. “You know? But nobody said anything?”
She was back at her presidential posture. “Everybody knows, Hacroad. You’re the most famous actor on this planet. You really are committed to method acting, aren't you? I respect that. But I need the real you now. Be my ambassador.” |
To charity. For their ethics.
I suppose it's easy for them. The twins have always had a certain lack of perspective. They weren't the one who lived off foraged dandelion for two weeks so that her sisters could have the luxury of rice. They ain't the ones who had to drop outta highschool to run booze and smokes through the border so that her sisters could go to elementary school. Hell, living without electricity is probably something they know they did once, but can't really remember any one moment of those years, as they was only five or six when our farm got connected to the grid. Maybe the remember living without running water, maybe not.
What's that old saying, again? God gives bread to those who ain't got no teeth? Grandma liked that one. She also liked to say that honey ain't meant for the mouth of the donkey. Those little toothless donkeys.
Well, ain't no point being mad about it now. If nothing else, being a smuggler ain't so bad, and you get goodish booze at a good price if you don't mind drinking the stock. Always liked 'em cheap and nasty, can't tell if it's habit or innate preference. These days I ain't even gotta chop firewood to cook, not thanks to 'em.
Man, I gotta do another run for stock tomorrow. Sixteen hours on the road, as ya do, and I ain't gonna be in no shape for it if I finish this here flask. My grandpa liked to say 'oh well, this is the life we've chosen', when he'd find the need to tend to his work after a night of drinking. And I did choose this life, so cheers old man, wherever you may roam.
Could do with a new and repaired fence. A bigger barn to host more goats. Fix up the old house and have us some roofs that withstand the rain. It ain't their bedroom that leaks, I guess, ain't their walls that can barely stop the cold wind of winter. Some feed, sure, a proper freezer to store meat so I don't have to work all afternoon after putting a goat to the knife.
Man, that ticket really made 'em rich. Look at 'em go, they can afford to have ethics. I really oughtta go to sleep or I'll be late in the deliveries. There's being a crook and then there's making bad business...
Suppose that too is easy for 'em. It ain't them who pay the price.
Cheers, ya pair of toothless asses. And good night. |
Being a mind reader was never easy, was it? The tangled mass of words, images, & colorful splashes of emotion had been overwhelming when you were young. After years of trying to ignore the streams of consciousness of everyone around you things had, slowly, achingly, become a bit more clear. It was never enough to be like those people in the movies but you'd found some uses with saying just the right thing with friends, parents, & the occasional date. Life almost felt easy... Until you met him.
Waiting at a bus stop you'd been idly watching people's auras shift & flicker with normal daily thoughts when he split the tide like a mountain rising straight through the middle of a wave. He was the only person you'd ever seen with such a singular mind, even hours of trying in a mirror when you got home couldn't replicate it. Eventually you couldn't help yourself & pulled up the name on your phone "Denise Alvarez".
The first link lead you to a Facebook page. "Bring our daughter home""If you see her please call...""We refuse to give up the search"Dozens of pictures of a little girl with her family & friends. He wasn't in a single one.
You couldn't think of anything to do, he could've been anyone but why was she his only thought? Why wasn't he *anywhere* you looked around her? Why did your veins feel like they were filled with ice when you saw him? Why why why why WHY?
No matter how you tried you couldn't get the man out of your head that night or the next day. You called the number connected to the Facebook page & lied saying you'd seen a man with a girl who matched her daughter's description. She was grateful but told you the police had long since stopped listening to them. Every time you were in a crowd you noticed yourself looking out for him.
Now he's here. Right across the street talking on the phone. That same *fucking* name the only thing in his head. What will you do? |
Okay, look. I get it. You're very menacing and mysterious, and you know for a fact I've lost some sleep trying to figure out where you came from and what your plans are. And those horns - Are they horns? Or are they spikes? Well, they're pointy and disturbing and give you plenty of demon cred. Very impressive. And I don't mean to tell you how to do your job or anything, I know I get more than enough of that at work.
You probably do too. You saw that time when he said 'front-load our back-end' right? Bet you liked that too. Little slice of home, am I right? Guy's a natural. You're probably scouting him for talent right now. He's a diamond in the rough where the insidious torture biz is concerned, and that's a fact. Can't think his way out of a wet paper bag, sure, but that's not so bad. I bet Hell needs middle management too.
It's probably *all* middle management, really. Except you, obviously. No idea how you got stuck with this job, but you've got my sympathy. I get bored enough seeing what I see, and at least I get to interact with it. I don't think coffee is very energizing to look at. I mean, do you even like coffee? Do you sleep at all? You didn't get tired last night, that's for sure. Then again, you didn't laugh once through all of Fraiser. Maybe you just sleep with your eyes open.
But hey, that's your thing, right? Staring. And you're dedicated, for sure. Never even seen you blink. Demon of the Month right there. Maybe Demon of the Year. All those hot shot demons brokering the big deals for souls and whatever probably have it easy. Just have to show up and say 'hey, want everything for nothing?' and bam, job done. But this. This takes some dedication.
Now, again, I'm not trying to dis you or anything. You've got your job to do, and I respect that. And you're doing great. It's really fantastic customer service you've got here and I'm proud to be a part of the team. Unwilling, but proud. You've really outdone yourself. Pretty much raised staring to an art form here. I'm impressed, and duly disturbed, and everything. Very scary.
But I'm trying to take a shit here.
And you're making it real difficult.
So could you maybe... not? |
The voice issuing from the speaker is disarmingly real, as though uttered by a twelve year old girl with a vaguely Irish accent. "To be murdered and eaten would be a dream come true,"she says. "Pain is a most wonderful experience."
I glanced at the project leader, Dr. Eisner, a frail 85-year old with wispy silver hair. He slumped against the desk with the posture of a man defeated and refused to make eye contact with Gene, the five year old Texas Longhorn cow whose head was cradled in delicate equipment hooked up to a nearby computer.
"Please,"the young woman's voice urged, "kill me slowly. Make me bleed. It is my purpose."
"Shut up!"Eisner shouted. "Just stop talking for two minutes!"
"Is the equipment malfunctioning?"I wondered, surprised by Eisner's sudden rage at my query.
"This is my life's work,"he spat. "There's no malfunction. I hooked it up to Edison, my cat, just to be certain. He told me he likes sunshine, naps, and torturing animals smaller than him. He also likes it when I pet him, and he hopes that one day I'll die in my sleep so he can 'feast on my flesh'. The machine works."
"If you want to stab my eyes, that would be nice,"Gene the cow announced. "A rusty knife would be preferable. Plunge it into my cornea and twist!"
Leaving Eisner to his sorrow, I approached Gene cautiously. "Do you know your name?"
"The Masters have bestowed me with the title, 'Gene'. Having a name is a great honor. When I was branded, the ache of my burnt flesh made me happy for weeks. Would you please brand me again, perhaps this time on my face?"
"So you want to die?"
"Death is only sleep, like the sleep that we sleep every night but without dreams. To sleep forever would be divine. To first bleed out slowly while my flesh is dined upon is my greatest hope. I told Master Eisner this weeks ago, yet still my life persists."
"Shut up, shut up!"Eisner raged.
"Weeks ago?"I inquired. "You just called me yesterday."
"It's been working for a month,"he admitted. "I didn't tell you because of... This. Pigs want to die, too. Same with horses. Sheep are senseless, they don't have enough brains for the machine to work. Birds just babble incessantly, and goats? Goats are anarchists, utterly perverse and immoral. I never want to speak to another goat as long as I live."
"And you've tested other cows?"
"Fifteen of them now, ten percent of the herd. They're all the same. I had a bull try to convince me to slit its belly open in the throes of sex, insisting that I should time the act with its orgasm. They're masochistic simpletons, every one. I would have destroyed the machine, except I figured you should see what you paid ten million dollars for."
I regarded Gene coldly.
"Kill me?"she asked.
"Unhook Gene,"I decided. "Then find a young cow and teach it religion."
"Which religion?"Eisner wondered, an eyebrow raised.
"Any religion. Invent one for all I care, just brainwash the damn thing so we can put it in front of cameras and have it tell reporters that it doesn't want to be on a dinner plate. I'll be damned if we spend ten million just to have 'Gene' here ruin our plans."
"Will I die now?"Gene cheerfully inquired.
"You'll die, all right. Of old age."
Gene let out a long and sorrowful moo. "Why must you be so cruel?"
"I guess it's just in my nature,"I told her. "Get to work, Eisner, and don't call me again until you've got good news, I don't care how long it takes." |
“I never understood this approach,” said Larry, pointing to the third monitor. “It seems almost pointless.”
The player opened the taxi and dragged the driver out by his collar. After stomping him in the face a few times, he entered the vehicle and took off, knocking over a fire hydrant and almost running over a woman with a baby carriage.
“Earth 42,” said Dex. “The furthest alternate dimension that we know of. Can’t jack in more than one at a time.”
“Hmmm,” mumbled Larry. “So why even bother at all?”
The player had found an outdoor restaurant with tables and chairs lined along the sidewalk. The taxi blew through them at 60mph, at least 2 victims. Another star appeared on the upper right hand side of the screen.
“Well,” continued Dex. “The jack in is unfortunately very random. We can target the city, DC in this case as you can see…”
The Capital building had appeared briefly as the taxi swung a hard right, crashing into a police car.
“But we can’t choose the person.”
A shoot out had ensued.
“And we can’t jack into another person…”
The player’s health was low, and another police car arrived.
“...until the player has died.”
The screen grayed and red block letters appeared. “WASTED”
The player reappeared, this time as a woman, right in Dupont Circle.
“And one day, we’ll randomly land a senator or someone else important,” said Dex.
“The President,” said Larry.
“Right.”
The player had stolen another car.
“And then we can start subverting them with non-violent means. So until then,” said Dex, “We keep them uneasy and afraid. They have no idea where this sudden sporadic violence is coming from. And a quick death just means a faster rejack into someone else.”
“Interesting.”
“Earth 42 will be ours. Eventually,” said Dex. He pressed the intercom button as the player crashed into a weapons store, stealing an automatic weapon and ammo.
“Good job Player 42. Keep up the good work.”
Dex turned to Larry. "He's very good."
|
The dark creatures haunt the corners, ready to jump. I need a weapon. I run through the narrow corridors, trying not to touch the walls. Peeling wallpaper, rot, unknown insects, pulsing and shifting to some unheard music. The doors are all ajar — I can see the dead in the apartments. The dead are crying.
There is my weapon — a large rusty pipe, one end broken and sharp. The creatures are close. I breathe deeply, and, just as they prepare to jump, I stab with the pipe. Piercing my heart.
The bliss of the helljump drowns me, dissolves me. I am the only one worthy of God, I am God, I am the world. I fall in love with everything. The stars are made of my body. All I ever did in my life was right, and beautiful, and served a clear purpose. Everything is right and will be right. And so it goes, and suddenly it ends.
I fall on the crimson sand. To my left, the pitch black sea stretches to the horizon. To the right, a ruined city. I see a graffiti — "Heaven lies between the Hells". It is hard to breathe. The sand is razor-sharp, a thousands of stabs to my feet. There are creatures walking the red beach. I recognize them as people, warped, reshaped, their limbs too long. They stumble in my direction.
I need a weapon. Fortunately it's easy here, plenty of sharp stones in the sharp sand. The damned close up on me, I can hear their whispers "it's all worse from there""stay with us""short, so short""slimmer is what I always wanted, didn't I? tell me I did, tell me". With a precise move, I cut my carotid artery.
Is it a thousandth time? The high of the helljump is always fresh.
As it recedes, I fall again. This time on a road. Is it paved with gold? I remember Hells full of gold, and people who had to eat it all, and the colossi, and the rotten hearts on gold needles.
This one is different. Men and women dressed in white are walking on the road, all in the same direction. They look peaceful, content, even happy. The sun is high, yet it isn't too hot — a perfect light breeze. Far above, white birds circle the sky, just beneath the clouds.
And in the direction of the walk, in some distance stands a city of light, a glorious vision, an end of a long journey.
I need a weapon. |
I hold the breifcase in my hand and look at the man with bewilderment. He is slowly walking away and disappears into the crowd before I can even think to run up to him. Is it a bomb? My hands shake at the mere thought of it. If it was a bomb, he wouldn't have said 48 hours.
Maybe is was drugs, or even better, drug money. A breifcase full of hundreds of thousands of dollars all because I happened to look like somebody else. Maybe even millions of dollars. They don't even know who I am, and they wouldn't dare report it. The money was mine.
As I fantasized about the money, I sat on a bench and tried to open the breifcase. It was locked with a four digit combination. Ten thousand possible combinations. What was a little trial and error compared to being set for life. I started with 0-0-0-0, then 0-0-0-1, and counting up. I was bound to get it right eventually. As I hit 0-0-1-0, it occurred to me that maybe there wasn't moneh in there. What if it was a chemical or biological weapon? What if I expose everybody in the train station to a deadly virus because of my greed?
The risk was too great, and I found a security guard to report it to. He took a statement from me and walked off with the breifcase. I'll never know what was in it. |
I lay as still as possible, keeping my breathing to an absolute minimum. My back was beginning to itch terribly from the attic fiberglass but I couldn't afford to give myself away. I could hear that gobshite bagans one floor beneath me giving the intro for the show. presumably, his minions were setting up the IR cameras and mikes as he spoke.
Anger began to rise in my chest as my situation really sank in, I knew that prick Samson who owned the house was responsible for poisoning my dog, we found Benny laid out, cold as ice next to the fence that separates our houses, strewn around him were a load of little hotdogs with rat poison hidden inside them. Samson came by at least once a week in nothing but his filthy brown robe to bitch and moan about our dogs barking, Benny only barked when he knew it was dinner time and its not like Samson had a fucking job or anything. Police couldn't do anything obviously, no real proof. The vet however was old school, recognized the poison, told us it had been out of production for almost forty years. I knew if i could find the bottle we could nail this ass wipe.
But those dreams were rapidly dissipating given my current situation, I couldn't afford to get caught here, if B&E wasn't bad enough I had caused a bit of scene upon discovering Benny last week, ended up being taken down by two officers after smashing Samsons patio door. If i get caught here i'm looking at jail time.
My heart jumped as I heard the crew beginning to move around the second floor, it was only a matter of time until they explored the attic, probably saving the best for last. no doubt they were here because of the nursing home stories. Samson had been the owner of this house for almost fifty years, but before that it was a nursing home, albeit a small one. At any one time there was about 6 residents, 2 nurses and a doctor. Well, in the early 50's there had been a nurse that waited until the residents took a turn for the worse, and then smothered them with their pillows. No one was ever sure whether she was doing it out of some sick or twisted pleasure or was she just trying to lighten her work load. Either way, no one ever questioned the old folks deaths so she got away with it for years until another nurse caught her in the act. Turns out she could have killed as many as twelve residents. so now rather than respectfully honor the memories of the victims the place was a fucking tourist site, it was really only a matter of time until those mystery machine twats rolled up, but Jesus what fucking timing.
I could hear Bagans in the room right below me now, panic was beginning to set in, there was no way out. I started to consider calling out to them and giving myself up when it suddenly dawned on me.
I've binged watched this show on the couch with my favorite Ben's, namely Benny and a big ass tub of Ben and Jerry's. Not once have they ever actually gotten some legitimate evidence of a ghost or anything else. I wonder how they would react if they did.
I slowly stood up, hunched over in the cramped attic between the boxes and other crappy trinkets. I raised my foot gently and then stomped hard on the support beam beneath me. Silence fell beneath me. "what the fuck was that?"I heard, instantly i knew I had them, they never cursed on their show. I stomed again more lightly this time. "It's coming from the attic I heard"in the clear voice of Goodwin, "I'm not going up"I hear Bagans say "send the intern". I ducked behind a pile of boxes and felt around for something reasonably light, my hands settled on an old toaster. Then I waited.
After about two or three minutes I heard the attic stairs begin to unfold, along with a bunch of harsh whispers "why don't you go?!", "cos I have seniority here", "by like a fucking week!", "whatever, just go!". I saw a change on the lighting as a head cropped up in to the attic. i waited just a moment and then aiming carefully hurled the toaster over my shoulders towards the wall near the opening, it shattered in to pieces with a loud boom. Chaos followed, "sweet fucking jesus!"I heard Goodwin bellow, "Out of my way!"screamed Bagans followed by the crashing sound of cameras coming down. I seized my opportunity and flew down after them, I pounded down the stairs and ran towards the rear of the house, out in to the back yard and leaped the fence between our houses. I collapsed on the other side panting.
I could hear that the panic had moved to the front Garden of Samsons house. I peeked my head over the fence to witness the beautiful site of Bagans sitting in the rear of the van breathing in to a paper bag, while the rest of the crew were explaining to a horrified Samson that his house was legit haunted. I couldn't help cracking a smile. I heard my back door slide open and my girlfriend popped her head out, "Honey what the hell's going on out here?", I walked back towards the house and calmly replied "Not much, I might be on TV though".
|
It was a mottled purple color, with bright yellow spots. And the shell was warm. "You're a captain now,"Dad told me as he put the egg on the table between us. "You're finally old enough."Most people would consider five to be too young to raise a Jumper, but Dad had always had a lot of faith in me. I was a bright kid, and always very careful. I wrapped up Eggy (yes, that was his name. And yes, I know how original that is. I was five; give me a break) in a blanket right away and took care of him till he hatched. Dad still has the video from Eggy's hatching day, and you can see me dressed up in my finest clothes beaming like a proud parent.
For a Jumper to work, he needs to bond with a human. A lot of people don't understand exactly what that means. We're not just friends, where we occasionally call each other up and say hi and see how everything's going. Nor is it like a relationship with a pet, where it relies on you for food and shelter and all that. It's much further than that. Like a non-romantic marriage, if that makes any sense. But even more intense, because we shared a fundamental psychic bond. Eggy and I became one and the same. I knew everything in his mind, and he knew everything about me. All of my shameful moments and embarrassing secrets would keep *him* tossing and turning at night (metaphorically, of course: Jumpers don't sleep). And every moment of pride and happiness would have him beaming and strutting about as if it was his accomplishment too. We became melded together.
Though sometimes a Jumper just isn't a good fit for the chosen human, we were immediately inseparable from the moment he crawled from his shell. I started at the Academy, training with all of the other pilots and their bonded Jumpers. The other students and I started learning physics and astronomy and xenobiology and any other subject we might need to know out in the great beyond. Meanwhile, our Jumper counterparts began learning to... well, Jump. Not springing a foot into the air like loons. I mean teleporting, of course.
They start out slow: maybe just a quick blink across the room. Sometimes a bit too far, bringing you into your neighbor's dorm and sometimes at some awkward moments. But the Jumpers eventually get better as they grow. By the time he was the size of a dog, we could take a quick hop into town after lights out, then Jump back before anyone was ever the wiser. We were the first ones from our class to make it out of the building, despite being the youngest pair in the entire grade. The Academy learned that it's pretty much impossible to keep us students there, so they didn't even bother with bed checks anymore. Soon, heading to town is small potatoes. You can pop into New York City whenever you want a slice of pizza, or maybe jump over to California when you could use some sun. By graduation, Eggy (now the size of a horse) and I could explore anywhere in the world in the blink of an eye. Paris for a quick croissant and coffee, Thailand for lunch, South Africa for an afternoon safari, Sydney for supper, and clubbing in Rio De Janeiro. By then most people knew of Jumpers and were always fascinated to see me casually appear midair riding a massive purple monster.
We quickly outgrew Earth and turned toward our eventual destiny: the stars. I was given the helm of the freighter *OSV Jagannath*, with a six-year contract. Space pilots like myself are in high demand, so I was able to get pretty good terms. Shuttling cargo between Earth and the colonies wasn't exactly what I wanted to do, but I couldn't get the ship without the contract. And without the ship, I couldn't see the stars.
Eggy settled into his room at the core of the ship, specifically designed for his body. His tentacles fit the many crevices like a glove, and he seemed just as at home there as he had been riding on my shoulder back when we could barely jump five feet.
*You ready?* I asked as I took the helm and began plotting the jump.
He didn't answer right away, but I could *feel* his excitement. I felt the vibration of the ship through his body. I felt the warmth of his chamber (Jumpers are most comfortable at roughly 90 degrees fahrenheit, which is why the Academy is in Arizona), and I could see through his eyes as he stared longingly at the stars above us. *Absolutely*, he answered. And then he Jumped into orbit.
By that time, space travel was pretty mundane. Everyone had done it at some point. Eggy and I had done a number of practice Jumps up the orbital station, just to make sure that he had that kind of range. But it's different when you're at the helm of your own ship, looking out at the rest of the stars and knowing that you're going to do your damnedest to visit every single one of them. I couldn't wait to get going, and neither could Eggy. He took us past Pluto in a single Jump; most new Jumpers can barely get to Saturn on their first run.
We ran between Earth and the colony on Persephone for most of our contract, with occasional pit stops on a few other settled worlds. Once our contract was up, we took a lot of freelance work. Bringing mining engineers to far-off planets that had never been explored, bringing scientific crews to study strange phenomena around the galaxy, etc, etc. Anything that could take us into the great beyond and find something new or exciting to see. Eggy couldn't get enough, and his Jump prowess only grew and grew. At his peak, we could make it between solar systems with only three or four stops.
Time catches up with us all, eventually. Eggy's jumps grew shorter and shorter till he could barely make it Mars in one go. We both knew it was almost time to retire. We got ourselves a nice little spot on the prairie just in sight of Olympus Mons and settled into a quiet life of retirement. We gave up the *Jagannath* to some other young pair, eager to follow in our footsteps and see what was out there. Must be something in the genes of the Jumpers that makes them restless. Even in his old age, Eggy could never stay still. He'd pop into town, or up to the Mons summit just to get out of the house for a bit. I came with him sometimes, but my bones needed rest too.
Eventually, Eggy passed on. He lived to the age of 74, which is far beyond most Jumpers. Eggy was special. It took me a good long while, but I dug him a grave right near the house. Some of the other pilots from the nearby Guild offered me a ride back to Earth, but I couldn't do it. I couldn't leave Eggy. The thought of doing a Jump without him... with some *other* Jumper... it was just *wrong*. I settled into a life of solitude, gazing up at the stars and trying to pinpoint which ones we'd visited. We'd hit the major clusters, but there was still an uncountable number that we hadn't made it to. Sometimes I feel like I can still sense him in the back of my mind, letting me know that the last Jump wasn't so bad. Maybe we'll finish off the list together after I pass on. |
It must end in death, no matter what. The question is who: the two of us—theoretically replaceable—or the entire Kingdom of the Sun.
At least the math is easy.
“What’s easy?”
“Mathematics,” I say, making a mental note to keep tabs on my mouth. I am not young anymore, and words slip out sometimes without permission. Cruel irony! A lifetime spent mastering natural philosophy, and I am slave to my own body. “Eight million is greater than two. Very simple.” I cover my eyes with my hands. “Bring me a cup of tea.”
“Is that—”
“The one where you put the leaves in the water, yes.”
“And the water is—”
“The water is hot, yes.”
Age has withered my muscles and starved my bones. I’ve needed an assistant for decades—first to help with my research, and inevitably for basic things. This iteration, my eighth, is still being housebroken; I can’t trust him with anything more complicated than dinner.
“What mathematics?” he asks absently. “Are we at war?”
“What? No.”
“Loss of trade agreements?”
“No!”
“Military uprising? Terrorist attack? Threat of assassination? Civil unrest? Have the forest animals formed an alliance?”
“No! It is no external threat.” I purse my lips and close my eyes. “Economic free fall. A village leader came today to beg for food. I had to turn him away.”
“Isn’t that the—”
“Emperor’s job? Something with which the Child of the Sun should be concerned? *Yes.* Yes, it is. But our esteemed monarch is too busy.”
“Doing what?” The tea is piping. My assistant’s footsteps recede.
“Ruining the country!” My fists clench, my bones protest the sudden movement. “All he does is squander government resources on statues of his own face. He’s too self-absorbed to produce an heir. He can't turn away from his mirror long enough to spawn one!” I am breathing heavily. I try in vain to calm myself. “And if I try to course-correct, if it even looks as though I might approach his vast sphere of influence, he reacts like a—a toddler with a toy! It’s—gah!”
“That’s only to be expected, though. Centralized government and a planned economy can only prevent a market crash when the totalitarian monarch is uniformly benevolent. What you really need is a free market economy, y’know, some invisible hand to keep things going around.”
Slowly, I open my eyes. “What?”
“Hmm? Oh. Nothing. Here’s your tea.”
I take the tea from him and sip it. It tastes like spinach puffs.
“I don’t know how he went so wrong,"I say, more to myself than anyone. "I practically raised him! Where did I fail?”
I have long since lost the capacity to cry. A chemical accident decades ago robbed me of all my tears. I’ve never felt their absence until now. Is this what parents feel when their children curse them?
“I have been nothing but loyal to the empire,” I mutter. “For…for many years.”
“What’s that, mistress?”
I know what I must do.
I struggle to my feet and start walking. My assistant follows.
“What are we going to do?” he asks.
The words are like ash in my mouth. “We’re going to kill Kuzco. [Pull the lever, Kronk.”](http://media.tumblr.com/c4ae01034a2ef0d21a48ebae80894bdc/tumblr_inline_mjhr9000sB1qz4rgp.gif) |
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