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[WP] Why is Waldo hiding?
|
No one ever asked "*How's* Waldo?"
In a feeble attempt to find himself, he lost himself.
Help Waldo help himself.
Find Waldo.
|
The twig-like young man sat silenty in the darkness. He held his breath, and let the air seep through his nostrils, slowly-- slower than his own heartbeat, for even a slip through, would mean it was over. His body scrunched against itself, his nape against the block behind him.
A subtle pair of clops rustled by his ears, before accelerating to a furious stomp. A series of doors slammed to and fro. The white and red fabrics of the skin-tight sweater began to strangle his body. With each passing second, he could feel his face become just as white as the stripes of his shirt, and his cheeks redden in the dark of the cluster.
'Do you know where he is?' A voice called out from a distance, a murmur it was to the man through the thin walls, but there was no response. An awry silence arose from outside, he could feel the tension slithering its way in, it was over. Now it was just a matter of time.
He shuffled himself over to a sharp corner, he sat perfectly straight, his head just below a wodden plate. Surrounded by plenty of objects just as large as him, he was safe, safe inside a prism of solitude, he thought to himself. He laid his round specs to the floor, and gave it a thorough rub, how long has he been here, once again, he though himself.
He thought to himself again, the countless times of isolation, to be forgotten, the dreadful darkness he soon seem became accustomed to. In a place, where the world could be cruel, to not be able to call out, to move, to be singled out, the only option was to to hide-- to hide from the brutality of the word. But maybe, just maybe, in this world he would be found and be--
His thoughts dissipated and his lips arched to a grin as a creek of a door slip by him, and a frivulous laughter waltzed in, that must of been the tension, he thought of moments ago. A silohuette of a girl with long strands and a tiger figurine cradled in one arm, and a greater silohuotte shrouded from behind, a sudden light followed pursuit.
'I found you daddy!' The cheerful glee exclaimed. The man ran his fingers through his eyes and put on his specs, the two silohuettes morphed into a beatiful blonde-haired wife and the glistening blue-eyed daughter.
He pounced up from his broken prism, to a wonderous warmth, tossing his daughter in the security of his arms,
'You did it! You found me!' He placed down the bundle of joy, and looked to the tall blonde, her face at the ridges of his nose,
'I found you too.' Smooth and creamy her voice sang. And her silky lips, pressed against his; to be found and to be loved.
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[WP] Why is Waldo hiding?
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Waldo pushed his way through the crowd trying to stay as inconspicuous as possible while wearing a goofy hat and striped shirt. The blistering heat from the sun beat down on his back as he looked for the bag his accomplice had left for him at the drop spot. Waldo thought to himself why this all had to take place out in the open public areas and why he had to wear the stupid outfit so he would stand out. He knew the answer was so he could blend in unless someone knew what outfit to look for but even that would be quite a daunting challenge.
As he was pushed and shoved in the heaping mess of people he spots the bag he has been looking for! At last he can get out of this heat and relax. As he reached for the bag a subtle snap rings out from somewhere and **slams straight** into the man beside him and taking him out with a hollow *thump*. Waldo ducked down and immediately cursed under his breath hoping that whoever shot at him would not be able to find him. As Waldo dodged and weaved through the crowd his red hat was bouncing around his head like a buoy in a typhoon. The intervals between shots got faster as Waldo made his way through the panicking crowd. Waldo trips and flies forward onto his face. He rolls on his side as a bullet lodges itself in the ground where his body was moments ago. He pushes himself up and sprints straight into the crowd of building as he exits the plaza where he was. As he ran he threw off all the trinkets he had on to help disguise his tourist outfit but kept the binoculars as that would be handy.
Waldo found a place to stay for the night but still wondered who shot him and all for a locked briefcase that he himself couldn't crack open no matter how he tried. He thought to himself what could be so valuable that it was worth shooting into a crowd of people just to obtain? Waldo couldn't think with all the stress of the situation so he decided it would be good to get some sleep while he could.
A loud scream pierced through the night air and woke Waldo with a jolt. He jumped to his feet and grabbed the briefcase. He knew what this meant and he quickly jumped out the window onto the ground waiting for him only a few feet below. He sprinted through the streets not knowing where to go. As he ran through the streets he saw a glimpse of a sign to his right and he made the decision to jump straight into the building without another thought. He found it to be a gun store and right in front of him a woman in a trench coat with a rifle on her back was buying ammo at the desk. He immediately realized his mistake. He sprinted out of the store and ran as fast as he could run. He saw her following him and turned the corner only to stop immediately to ambush her. As she rounded the corner he brought his cane up and **SLAMMED** her straight in the face.
Waldo quickly went over to her unconscious body and looked through it for any forms of identification. He found a drivers license issued to a "Carmen Sandiego" and he took the rifle and was off. He knew he had to get clear of the city if he was gonna make it and killing her would only worsen the situation since he was already seen smashing a woman in the face with a cane and taking her gun.
Escape seemed to be here as Waldo drove off in the rental car he had rented in the edge of the town. He drove off into the horizon feeling great as he had made it through all of that. His boss would be proud, maybe even give him a raise for all he knew. He patted the briefcase and thought of all the trouble he went through to get it. He thought to himself this must be worth it! **BAM** The car tipped to onside and rolled its side as a tire blew out and he lost control. The car flipped 3 times before rolling into a ditch where it came to a stop. Over joyed that he had the brains to rent a jeep with a roll cage as he got out of the wreckage.
As he stood up to get out of the car a sudden jab to his stomach. He felt the pain spread like a hundred spiders crawling across his stomach trying to bite its way in. He looked down and saw a huge bullet hole going through his abdomen. The blood seeping its way out of his gut as he bleeds out onto the sands. His mind starts to go but before that he has one final thought.
His last thought was "Where in the world is Carmen Sandiego?"
edit: Just fine tuned some obvious grammar mistakes and fixed poor word choice. Also I made it much longer.
|
I had been asked to drop off a package for my boss. It was just a simple fucking package. Vanilla colored, padded, nothing suspicious about it at all. I got the directions from my GPS. The address was sent to me in an email. I didn't think anything of it. Why should I? I had done this sort of thing before...
--
I barely made it out of the car alive. I had never been in an accident before. The driver in the other car wasn't so lucky. I was about to inspect, but the back passenger side door opened. A man stepped outside. He was wearing a black suit and tie. I remember thinking to myself that it was a bit absurd that he was wearing sunglasses on such a cloudy day but then he pulled a rifle from the vehicle.
I didn't even pause to think about it. I just ran. I ran and I ran and I hid. I'm still hiding. I don't know where my family is, I don't know if they're okay... I just know that if they are still alive...
If they're still alive then I need to keep hidden. At least 'till I can figure this out. Maybe this will blow over soon. I have to hope that it'll be over soon.
Dammit... I wish I wasn't wearing this stupid fucking shirt.
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[WP] Why is Waldo hiding?
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Vincent's sword caught the trident. It inches acolyte's spine. Wulfgar's mace took the demon in its chest. It caved.
"Take it. Take it now." Vincent cried. He drove the point of his sword through the demon's throat. Demon blood sprayed. Wulfgar ripped his mace free, ripping spikes free of demon flesh. The acolyte hurried forth, climbing the steps as quickly as he could. An imp descended from the darkness of the cavernous ceiling above.
"Imp." Wulgar called out. Vincent drew back his broad sword, readying his next blow. The imp passed over Vincent's sword, but the knight didn't swing at it. "You let it past." Wulfgar shouted, racing up the steps. The acolyte snatched the book off the pedastal, recoiling from the cover. It was made from a human face, skinned, stretched, and tanned. "Behind you." Wulfgar called. The acolyte turned, the book before him. It saved his life. The scorpion tail of the imp stabbed into the cover of the book. The imp collided with the book second later and drew back its stinger for a second strike. Wulfgar was the faster. His spiked iron mace tore through the imp's leathery flesh and blasted it off into the dark abyss below them.
"Uh . . . thank you, sir." The acolyte breathed falling back wearily against the pedastal from which he'd taken the book. "Thank you both." He told them. "If they'd retrieved this first, all would have been lost."
"Thank me. He let the imp through." Wulfgar said. He turn to guage their knight's reaction to his jest. He didn't see it because of the imp, but now he saw the spear like barb jutting from the knight's chest. The acolyte saw it a moment later. Their eyes moved to the knight's back. The barb was the tip of an enormous tail. The tail disappeared over the side and into the abyss.
"What . . ." The acolyte asked.
"Wyvern." Wulfgar whispered in sudden dread. As if his one word summoned it, the dragon face of the creature suddenly appeared from over the edge, back where the bridge began. Its claws ripped the stone like paper and with a quick flip, Vincent's impaled body flew off into the void.
"Protect the book." Wulgar commanded. "I'll buy you an opening. Protect that book."
"But?" The acolyte called out frantically. "I'm no warrior."
"I didn't say fight. I said protect the damn thing." Wulfgar bellowed. "Protect it." He repeated angrily, taking his mace in two hands and setting his feet to meet the wyvern's impending attack.
"I don't know how." The acolyte told him, hyperventilating. Wulfgar ignored him. He only had a mind for battle now. The wyvern's head snapped forward and Wulgar stepped to one side and brought his mace down on the thing's snouth.
The acolyte watched it all as if from somewhere else. The wyvern's barbed tail shot over Wulfgar's head and it was only Wulgar's reflexes that saved the young Waldo.
"Protect the book." Wulfgar told him calmly, smashing the barbed tail aside a second time. Waldo flipped open the book and began skimming the pages, looking for anything that would help him. He found it, but it required a blood sacrifice. These type of spells often did.
"I can use the book, but . . ." Waldo called.
"But nothing. Use it if you have to. Do whatever you have to, just keep the book away from them. Carr M'ayon must never possess it." He hammered at the tail and missed, taking a swipe from the wyvern's spur instead. Waldo could tell Wulfgar was overmatched. It would ten ten men as stalwart as Wulfgar to bring the beast down. He didn't like it, but he was commanded to act. He began to recite the spell and as he spoke, the glyphs inside the book glowed a fiery red. He reached the end the spell and did as Wulfgar bade. He seized a rock as big as his fist and rushed toward Wulfgar.
"Stay back." Wulfgar called. "It isn't safe up--" Waldo hit him in the back of the head with the stone, cracking the warrior's skull. Wulfgar staggered forward weak and dazed and slowly shuffled around to discover what had hit him. He saw the acolyte with the spell book open in one hand and a bloody stone in the other. "You?" Wulfgar whispered in confusion.
"You said to use the book." Waldo quailed, wondering if the giant warrior would charge him now.
"You?" Wulgar whispered again, slowly toppling over over into the dark. The wyvern's tail stabbed into the darkness like fishing gig in an attempt to spear the body of Wulfgar. It missed and turned its baleful eyes on Waldo. Waldo stared at the open book in dread and backed away in fear. He was happy when the wyvern missed the falling body. It wouldn't have been a sacrifice if something else killed the his sacrifice first.
The wyvern crept across the landing, skittering up the stairs in its eagerness. Waldo didn't know how far Wulfgar would have to fall before hitting bottom. The spell wouldn't be complete until Wulfgar was completely dead. The wyvern crested the steps and raced forward, its tail wagging back and forth over its head and poised to attack. Waldo fled, racing to the back of the platform. The wyvern was closing the distance and Waldo knew it was either jump into the void or be devoured by the beast. Waldo closed his eyes and leapt. The wyvern stabbed forward with its tail. The tail should have hit, but air around Waldo flared a bloody crimson and Waldo vanished into it. The wyvern screamed its terrible scream, shaking dust and stones from the cavern's walls and ceilings.
Waldo's feet collided with the ground, then his knees, then his face. He blinked his eyes at the brilliant brightness that was blinding him and spit out a mouthful of clover while he waited for his eyes to adjust. When they did, he found himself on hillock overlooking a some sort of festival. There was a giant wheel of iron spinning in the center with people in buckets around its edge.
He surveyed his surroundings and saw a black river of stone to his left along which metal containers on black wheels transported people behind glass. He knew Carr M'ayon would be looking for him. She would follow the blood magic he'd just used. He needed to hide. He saw the massive crowd entering the gates of the festival below and realized that would be as good a place as any. He looked at the white smock he wore noticing the grass stained knees. He moved to brush it away and that's when he noticed the stripe. One single stripe crossed his chest, encircling his body.
He sighed. A red wizard's stripe. The purity of his white robe's were tainted. He felt like crying, because he knew there would be more stripes for him in the future. He would have to keep using the spell until he could be reunited with his order once more. Only with them would the book finally be beyond Carr M'ayon's reach. He blended with the crowd at the gate and tucked the book into a deep pocket in his robes. He moved forward till he reached the ticket booth.
"Welcome to the San Diego Fairgrounds," the kid at the ticket booth announced. "How many tickets?" He asked.
"Just me." The acolyte told him.
"I'll need seven dollars and twenty-five cents." The ticket master told him. Waldo shook his head uncertain how much that was and pulled a gold ingot the pouch the friars had given him.
"What is this?" The boy asked.
"Gold." Waldo replied. The boy looked at the gold ingot then the bespectacled boy then back at the gold.
"You're not from around here are you, are you?" The boy asked, wryly.
"No. Is that not enough?" Waldo asked, pulling another gold ingot from his pouch. The boy gave a half laugh and started to tell him that the first ingot was way to much, but then eyed the other gold ingot.
"Yeah. I can let you in for two." The boy told him. Waldo smiled and handed over his gold and hurried in to the fair and none too soon. A familiar crimson surge appeared on the hill where Waldo had first appeared. Carr M'ayon surveyed the crowds below and grimaced. Red wizard acolytes of her own began to appear out of the thin air. Their red striped robes signifying their various ranks. The more stripes, the more power they possessed.
"Get down there." Carr M'ayon commanded. "Find him," she ordered, "and get me my book." The acolytes wove their spells and disappeared, reappearing down in the crowd. Carr M'ayon watched the red striped acolytes spread throughout the crowd and groaned in frustration. It would take forever to find the one she sought. She sat down upon a stump and resigned herself to the task. She smoothed out her red robe and started looking for a man in a red and white stripped robe.
This was going to take a while.
|
I had been asked to drop off a package for my boss. It was just a simple fucking package. Vanilla colored, padded, nothing suspicious about it at all. I got the directions from my GPS. The address was sent to me in an email. I didn't think anything of it. Why should I? I had done this sort of thing before...
--
I barely made it out of the car alive. I had never been in an accident before. The driver in the other car wasn't so lucky. I was about to inspect, but the back passenger side door opened. A man stepped outside. He was wearing a black suit and tie. I remember thinking to myself that it was a bit absurd that he was wearing sunglasses on such a cloudy day but then he pulled a rifle from the vehicle.
I didn't even pause to think about it. I just ran. I ran and I ran and I hid. I'm still hiding. I don't know where my family is, I don't know if they're okay... I just know that if they are still alive...
If they're still alive then I need to keep hidden. At least 'till I can figure this out. Maybe this will blow over soon. I have to hope that it'll be over soon.
Dammit... I wish I wasn't wearing this stupid fucking shirt.
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[WP] Why is Waldo hiding?
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In the middle of a crowd, a lone man stands there trying to hide the discomfort of his latest antics. The busy hustle and bustle of the streets helped him blend in with the masses, but it seems like every time he thinks he's in the clear, someone spots him. As he glances back and forth among the people, he slowly reaches behind him. Slipping his hands into the back pocket of his jeans, he grasps at the small jewel that's been his main focus for the past two years. A hidden gem created by the Wizard Whitebeard, its powers have the ability to grant its users a boost in their most efficient talents. This boost is said to increase their hidden talents tenfold.
Waldo knew that this was his one chance to become hidden from the world forever. His dream of everlasting invisibility was coming to fruition, and all it would take was the simple act of consuming the gem when the light sets beyond the horizon.
Waldo checked his pocketwatch, flipping open the cover to reveal an inscription scribbled inside its golden cover: "Where?". The message reminded him of his constant struggles, never being able to have a moment to himself, always being spotted by the cruel creators that breathed life into his lungs.
With only an hour left until night fell, Waldo sat on the cobblestone floor and pulled out an old photo of him and Wilma. He remembered all the good times he had with her, but he regretted not telling her how he felt. All of these feelings came rushing up, but he had to push it down as he recalled why he was doing this. The notoriety was too much for his friends to handle. Wilma left when she realized what Waldo was willing to do to remain hidden in the world. It was all he could do to choke back the tears that he's been holding in.
He slowly came back to reality, and realized that the sun was slowly setting. About a quarter of it was left, glaring at him over the horizon, almost as if it was daring him to do his worst. He put the gem into his mouth as he prepared to win this game of cat and moues once and for all. When the last glimmer of the sun submerged below the break of the sky, he hastily swallowed the jewel, preparing for the changes that would come over him in the next few seconds. Time felt like it slowed down, and Waldo could tell that the transformation was starting. He looked to his arms and legs and waited for them to slowly fade out from existence, becoming a specter among the billions of people that litter the Earth's surface. He waited and waited, but nothing seemed to happen.
He glanced down and with a startled yelp, he noticed that his skin was starting to glow. A bright red tint started oozing out of his skin, erupting into a shower of lights that danced across the night sky. He fell to his knees and grabbed his head in his hands. He wept and wept as he screamed out the name *"Handford"* in an almost guttural voice.
The jewel did what it was supposed to though, for his true talent was not to hide, but to be found, again and again.
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I had been asked to drop off a package for my boss. It was just a simple fucking package. Vanilla colored, padded, nothing suspicious about it at all. I got the directions from my GPS. The address was sent to me in an email. I didn't think anything of it. Why should I? I had done this sort of thing before...
--
I barely made it out of the car alive. I had never been in an accident before. The driver in the other car wasn't so lucky. I was about to inspect, but the back passenger side door opened. A man stepped outside. He was wearing a black suit and tie. I remember thinking to myself that it was a bit absurd that he was wearing sunglasses on such a cloudy day but then he pulled a rifle from the vehicle.
I didn't even pause to think about it. I just ran. I ran and I ran and I hid. I'm still hiding. I don't know where my family is, I don't know if they're okay... I just know that if they are still alive...
If they're still alive then I need to keep hidden. At least 'till I can figure this out. Maybe this will blow over soon. I have to hope that it'll be over soon.
Dammit... I wish I wasn't wearing this stupid fucking shirt.
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[WP] Why is Waldo hiding?
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Waldo heard the humming sound of the charging laser at the last second. He had only enough time to glance at the bright red light.
"Oh Sh--"
Waldo evaporated instantaneously. The immense heat melted the nearby statues, a man in a green coat and the happy couple walking a Dog. Their wax construction weak to the immense heat. Scorch marks from the laser stood out strongly against the city park surroundings.
"Hot Damn, nice shot David!" Gregory exclaimed, slapping his buddy on the back. "You spotted him in 12 seconds flat!" David felt proud of himself. He had been practicing and his vision seemed to be getting sharper.
"Thanks Gregory," David set his gun down against the console and grabbed the glass of scotch sitting next on it. He took a big, long swig. "Was thrown off by the guy holding the pinstriped blanket but I found the ol' devil." David looked out at his shot and admired his own marksmanship. "How long till next scene is built?"
Gregory glanced down from their floating hunter's tower at the thousands of small machines tore apart the wax sculptures and buildings. Their servos producing a gentle hum. A few cleaned up the smoking remains of Waldo. "Eh," Gregory paused, "only couple min' I reckon. They haven't grabbed a fresh 'W' yet." Some machines had started building palm trees and a beach chairs.
"Only 2 minutes? Now that is some fast, and quiet working. You clone in that time too?"
"Yes sir! I spend good money being part of this club. The grounds at Well-Martins club take a entire 10 minutes to rebuild a scene" Greggory sipped from his glass.
"Well Damn, let me know when you have another opening."
"Will do Gregory, I hear Xavier will be moving out of the country soon. I'll put in a good word for you at the next meeting." Greg and David sighed as the smooth scotch warmed their throats with each sip. Greg looked over the side of the banister "Ah, It appears as though they should be just about finished."
A gentle ding sounded as a large 'W' appeared on the console. "It is my turn now David, please keep quiet, can't be spooking our 'Waldo'"
Waldo stood still, it's the only thing he really knew. He could make out the beach around him, The Beach umbrella which partially covered the sun and his pinstriped shirt. He heard a sound, it was familiar to him but he couldn't quite pin it down.
The humming sound got louder. It clicked, Waldo knew what that sound was.
"Oh Shit."
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I had been asked to drop off a package for my boss. It was just a simple fucking package. Vanilla colored, padded, nothing suspicious about it at all. I got the directions from my GPS. The address was sent to me in an email. I didn't think anything of it. Why should I? I had done this sort of thing before...
--
I barely made it out of the car alive. I had never been in an accident before. The driver in the other car wasn't so lucky. I was about to inspect, but the back passenger side door opened. A man stepped outside. He was wearing a black suit and tie. I remember thinking to myself that it was a bit absurd that he was wearing sunglasses on such a cloudy day but then he pulled a rifle from the vehicle.
I didn't even pause to think about it. I just ran. I ran and I ran and I hid. I'm still hiding. I don't know where my family is, I don't know if they're okay... I just know that if they are still alive...
If they're still alive then I need to keep hidden. At least 'till I can figure this out. Maybe this will blow over soon. I have to hope that it'll be over soon.
Dammit... I wish I wasn't wearing this stupid fucking shirt.
|
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[WP] Why is Waldo hiding?
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No one ever asked "*How's* Waldo?"
In a feeble attempt to find himself, he lost himself.
Help Waldo help himself.
Find Waldo.
|
I had been asked to drop off a package for my boss. It was just a simple fucking package. Vanilla colored, padded, nothing suspicious about it at all. I got the directions from my GPS. The address was sent to me in an email. I didn't think anything of it. Why should I? I had done this sort of thing before...
--
I barely made it out of the car alive. I had never been in an accident before. The driver in the other car wasn't so lucky. I was about to inspect, but the back passenger side door opened. A man stepped outside. He was wearing a black suit and tie. I remember thinking to myself that it was a bit absurd that he was wearing sunglasses on such a cloudy day but then he pulled a rifle from the vehicle.
I didn't even pause to think about it. I just ran. I ran and I ran and I hid. I'm still hiding. I don't know where my family is, I don't know if they're okay... I just know that if they are still alive...
If they're still alive then I need to keep hidden. At least 'till I can figure this out. Maybe this will blow over soon. I have to hope that it'll be over soon.
Dammit... I wish I wasn't wearing this stupid fucking shirt.
|
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[WP] Why is Waldo hiding?
|
Vincent's sword caught the trident. It inches acolyte's spine. Wulfgar's mace took the demon in its chest. It caved.
"Take it. Take it now." Vincent cried. He drove the point of his sword through the demon's throat. Demon blood sprayed. Wulfgar ripped his mace free, ripping spikes free of demon flesh. The acolyte hurried forth, climbing the steps as quickly as he could. An imp descended from the darkness of the cavernous ceiling above.
"Imp." Wulgar called out. Vincent drew back his broad sword, readying his next blow. The imp passed over Vincent's sword, but the knight didn't swing at it. "You let it past." Wulfgar shouted, racing up the steps. The acolyte snatched the book off the pedastal, recoiling from the cover. It was made from a human face, skinned, stretched, and tanned. "Behind you." Wulfgar called. The acolyte turned, the book before him. It saved his life. The scorpion tail of the imp stabbed into the cover of the book. The imp collided with the book second later and drew back its stinger for a second strike. Wulfgar was the faster. His spiked iron mace tore through the imp's leathery flesh and blasted it off into the dark abyss below them.
"Uh . . . thank you, sir." The acolyte breathed falling back wearily against the pedastal from which he'd taken the book. "Thank you both." He told them. "If they'd retrieved this first, all would have been lost."
"Thank me. He let the imp through." Wulfgar said. He turn to guage their knight's reaction to his jest. He didn't see it because of the imp, but now he saw the spear like barb jutting from the knight's chest. The acolyte saw it a moment later. Their eyes moved to the knight's back. The barb was the tip of an enormous tail. The tail disappeared over the side and into the abyss.
"What . . ." The acolyte asked.
"Wyvern." Wulfgar whispered in sudden dread. As if his one word summoned it, the dragon face of the creature suddenly appeared from over the edge, back where the bridge began. Its claws ripped the stone like paper and with a quick flip, Vincent's impaled body flew off into the void.
"Protect the book." Wulgar commanded. "I'll buy you an opening. Protect that book."
"But?" The acolyte called out frantically. "I'm no warrior."
"I didn't say fight. I said protect the damn thing." Wulfgar bellowed. "Protect it." He repeated angrily, taking his mace in two hands and setting his feet to meet the wyvern's impending attack.
"I don't know how." The acolyte told him, hyperventilating. Wulfgar ignored him. He only had a mind for battle now. The wyvern's head snapped forward and Wulgar stepped to one side and brought his mace down on the thing's snouth.
The acolyte watched it all as if from somewhere else. The wyvern's barbed tail shot over Wulfgar's head and it was only Wulgar's reflexes that saved the young Waldo.
"Protect the book." Wulfgar told him calmly, smashing the barbed tail aside a second time. Waldo flipped open the book and began skimming the pages, looking for anything that would help him. He found it, but it required a blood sacrifice. These type of spells often did.
"I can use the book, but . . ." Waldo called.
"But nothing. Use it if you have to. Do whatever you have to, just keep the book away from them. Carr M'ayon must never possess it." He hammered at the tail and missed, taking a swipe from the wyvern's spur instead. Waldo could tell Wulfgar was overmatched. It would ten ten men as stalwart as Wulfgar to bring the beast down. He didn't like it, but he was commanded to act. He began to recite the spell and as he spoke, the glyphs inside the book glowed a fiery red. He reached the end the spell and did as Wulfgar bade. He seized a rock as big as his fist and rushed toward Wulfgar.
"Stay back." Wulfgar called. "It isn't safe up--" Waldo hit him in the back of the head with the stone, cracking the warrior's skull. Wulfgar staggered forward weak and dazed and slowly shuffled around to discover what had hit him. He saw the acolyte with the spell book open in one hand and a bloody stone in the other. "You?" Wulfgar whispered in confusion.
"You said to use the book." Waldo quailed, wondering if the giant warrior would charge him now.
"You?" Wulgar whispered again, slowly toppling over over into the dark. The wyvern's tail stabbed into the darkness like fishing gig in an attempt to spear the body of Wulfgar. It missed and turned its baleful eyes on Waldo. Waldo stared at the open book in dread and backed away in fear. He was happy when the wyvern missed the falling body. It wouldn't have been a sacrifice if something else killed the his sacrifice first.
The wyvern crept across the landing, skittering up the stairs in its eagerness. Waldo didn't know how far Wulfgar would have to fall before hitting bottom. The spell wouldn't be complete until Wulfgar was completely dead. The wyvern crested the steps and raced forward, its tail wagging back and forth over its head and poised to attack. Waldo fled, racing to the back of the platform. The wyvern was closing the distance and Waldo knew it was either jump into the void or be devoured by the beast. Waldo closed his eyes and leapt. The wyvern stabbed forward with its tail. The tail should have hit, but air around Waldo flared a bloody crimson and Waldo vanished into it. The wyvern screamed its terrible scream, shaking dust and stones from the cavern's walls and ceilings.
Waldo's feet collided with the ground, then his knees, then his face. He blinked his eyes at the brilliant brightness that was blinding him and spit out a mouthful of clover while he waited for his eyes to adjust. When they did, he found himself on hillock overlooking a some sort of festival. There was a giant wheel of iron spinning in the center with people in buckets around its edge.
He surveyed his surroundings and saw a black river of stone to his left along which metal containers on black wheels transported people behind glass. He knew Carr M'ayon would be looking for him. She would follow the blood magic he'd just used. He needed to hide. He saw the massive crowd entering the gates of the festival below and realized that would be as good a place as any. He looked at the white smock he wore noticing the grass stained knees. He moved to brush it away and that's when he noticed the stripe. One single stripe crossed his chest, encircling his body.
He sighed. A red wizard's stripe. The purity of his white robe's were tainted. He felt like crying, because he knew there would be more stripes for him in the future. He would have to keep using the spell until he could be reunited with his order once more. Only with them would the book finally be beyond Carr M'ayon's reach. He blended with the crowd at the gate and tucked the book into a deep pocket in his robes. He moved forward till he reached the ticket booth.
"Welcome to the San Diego Fairgrounds," the kid at the ticket booth announced. "How many tickets?" He asked.
"Just me." The acolyte told him.
"I'll need seven dollars and twenty-five cents." The ticket master told him. Waldo shook his head uncertain how much that was and pulled a gold ingot the pouch the friars had given him.
"What is this?" The boy asked.
"Gold." Waldo replied. The boy looked at the gold ingot then the bespectacled boy then back at the gold.
"You're not from around here are you, are you?" The boy asked, wryly.
"No. Is that not enough?" Waldo asked, pulling another gold ingot from his pouch. The boy gave a half laugh and started to tell him that the first ingot was way to much, but then eyed the other gold ingot.
"Yeah. I can let you in for two." The boy told him. Waldo smiled and handed over his gold and hurried in to the fair and none too soon. A familiar crimson surge appeared on the hill where Waldo had first appeared. Carr M'ayon surveyed the crowds below and grimaced. Red wizard acolytes of her own began to appear out of the thin air. Their red striped robes signifying their various ranks. The more stripes, the more power they possessed.
"Get down there." Carr M'ayon commanded. "Find him," she ordered, "and get me my book." The acolytes wove their spells and disappeared, reappearing down in the crowd. Carr M'ayon watched the red striped acolytes spread throughout the crowd and groaned in frustration. It would take forever to find the one she sought. She sat down upon a stump and resigned herself to the task. She smoothed out her red robe and started looking for a man in a red and white stripped robe.
This was going to take a while.
|
She sat across from me, tears streaming through her thick mascara, down her perfect cheeks. Even under the light of a bare light bulb she looked stunning. I hung my head, my beard scratching against the worn wool sweater.
“I don’t know what to tell you babe”.
She half laughed, half sobbed. I tried to look at her again, but couldn’t bear it. I looked down at the half finished bottle of Jim Beam in my hand. Just looking at it I could taste it. I wanted another swig more than anything.
“We were so happy once, we traveled, we had everything,” she pleaded. She reached her arm across the table and held my hand, her touch cool and soothing. Her touch took me back, to mountain retreats secluded from civilization, to bustling cities teeming with life, to fairs and games and parties, to life before.
But that was then, and this was now. I pulled my hand away. We couldn’t go back to those days, too much had changed, and too many people had been hurt.
“Where is the life we dreamed of having?” She started crying again, but it was now intermingled with anger. She stood and surveyed the room, and shaking her head at the dilapidated boarding room kitchen.
“Where is Waldo? Where is the man I loved?” she exclaimed bitterly. I had nothing to say, my head hung in shame. I heard the screen door slam, rickety wooden frame clanging loudly. I stood, walked across the kitchen to the door. I could barely make her figure out in the darkness,
“Carmen!” I yelled into the humid night, but she was gone, and when she left no one knew where in the world Carmen Sandiego might go.
Edit for format.
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[WP] Why is Waldo hiding?
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In the middle of a crowd, a lone man stands there trying to hide the discomfort of his latest antics. The busy hustle and bustle of the streets helped him blend in with the masses, but it seems like every time he thinks he's in the clear, someone spots him. As he glances back and forth among the people, he slowly reaches behind him. Slipping his hands into the back pocket of his jeans, he grasps at the small jewel that's been his main focus for the past two years. A hidden gem created by the Wizard Whitebeard, its powers have the ability to grant its users a boost in their most efficient talents. This boost is said to increase their hidden talents tenfold.
Waldo knew that this was his one chance to become hidden from the world forever. His dream of everlasting invisibility was coming to fruition, and all it would take was the simple act of consuming the gem when the light sets beyond the horizon.
Waldo checked his pocketwatch, flipping open the cover to reveal an inscription scribbled inside its golden cover: "Where?". The message reminded him of his constant struggles, never being able to have a moment to himself, always being spotted by the cruel creators that breathed life into his lungs.
With only an hour left until night fell, Waldo sat on the cobblestone floor and pulled out an old photo of him and Wilma. He remembered all the good times he had with her, but he regretted not telling her how he felt. All of these feelings came rushing up, but he had to push it down as he recalled why he was doing this. The notoriety was too much for his friends to handle. Wilma left when she realized what Waldo was willing to do to remain hidden in the world. It was all he could do to choke back the tears that he's been holding in.
He slowly came back to reality, and realized that the sun was slowly setting. About a quarter of it was left, glaring at him over the horizon, almost as if it was daring him to do his worst. He put the gem into his mouth as he prepared to win this game of cat and moues once and for all. When the last glimmer of the sun submerged below the break of the sky, he hastily swallowed the jewel, preparing for the changes that would come over him in the next few seconds. Time felt like it slowed down, and Waldo could tell that the transformation was starting. He looked to his arms and legs and waited for them to slowly fade out from existence, becoming a specter among the billions of people that litter the Earth's surface. He waited and waited, but nothing seemed to happen.
He glanced down and with a startled yelp, he noticed that his skin was starting to glow. A bright red tint started oozing out of his skin, erupting into a shower of lights that danced across the night sky. He fell to his knees and grabbed his head in his hands. He wept and wept as he screamed out the name *"Handford"* in an almost guttural voice.
The jewel did what it was supposed to though, for his true talent was not to hide, but to be found, again and again.
|
She sat across from me, tears streaming through her thick mascara, down her perfect cheeks. Even under the light of a bare light bulb she looked stunning. I hung my head, my beard scratching against the worn wool sweater.
“I don’t know what to tell you babe”.
She half laughed, half sobbed. I tried to look at her again, but couldn’t bear it. I looked down at the half finished bottle of Jim Beam in my hand. Just looking at it I could taste it. I wanted another swig more than anything.
“We were so happy once, we traveled, we had everything,” she pleaded. She reached her arm across the table and held my hand, her touch cool and soothing. Her touch took me back, to mountain retreats secluded from civilization, to bustling cities teeming with life, to fairs and games and parties, to life before.
But that was then, and this was now. I pulled my hand away. We couldn’t go back to those days, too much had changed, and too many people had been hurt.
“Where is the life we dreamed of having?” She started crying again, but it was now intermingled with anger. She stood and surveyed the room, and shaking her head at the dilapidated boarding room kitchen.
“Where is Waldo? Where is the man I loved?” she exclaimed bitterly. I had nothing to say, my head hung in shame. I heard the screen door slam, rickety wooden frame clanging loudly. I stood, walked across the kitchen to the door. I could barely make her figure out in the darkness,
“Carmen!” I yelled into the humid night, but she was gone, and when she left no one knew where in the world Carmen Sandiego might go.
Edit for format.
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[WP] Why is Waldo hiding?
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Vincent's sword caught the trident. It inches acolyte's spine. Wulfgar's mace took the demon in its chest. It caved.
"Take it. Take it now." Vincent cried. He drove the point of his sword through the demon's throat. Demon blood sprayed. Wulfgar ripped his mace free, ripping spikes free of demon flesh. The acolyte hurried forth, climbing the steps as quickly as he could. An imp descended from the darkness of the cavernous ceiling above.
"Imp." Wulgar called out. Vincent drew back his broad sword, readying his next blow. The imp passed over Vincent's sword, but the knight didn't swing at it. "You let it past." Wulfgar shouted, racing up the steps. The acolyte snatched the book off the pedastal, recoiling from the cover. It was made from a human face, skinned, stretched, and tanned. "Behind you." Wulfgar called. The acolyte turned, the book before him. It saved his life. The scorpion tail of the imp stabbed into the cover of the book. The imp collided with the book second later and drew back its stinger for a second strike. Wulfgar was the faster. His spiked iron mace tore through the imp's leathery flesh and blasted it off into the dark abyss below them.
"Uh . . . thank you, sir." The acolyte breathed falling back wearily against the pedastal from which he'd taken the book. "Thank you both." He told them. "If they'd retrieved this first, all would have been lost."
"Thank me. He let the imp through." Wulfgar said. He turn to guage their knight's reaction to his jest. He didn't see it because of the imp, but now he saw the spear like barb jutting from the knight's chest. The acolyte saw it a moment later. Their eyes moved to the knight's back. The barb was the tip of an enormous tail. The tail disappeared over the side and into the abyss.
"What . . ." The acolyte asked.
"Wyvern." Wulfgar whispered in sudden dread. As if his one word summoned it, the dragon face of the creature suddenly appeared from over the edge, back where the bridge began. Its claws ripped the stone like paper and with a quick flip, Vincent's impaled body flew off into the void.
"Protect the book." Wulgar commanded. "I'll buy you an opening. Protect that book."
"But?" The acolyte called out frantically. "I'm no warrior."
"I didn't say fight. I said protect the damn thing." Wulfgar bellowed. "Protect it." He repeated angrily, taking his mace in two hands and setting his feet to meet the wyvern's impending attack.
"I don't know how." The acolyte told him, hyperventilating. Wulfgar ignored him. He only had a mind for battle now. The wyvern's head snapped forward and Wulgar stepped to one side and brought his mace down on the thing's snouth.
The acolyte watched it all as if from somewhere else. The wyvern's barbed tail shot over Wulfgar's head and it was only Wulgar's reflexes that saved the young Waldo.
"Protect the book." Wulfgar told him calmly, smashing the barbed tail aside a second time. Waldo flipped open the book and began skimming the pages, looking for anything that would help him. He found it, but it required a blood sacrifice. These type of spells often did.
"I can use the book, but . . ." Waldo called.
"But nothing. Use it if you have to. Do whatever you have to, just keep the book away from them. Carr M'ayon must never possess it." He hammered at the tail and missed, taking a swipe from the wyvern's spur instead. Waldo could tell Wulfgar was overmatched. It would ten ten men as stalwart as Wulfgar to bring the beast down. He didn't like it, but he was commanded to act. He began to recite the spell and as he spoke, the glyphs inside the book glowed a fiery red. He reached the end the spell and did as Wulfgar bade. He seized a rock as big as his fist and rushed toward Wulfgar.
"Stay back." Wulfgar called. "It isn't safe up--" Waldo hit him in the back of the head with the stone, cracking the warrior's skull. Wulfgar staggered forward weak and dazed and slowly shuffled around to discover what had hit him. He saw the acolyte with the spell book open in one hand and a bloody stone in the other. "You?" Wulfgar whispered in confusion.
"You said to use the book." Waldo quailed, wondering if the giant warrior would charge him now.
"You?" Wulgar whispered again, slowly toppling over over into the dark. The wyvern's tail stabbed into the darkness like fishing gig in an attempt to spear the body of Wulfgar. It missed and turned its baleful eyes on Waldo. Waldo stared at the open book in dread and backed away in fear. He was happy when the wyvern missed the falling body. It wouldn't have been a sacrifice if something else killed the his sacrifice first.
The wyvern crept across the landing, skittering up the stairs in its eagerness. Waldo didn't know how far Wulfgar would have to fall before hitting bottom. The spell wouldn't be complete until Wulfgar was completely dead. The wyvern crested the steps and raced forward, its tail wagging back and forth over its head and poised to attack. Waldo fled, racing to the back of the platform. The wyvern was closing the distance and Waldo knew it was either jump into the void or be devoured by the beast. Waldo closed his eyes and leapt. The wyvern stabbed forward with its tail. The tail should have hit, but air around Waldo flared a bloody crimson and Waldo vanished into it. The wyvern screamed its terrible scream, shaking dust and stones from the cavern's walls and ceilings.
Waldo's feet collided with the ground, then his knees, then his face. He blinked his eyes at the brilliant brightness that was blinding him and spit out a mouthful of clover while he waited for his eyes to adjust. When they did, he found himself on hillock overlooking a some sort of festival. There was a giant wheel of iron spinning in the center with people in buckets around its edge.
He surveyed his surroundings and saw a black river of stone to his left along which metal containers on black wheels transported people behind glass. He knew Carr M'ayon would be looking for him. She would follow the blood magic he'd just used. He needed to hide. He saw the massive crowd entering the gates of the festival below and realized that would be as good a place as any. He looked at the white smock he wore noticing the grass stained knees. He moved to brush it away and that's when he noticed the stripe. One single stripe crossed his chest, encircling his body.
He sighed. A red wizard's stripe. The purity of his white robe's were tainted. He felt like crying, because he knew there would be more stripes for him in the future. He would have to keep using the spell until he could be reunited with his order once more. Only with them would the book finally be beyond Carr M'ayon's reach. He blended with the crowd at the gate and tucked the book into a deep pocket in his robes. He moved forward till he reached the ticket booth.
"Welcome to the San Diego Fairgrounds," the kid at the ticket booth announced. "How many tickets?" He asked.
"Just me." The acolyte told him.
"I'll need seven dollars and twenty-five cents." The ticket master told him. Waldo shook his head uncertain how much that was and pulled a gold ingot the pouch the friars had given him.
"What is this?" The boy asked.
"Gold." Waldo replied. The boy looked at the gold ingot then the bespectacled boy then back at the gold.
"You're not from around here are you, are you?" The boy asked, wryly.
"No. Is that not enough?" Waldo asked, pulling another gold ingot from his pouch. The boy gave a half laugh and started to tell him that the first ingot was way to much, but then eyed the other gold ingot.
"Yeah. I can let you in for two." The boy told him. Waldo smiled and handed over his gold and hurried in to the fair and none too soon. A familiar crimson surge appeared on the hill where Waldo had first appeared. Carr M'ayon surveyed the crowds below and grimaced. Red wizard acolytes of her own began to appear out of the thin air. Their red striped robes signifying their various ranks. The more stripes, the more power they possessed.
"Get down there." Carr M'ayon commanded. "Find him," she ordered, "and get me my book." The acolytes wove their spells and disappeared, reappearing down in the crowd. Carr M'ayon watched the red striped acolytes spread throughout the crowd and groaned in frustration. It would take forever to find the one she sought. She sat down upon a stump and resigned herself to the task. She smoothed out her red robe and started looking for a man in a red and white stripped robe.
This was going to take a while.
|
Everybody always wants to know, '~~Where in the world is Carmen Santiago?~~ Where's Waldo?' Nobody ever bothered to ask me how I'm doing. They're not even the least bit curious why I'm hiding. Apparently, the first thing people think when they see me hopping from pirate ships to medieval castles is ask themselves where I am. I mean, they somehow just accept the fact that I'm traveling in time, only appearing in crowded places, and nobody seems to notice around me. Why the hell are they even looking for me in the first place? What person develops time travelling capability and decides, 'First thing I'm going to do, find that fucking Waldo.'
It got to the point where I couldn't take it. The damned stalkerazzi. I couldn't leave the house without my signature red and white stripes, or face some of the most humiliating captions. 'Ha! look at the loser Waldo, trying to rebrand himself.' Bitch, I'm just going out to get some milk and I happened to be in sweatpants! I tried killing myself. But they wouldn't even allow me the respite of death. 'There he is! Slitting his wrists in the bathtub!' The scars still itch from time to time.
I've tried everything to hide from these people. It took me twenty years of my life to build a wormhole generator, but they still managed to find me. Twenty years, working 24/7 for not. And so I continue, hopping between the most crowded places I can find, the more red and white the better. I'd ditch the stripes, but that just pisses them off.
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[WP] Why is Waldo hiding?
|
In the middle of a crowd, a lone man stands there trying to hide the discomfort of his latest antics. The busy hustle and bustle of the streets helped him blend in with the masses, but it seems like every time he thinks he's in the clear, someone spots him. As he glances back and forth among the people, he slowly reaches behind him. Slipping his hands into the back pocket of his jeans, he grasps at the small jewel that's been his main focus for the past two years. A hidden gem created by the Wizard Whitebeard, its powers have the ability to grant its users a boost in their most efficient talents. This boost is said to increase their hidden talents tenfold.
Waldo knew that this was his one chance to become hidden from the world forever. His dream of everlasting invisibility was coming to fruition, and all it would take was the simple act of consuming the gem when the light sets beyond the horizon.
Waldo checked his pocketwatch, flipping open the cover to reveal an inscription scribbled inside its golden cover: "Where?". The message reminded him of his constant struggles, never being able to have a moment to himself, always being spotted by the cruel creators that breathed life into his lungs.
With only an hour left until night fell, Waldo sat on the cobblestone floor and pulled out an old photo of him and Wilma. He remembered all the good times he had with her, but he regretted not telling her how he felt. All of these feelings came rushing up, but he had to push it down as he recalled why he was doing this. The notoriety was too much for his friends to handle. Wilma left when she realized what Waldo was willing to do to remain hidden in the world. It was all he could do to choke back the tears that he's been holding in.
He slowly came back to reality, and realized that the sun was slowly setting. About a quarter of it was left, glaring at him over the horizon, almost as if it was daring him to do his worst. He put the gem into his mouth as he prepared to win this game of cat and moues once and for all. When the last glimmer of the sun submerged below the break of the sky, he hastily swallowed the jewel, preparing for the changes that would come over him in the next few seconds. Time felt like it slowed down, and Waldo could tell that the transformation was starting. He looked to his arms and legs and waited for them to slowly fade out from existence, becoming a specter among the billions of people that litter the Earth's surface. He waited and waited, but nothing seemed to happen.
He glanced down and with a startled yelp, he noticed that his skin was starting to glow. A bright red tint started oozing out of his skin, erupting into a shower of lights that danced across the night sky. He fell to his knees and grabbed his head in his hands. He wept and wept as he screamed out the name *"Handford"* in an almost guttural voice.
The jewel did what it was supposed to though, for his true talent was not to hide, but to be found, again and again.
|
Everybody always wants to know, '~~Where in the world is Carmen Santiago?~~ Where's Waldo?' Nobody ever bothered to ask me how I'm doing. They're not even the least bit curious why I'm hiding. Apparently, the first thing people think when they see me hopping from pirate ships to medieval castles is ask themselves where I am. I mean, they somehow just accept the fact that I'm traveling in time, only appearing in crowded places, and nobody seems to notice around me. Why the hell are they even looking for me in the first place? What person develops time travelling capability and decides, 'First thing I'm going to do, find that fucking Waldo.'
It got to the point where I couldn't take it. The damned stalkerazzi. I couldn't leave the house without my signature red and white stripes, or face some of the most humiliating captions. 'Ha! look at the loser Waldo, trying to rebrand himself.' Bitch, I'm just going out to get some milk and I happened to be in sweatpants! I tried killing myself. But they wouldn't even allow me the respite of death. 'There he is! Slitting his wrists in the bathtub!' The scars still itch from time to time.
I've tried everything to hide from these people. It took me twenty years of my life to build a wormhole generator, but they still managed to find me. Twenty years, working 24/7 for not. And so I continue, hopping between the most crowded places I can find, the more red and white the better. I'd ditch the stripes, but that just pisses them off.
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[WP] Why is Waldo hiding?
|
In the middle of a crowd, a lone man stands there trying to hide the discomfort of his latest antics. The busy hustle and bustle of the streets helped him blend in with the masses, but it seems like every time he thinks he's in the clear, someone spots him. As he glances back and forth among the people, he slowly reaches behind him. Slipping his hands into the back pocket of his jeans, he grasps at the small jewel that's been his main focus for the past two years. A hidden gem created by the Wizard Whitebeard, its powers have the ability to grant its users a boost in their most efficient talents. This boost is said to increase their hidden talents tenfold.
Waldo knew that this was his one chance to become hidden from the world forever. His dream of everlasting invisibility was coming to fruition, and all it would take was the simple act of consuming the gem when the light sets beyond the horizon.
Waldo checked his pocketwatch, flipping open the cover to reveal an inscription scribbled inside its golden cover: "Where?". The message reminded him of his constant struggles, never being able to have a moment to himself, always being spotted by the cruel creators that breathed life into his lungs.
With only an hour left until night fell, Waldo sat on the cobblestone floor and pulled out an old photo of him and Wilma. He remembered all the good times he had with her, but he regretted not telling her how he felt. All of these feelings came rushing up, but he had to push it down as he recalled why he was doing this. The notoriety was too much for his friends to handle. Wilma left when she realized what Waldo was willing to do to remain hidden in the world. It was all he could do to choke back the tears that he's been holding in.
He slowly came back to reality, and realized that the sun was slowly setting. About a quarter of it was left, glaring at him over the horizon, almost as if it was daring him to do his worst. He put the gem into his mouth as he prepared to win this game of cat and moues once and for all. When the last glimmer of the sun submerged below the break of the sky, he hastily swallowed the jewel, preparing for the changes that would come over him in the next few seconds. Time felt like it slowed down, and Waldo could tell that the transformation was starting. He looked to his arms and legs and waited for them to slowly fade out from existence, becoming a specter among the billions of people that litter the Earth's surface. He waited and waited, but nothing seemed to happen.
He glanced down and with a startled yelp, he noticed that his skin was starting to glow. A bright red tint started oozing out of his skin, erupting into a shower of lights that danced across the night sky. He fell to his knees and grabbed his head in his hands. He wept and wept as he screamed out the name *"Handford"* in an almost guttural voice.
The jewel did what it was supposed to though, for his true talent was not to hide, but to be found, again and again.
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*knock knock*
"Hello?"
"Excuse me, Mr Johnson, here's my agency card as ID; we're looking for gentlemen matching a certain profile - caucasian, 5'6"-5'8", slim body type, the details are quite specific and I won't go through them all - suffice it to say that you are a match."
"I haven't done anything, I'm very average looking, lots of people match that kind of description, what do you ... "
"You mare very average looking, but more than that, you are so average looking that it's actually quite rare to find. No need to say worry, Mr Johnson, you aren't under arrest. Completely the opposite, we'd like to employ you for your unique abilities!"
"My what? What can I do that you could use?"
"Oh you don't need to *do* very much at all. You see, we think people of your profile are so average looking that people will tend to gloss over you and look right past you. The neurology behind it is fascinating, but we'll sum it up as an optical illusion - and the effect is so strong we think it will happen even if we otherwise make you extremely distinctive. "
"So..."
"We'd like to hire you. Dress you in a visible outfit, and take you to a busy area. We have dozens of other people matching your looks, near-dopplegangers, dressed the same way who will be out on the same day. And we have satellite imaging which can get a large aggregate picture, but can't zoom in too close. You looking distinct but masked by your amazing averageness effect. Then we'll have people look for you."
"That sounds easy, but why would you do this - what's the benefit for you?"
"Oh, we're looking for someone. Our 'Waldo'. We watch how long it takes people to find you. Someone will find all of you very quickly indeed. Someone has the ability to see past this effect extremely quickly. And we need to find them. We need to answer: where's Waldo?"
Mr Johnson agreed. The Silicon Valley Billionaire's Tax-Avoidance Agency must be a fun place to work, he thought.
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[WP] Why is Waldo hiding?
|
In the middle of a crowd, a lone man stands there trying to hide the discomfort of his latest antics. The busy hustle and bustle of the streets helped him blend in with the masses, but it seems like every time he thinks he's in the clear, someone spots him. As he glances back and forth among the people, he slowly reaches behind him. Slipping his hands into the back pocket of his jeans, he grasps at the small jewel that's been his main focus for the past two years. A hidden gem created by the Wizard Whitebeard, its powers have the ability to grant its users a boost in their most efficient talents. This boost is said to increase their hidden talents tenfold.
Waldo knew that this was his one chance to become hidden from the world forever. His dream of everlasting invisibility was coming to fruition, and all it would take was the simple act of consuming the gem when the light sets beyond the horizon.
Waldo checked his pocketwatch, flipping open the cover to reveal an inscription scribbled inside its golden cover: "Where?". The message reminded him of his constant struggles, never being able to have a moment to himself, always being spotted by the cruel creators that breathed life into his lungs.
With only an hour left until night fell, Waldo sat on the cobblestone floor and pulled out an old photo of him and Wilma. He remembered all the good times he had with her, but he regretted not telling her how he felt. All of these feelings came rushing up, but he had to push it down as he recalled why he was doing this. The notoriety was too much for his friends to handle. Wilma left when she realized what Waldo was willing to do to remain hidden in the world. It was all he could do to choke back the tears that he's been holding in.
He slowly came back to reality, and realized that the sun was slowly setting. About a quarter of it was left, glaring at him over the horizon, almost as if it was daring him to do his worst. He put the gem into his mouth as he prepared to win this game of cat and moues once and for all. When the last glimmer of the sun submerged below the break of the sky, he hastily swallowed the jewel, preparing for the changes that would come over him in the next few seconds. Time felt like it slowed down, and Waldo could tell that the transformation was starting. He looked to his arms and legs and waited for them to slowly fade out from existence, becoming a specter among the billions of people that litter the Earth's surface. He waited and waited, but nothing seemed to happen.
He glanced down and with a startled yelp, he noticed that his skin was starting to glow. A bright red tint started oozing out of his skin, erupting into a shower of lights that danced across the night sky. He fell to his knees and grabbed his head in his hands. He wept and wept as he screamed out the name *"Handford"* in an almost guttural voice.
The jewel did what it was supposed to though, for his true talent was not to hide, but to be found, again and again.
|
(please excuse the mistakes I could have made, my mother tongue being French)
It seems to me that I have been fleeing my whole life. But no, not so long, it is just that they are always behind me.
My name is Waldo S., agent of the NSA. I should say ex-agent but I’m still living as a spy. Even more than before now that I’m trying to escape my colleagues.
I’ve discovered their secret, big secret. A global conspiracy. If people discover it, the NSA is done. The president himself is done. It is a weapon of mass destruction. The world has to know !
I don’t know how they learnt it but they discovered that I knew. They tried to bribe me but I did not want to be a part of it. So I took as many compromising documents as possible and left. They were already behind me so I could not take any personal effect.
I know a guy, a journalist, Odlaw. He believes me, he helps me. We are meant to meet. I hope this time it will be ok. We have never been able to make it before. They find me every time. But I flee everytime.
Yesterday, I had this phone call from Odlaw.
“Waldo, it’s me. Are you still in town?”
“I am. Can we try to meet?”
“Where?”
“The shopping center, tomorrow, 10am. There will be crowd, find me.”
“I will… Waldo? I’m with Wenda. She misses you, she wants to see you.”
“No. Too dangerous. Wenda, remember the beach? They almost got you. I was near them when they yelled ‘Here he is! No that’s her girlfriend, Wenda. F***!’. Please Wenda, don’t come, they could be there again.”
“She hears you. She says she will bring your dog Woof, she feels safe with him.”
“You know that he won’t obey, he always leaves her and gets lost in the crowd. And they know him. If they see him, they…”
“Waldo, everything will be ok. How can we recognize you?”
“I’ll have the same stupid clothes. Remember that I could not take anything from the house… Odlaw, I have to go, people are pointing their fingers at me, they found me.”
They did not catch me. Once again I managed to escape. But I forgot my can and I think they got it. I will be much slower without it.
My life has become too dangerous, I don’t know if I will ever be able to make it one day. Even when I hid in the embassy, they found me. I’m afraid. I should disappear, tell Odlaw and Wenda that I cannot do that, say goodbye, it would be safer for all of us.
But there are so many unanswered questions. There is that guy, with the pointed hat and the long beard. Who is he? Does he want to help me? Why is he always there when I try to meet Odlaw? Maybe he is an ancient agent who’s hiding.
And those kids. Not always the same ones but the same clothes as me. Are they decoys? If they are, who sends them?
And finally: who is behind all this? Even when I’ll have all the other pieces, I think that last one will still escape me. I cannot go anywhere without feeling his eyes, his big shadow above me. I imagine him, this monster, saying with a childish voice “Where’s Waldo?”. But I don’t know how to depict him, in my head he has thousands faces. I have the feeling that there are many, many people up there, trying to get me. As if I was a simple toy for them, an image in a book that you close once you had enough of it. But the book still has many pages, I’m not done yet, they’ll see...
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[WP] Why is Waldo hiding?
|
Waldo heard the humming sound of the charging laser at the last second. He had only enough time to glance at the bright red light.
"Oh Sh--"
Waldo evaporated instantaneously. The immense heat melted the nearby statues, a man in a green coat and the happy couple walking a Dog. Their wax construction weak to the immense heat. Scorch marks from the laser stood out strongly against the city park surroundings.
"Hot Damn, nice shot David!" Gregory exclaimed, slapping his buddy on the back. "You spotted him in 12 seconds flat!" David felt proud of himself. He had been practicing and his vision seemed to be getting sharper.
"Thanks Gregory," David set his gun down against the console and grabbed the glass of scotch sitting next on it. He took a big, long swig. "Was thrown off by the guy holding the pinstriped blanket but I found the ol' devil." David looked out at his shot and admired his own marksmanship. "How long till next scene is built?"
Gregory glanced down from their floating hunter's tower at the thousands of small machines tore apart the wax sculptures and buildings. Their servos producing a gentle hum. A few cleaned up the smoking remains of Waldo. "Eh," Gregory paused, "only couple min' I reckon. They haven't grabbed a fresh 'W' yet." Some machines had started building palm trees and a beach chairs.
"Only 2 minutes? Now that is some fast, and quiet working. You clone in that time too?"
"Yes sir! I spend good money being part of this club. The grounds at Well-Martins club take a entire 10 minutes to rebuild a scene" Greggory sipped from his glass.
"Well Damn, let me know when you have another opening."
"Will do Gregory, I hear Xavier will be moving out of the country soon. I'll put in a good word for you at the next meeting." Greg and David sighed as the smooth scotch warmed their throats with each sip. Greg looked over the side of the banister "Ah, It appears as though they should be just about finished."
A gentle ding sounded as a large 'W' appeared on the console. "It is my turn now David, please keep quiet, can't be spooking our 'Waldo'"
Waldo stood still, it's the only thing he really knew. He could make out the beach around him, The Beach umbrella which partially covered the sun and his pinstriped shirt. He heard a sound, it was familiar to him but he couldn't quite pin it down.
The humming sound got louder. It clicked, Waldo knew what that sound was.
"Oh Shit."
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There’s no rational explanation at all. Waldo is perfectly aware of how crazy it would sound to say aloud, like the ramblings of someone driven insane with paranoia, and yet he can’t undo what he knows. It’s a knowledge that came to him without him really knowing how it came to him – something to know without truly knowing. But it was a truth so strong, an understanding so undeniable, that there was no time for doubt. One second, he was identical to one of was the many millions of innocent, ignorant faces in the crowds around him, and in the next tick of his universe, he wasn’t.
Suddenly, he was very different. The awareness had hit him like a truck.
It was a change that couldn’t be seen, couldn’t be heard, but had to be felt. It was the very specific feeling of being watched, an otherworldly feeling of being sought by ungodly eyes from *somewhere*. The comprehension of this truth had immediately clawed deep into his very being with such clarity he felt as if he could look up and see the creature watching him. Despite the countless times that he frantically did look up that day, and all the panicked days that followed, he never saw them. Many times he’d tried, looking up and scanning for the very eyes scanning for him, trying not to imagine the terror that would hit him should he meet them. Even though he never saw them, he had absolutely no reservations about their existence. It was crazy, but it was still, very abruptly, an absolute truth.
At first Waldo had been alone. For reasons totally unknown to him and completely beyond his control, he had been the only subject of interest amongst thousands. He had no choice but to hide and to keep hiding from the unearthly eyes, clutching to a vague hope that the omnipotent being would simply give up one day. He could only bury himself in bigger crowds, bigger cities, and environments stuffed full of matter to occupy the forever active eyes scanning for him.
Over time he met others who shared this maddening truth. Like the insane sudden knowledge of knowing about the watcher in the void of the sky, the realisation of others meandering with this terrible fate came to him without warning and without reason. The truth he saw in the others’ faces was undeniable. Wilma, Wendy and Woof were friends who he had met briefly and had temporary found much needed companionship in this lunacy, before they all, almost simultaneously, realised that it was too dangerous to stay together. *Too easy to find.*
Then there were enemies like Odlaw, who believed if *someone else* was found first, he might miraculously be saved from the eyes. Odlaw had tried to steal Waldo’s walking stick in an attempt to make a different victim slower. Waldo still tries not to curse him, reminds himself that it’s just a primal instinct to survive. He doesn’t like to think what he might do if he too believed the eyes would ever be satisfied with finding just one of its victims.
*Why him? What did he do to deserve this? Why was this watcher searching for him?* Perhaps he’ll never get an answer, perhaps there is no reason or perhaps the reason is so beyond the reaches of the capability of his own mind to even attempt to comprehend – whatever the reason, Waldo ensures that *why* it searches for him will never be known.
For this he must never stop hiding.
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[WP] Why is Waldo hiding?
|
"Goddammit Waldo."
"What?"
"What are you wearing? You look ridiculous."
Waldo adjusted his beanie and looked down at his red and white striped sweater.
"Come on man they're just blue jeans."
"Very funny. With the glasses I'd even say you look creepy."
Max began walking down the stairs.
"Are you coming? They're waiting for us at the bar."
Waldo locked his door and inspected his reflection in the windowpane for a moment. He shrugged and they began making their way down 8th Avenue.
"I really don't see what's wrong with the sweater."
"You look like a damn candy cane. For God's sake your hat even matches."
"Ella likes this outfit."
"I could pick you out in a stadium full of people, from the blimp. That's how goofy you look."
"I doubt it, tons of people have sweaters like this."
"No, they really don't. I bet I could find you anywhere in the world if you stay dressed like that."
Max tugged at Waldo's sleeve.
"And if I win I get to burn that sweater."
"And if I win?"
"I'll buy you beer for the rest of your life."
"Really?"
"Sure. But you can only hide in public places. Don't worry I'll find you. Those stripes really stand out."
"Good luck. You're on."
Max laughed as Waldo climbed into a cab.
"Say goodbye to that sweater!"
Waldo was in Panama when he realized that they had never specified how long he had to hide to win the bet.
Some say he's still hiding...
|
There’s no rational explanation at all. Waldo is perfectly aware of how crazy it would sound to say aloud, like the ramblings of someone driven insane with paranoia, and yet he can’t undo what he knows. It’s a knowledge that came to him without him really knowing how it came to him – something to know without truly knowing. But it was a truth so strong, an understanding so undeniable, that there was no time for doubt. One second, he was identical to one of was the many millions of innocent, ignorant faces in the crowds around him, and in the next tick of his universe, he wasn’t.
Suddenly, he was very different. The awareness had hit him like a truck.
It was a change that couldn’t be seen, couldn’t be heard, but had to be felt. It was the very specific feeling of being watched, an otherworldly feeling of being sought by ungodly eyes from *somewhere*. The comprehension of this truth had immediately clawed deep into his very being with such clarity he felt as if he could look up and see the creature watching him. Despite the countless times that he frantically did look up that day, and all the panicked days that followed, he never saw them. Many times he’d tried, looking up and scanning for the very eyes scanning for him, trying not to imagine the terror that would hit him should he meet them. Even though he never saw them, he had absolutely no reservations about their existence. It was crazy, but it was still, very abruptly, an absolute truth.
At first Waldo had been alone. For reasons totally unknown to him and completely beyond his control, he had been the only subject of interest amongst thousands. He had no choice but to hide and to keep hiding from the unearthly eyes, clutching to a vague hope that the omnipotent being would simply give up one day. He could only bury himself in bigger crowds, bigger cities, and environments stuffed full of matter to occupy the forever active eyes scanning for him.
Over time he met others who shared this maddening truth. Like the insane sudden knowledge of knowing about the watcher in the void of the sky, the realisation of others meandering with this terrible fate came to him without warning and without reason. The truth he saw in the others’ faces was undeniable. Wilma, Wendy and Woof were friends who he had met briefly and had temporary found much needed companionship in this lunacy, before they all, almost simultaneously, realised that it was too dangerous to stay together. *Too easy to find.*
Then there were enemies like Odlaw, who believed if *someone else* was found first, he might miraculously be saved from the eyes. Odlaw had tried to steal Waldo’s walking stick in an attempt to make a different victim slower. Waldo still tries not to curse him, reminds himself that it’s just a primal instinct to survive. He doesn’t like to think what he might do if he too believed the eyes would ever be satisfied with finding just one of its victims.
*Why him? What did he do to deserve this? Why was this watcher searching for him?* Perhaps he’ll never get an answer, perhaps there is no reason or perhaps the reason is so beyond the reaches of the capability of his own mind to even attempt to comprehend – whatever the reason, Waldo ensures that *why* it searches for him will never be known.
For this he must never stop hiding.
|
|
[WP] Why is Waldo hiding?
|
No one ever asked "*How's* Waldo?"
In a feeble attempt to find himself, he lost himself.
Help Waldo help himself.
Find Waldo.
|
There’s no rational explanation at all. Waldo is perfectly aware of how crazy it would sound to say aloud, like the ramblings of someone driven insane with paranoia, and yet he can’t undo what he knows. It’s a knowledge that came to him without him really knowing how it came to him – something to know without truly knowing. But it was a truth so strong, an understanding so undeniable, that there was no time for doubt. One second, he was identical to one of was the many millions of innocent, ignorant faces in the crowds around him, and in the next tick of his universe, he wasn’t.
Suddenly, he was very different. The awareness had hit him like a truck.
It was a change that couldn’t be seen, couldn’t be heard, but had to be felt. It was the very specific feeling of being watched, an otherworldly feeling of being sought by ungodly eyes from *somewhere*. The comprehension of this truth had immediately clawed deep into his very being with such clarity he felt as if he could look up and see the creature watching him. Despite the countless times that he frantically did look up that day, and all the panicked days that followed, he never saw them. Many times he’d tried, looking up and scanning for the very eyes scanning for him, trying not to imagine the terror that would hit him should he meet them. Even though he never saw them, he had absolutely no reservations about their existence. It was crazy, but it was still, very abruptly, an absolute truth.
At first Waldo had been alone. For reasons totally unknown to him and completely beyond his control, he had been the only subject of interest amongst thousands. He had no choice but to hide and to keep hiding from the unearthly eyes, clutching to a vague hope that the omnipotent being would simply give up one day. He could only bury himself in bigger crowds, bigger cities, and environments stuffed full of matter to occupy the forever active eyes scanning for him.
Over time he met others who shared this maddening truth. Like the insane sudden knowledge of knowing about the watcher in the void of the sky, the realisation of others meandering with this terrible fate came to him without warning and without reason. The truth he saw in the others’ faces was undeniable. Wilma, Wendy and Woof were friends who he had met briefly and had temporary found much needed companionship in this lunacy, before they all, almost simultaneously, realised that it was too dangerous to stay together. *Too easy to find.*
Then there were enemies like Odlaw, who believed if *someone else* was found first, he might miraculously be saved from the eyes. Odlaw had tried to steal Waldo’s walking stick in an attempt to make a different victim slower. Waldo still tries not to curse him, reminds himself that it’s just a primal instinct to survive. He doesn’t like to think what he might do if he too believed the eyes would ever be satisfied with finding just one of its victims.
*Why him? What did he do to deserve this? Why was this watcher searching for him?* Perhaps he’ll never get an answer, perhaps there is no reason or perhaps the reason is so beyond the reaches of the capability of his own mind to even attempt to comprehend – whatever the reason, Waldo ensures that *why* it searches for him will never be known.
For this he must never stop hiding.
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|
[WP] Why is Waldo hiding?
|
Waldo heard the humming sound of the charging laser at the last second. He had only enough time to glance at the bright red light.
"Oh Sh--"
Waldo evaporated instantaneously. The immense heat melted the nearby statues, a man in a green coat and the happy couple walking a Dog. Their wax construction weak to the immense heat. Scorch marks from the laser stood out strongly against the city park surroundings.
"Hot Damn, nice shot David!" Gregory exclaimed, slapping his buddy on the back. "You spotted him in 12 seconds flat!" David felt proud of himself. He had been practicing and his vision seemed to be getting sharper.
"Thanks Gregory," David set his gun down against the console and grabbed the glass of scotch sitting next on it. He took a big, long swig. "Was thrown off by the guy holding the pinstriped blanket but I found the ol' devil." David looked out at his shot and admired his own marksmanship. "How long till next scene is built?"
Gregory glanced down from their floating hunter's tower at the thousands of small machines tore apart the wax sculptures and buildings. Their servos producing a gentle hum. A few cleaned up the smoking remains of Waldo. "Eh," Gregory paused, "only couple min' I reckon. They haven't grabbed a fresh 'W' yet." Some machines had started building palm trees and a beach chairs.
"Only 2 minutes? Now that is some fast, and quiet working. You clone in that time too?"
"Yes sir! I spend good money being part of this club. The grounds at Well-Martins club take a entire 10 minutes to rebuild a scene" Greggory sipped from his glass.
"Well Damn, let me know when you have another opening."
"Will do Gregory, I hear Xavier will be moving out of the country soon. I'll put in a good word for you at the next meeting." Greg and David sighed as the smooth scotch warmed their throats with each sip. Greg looked over the side of the banister "Ah, It appears as though they should be just about finished."
A gentle ding sounded as a large 'W' appeared on the console. "It is my turn now David, please keep quiet, can't be spooking our 'Waldo'"
Waldo stood still, it's the only thing he really knew. He could make out the beach around him, The Beach umbrella which partially covered the sun and his pinstriped shirt. He heard a sound, it was familiar to him but he couldn't quite pin it down.
The humming sound got louder. It clicked, Waldo knew what that sound was.
"Oh Shit."
|
Waldo pushed his way through the crowd trying to stay as inconspicuous as possible while wearing a goofy hat and striped shirt. The blistering heat from the sun beat down on his back as he looked for the bag his accomplice had left for him at the drop spot. Waldo thought to himself why this all had to take place out in the open public areas and why he had to wear the stupid outfit so he would stand out. He knew the answer was so he could blend in unless someone knew what outfit to look for but even that would be quite a daunting challenge.
As he was pushed and shoved in the heaping mess of people he spots the bag he has been looking for! At last he can get out of this heat and relax. As he reached for the bag a subtle snap rings out from somewhere and **slams straight** into the man beside him and taking him out with a hollow *thump*. Waldo ducked down and immediately cursed under his breath hoping that whoever shot at him would not be able to find him. As Waldo dodged and weaved through the crowd his red hat was bouncing around his head like a buoy in a typhoon. The intervals between shots got faster as Waldo made his way through the panicking crowd. Waldo trips and flies forward onto his face. He rolls on his side as a bullet lodges itself in the ground where his body was moments ago. He pushes himself up and sprints straight into the crowd of building as he exits the plaza where he was. As he ran he threw off all the trinkets he had on to help disguise his tourist outfit but kept the binoculars as that would be handy.
Waldo found a place to stay for the night but still wondered who shot him and all for a locked briefcase that he himself couldn't crack open no matter how he tried. He thought to himself what could be so valuable that it was worth shooting into a crowd of people just to obtain? Waldo couldn't think with all the stress of the situation so he decided it would be good to get some sleep while he could.
A loud scream pierced through the night air and woke Waldo with a jolt. He jumped to his feet and grabbed the briefcase. He knew what this meant and he quickly jumped out the window onto the ground waiting for him only a few feet below. He sprinted through the streets not knowing where to go. As he ran through the streets he saw a glimpse of a sign to his right and he made the decision to jump straight into the building without another thought. He found it to be a gun store and right in front of him a woman in a trench coat with a rifle on her back was buying ammo at the desk. He immediately realized his mistake. He sprinted out of the store and ran as fast as he could run. He saw her following him and turned the corner only to stop immediately to ambush her. As she rounded the corner he brought his cane up and **SLAMMED** her straight in the face.
Waldo quickly went over to her unconscious body and looked through it for any forms of identification. He found a drivers license issued to a "Carmen Sandiego" and he took the rifle and was off. He knew he had to get clear of the city if he was gonna make it and killing her would only worsen the situation since he was already seen smashing a woman in the face with a cane and taking her gun.
Escape seemed to be here as Waldo drove off in the rental car he had rented in the edge of the town. He drove off into the horizon feeling great as he had made it through all of that. His boss would be proud, maybe even give him a raise for all he knew. He patted the briefcase and thought of all the trouble he went through to get it. He thought to himself this must be worth it! **BAM** The car tipped to onside and rolled its side as a tire blew out and he lost control. The car flipped 3 times before rolling into a ditch where it came to a stop. Over joyed that he had the brains to rent a jeep with a roll cage as he got out of the wreckage.
As he stood up to get out of the car a sudden jab to his stomach. He felt the pain spread like a hundred spiders crawling across his stomach trying to bite its way in. He looked down and saw a huge bullet hole going through his abdomen. The blood seeping its way out of his gut as he bleeds out onto the sands. His mind starts to go but before that he has one final thought.
His last thought was "Where in the world is Carmen Sandiego?"
edit: Just fine tuned some obvious grammar mistakes and fixed poor word choice. Also I made it much longer.
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[WP] Why is Waldo hiding?
|
No one ever asked "*How's* Waldo?"
In a feeble attempt to find himself, he lost himself.
Help Waldo help himself.
Find Waldo.
|
Waldo pushed his way through the crowd trying to stay as inconspicuous as possible while wearing a goofy hat and striped shirt. The blistering heat from the sun beat down on his back as he looked for the bag his accomplice had left for him at the drop spot. Waldo thought to himself why this all had to take place out in the open public areas and why he had to wear the stupid outfit so he would stand out. He knew the answer was so he could blend in unless someone knew what outfit to look for but even that would be quite a daunting challenge.
As he was pushed and shoved in the heaping mess of people he spots the bag he has been looking for! At last he can get out of this heat and relax. As he reached for the bag a subtle snap rings out from somewhere and **slams straight** into the man beside him and taking him out with a hollow *thump*. Waldo ducked down and immediately cursed under his breath hoping that whoever shot at him would not be able to find him. As Waldo dodged and weaved through the crowd his red hat was bouncing around his head like a buoy in a typhoon. The intervals between shots got faster as Waldo made his way through the panicking crowd. Waldo trips and flies forward onto his face. He rolls on his side as a bullet lodges itself in the ground where his body was moments ago. He pushes himself up and sprints straight into the crowd of building as he exits the plaza where he was. As he ran he threw off all the trinkets he had on to help disguise his tourist outfit but kept the binoculars as that would be handy.
Waldo found a place to stay for the night but still wondered who shot him and all for a locked briefcase that he himself couldn't crack open no matter how he tried. He thought to himself what could be so valuable that it was worth shooting into a crowd of people just to obtain? Waldo couldn't think with all the stress of the situation so he decided it would be good to get some sleep while he could.
A loud scream pierced through the night air and woke Waldo with a jolt. He jumped to his feet and grabbed the briefcase. He knew what this meant and he quickly jumped out the window onto the ground waiting for him only a few feet below. He sprinted through the streets not knowing where to go. As he ran through the streets he saw a glimpse of a sign to his right and he made the decision to jump straight into the building without another thought. He found it to be a gun store and right in front of him a woman in a trench coat with a rifle on her back was buying ammo at the desk. He immediately realized his mistake. He sprinted out of the store and ran as fast as he could run. He saw her following him and turned the corner only to stop immediately to ambush her. As she rounded the corner he brought his cane up and **SLAMMED** her straight in the face.
Waldo quickly went over to her unconscious body and looked through it for any forms of identification. He found a drivers license issued to a "Carmen Sandiego" and he took the rifle and was off. He knew he had to get clear of the city if he was gonna make it and killing her would only worsen the situation since he was already seen smashing a woman in the face with a cane and taking her gun.
Escape seemed to be here as Waldo drove off in the rental car he had rented in the edge of the town. He drove off into the horizon feeling great as he had made it through all of that. His boss would be proud, maybe even give him a raise for all he knew. He patted the briefcase and thought of all the trouble he went through to get it. He thought to himself this must be worth it! **BAM** The car tipped to onside and rolled its side as a tire blew out and he lost control. The car flipped 3 times before rolling into a ditch where it came to a stop. Over joyed that he had the brains to rent a jeep with a roll cage as he got out of the wreckage.
As he stood up to get out of the car a sudden jab to his stomach. He felt the pain spread like a hundred spiders crawling across his stomach trying to bite its way in. He looked down and saw a huge bullet hole going through his abdomen. The blood seeping its way out of his gut as he bleeds out onto the sands. His mind starts to go but before that he has one final thought.
His last thought was "Where in the world is Carmen Sandiego?"
edit: Just fine tuned some obvious grammar mistakes and fixed poor word choice. Also I made it much longer.
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[WP] Why is Waldo hiding?
|
"Goddammit Waldo."
"What?"
"What are you wearing? You look ridiculous."
Waldo adjusted his beanie and looked down at his red and white striped sweater.
"Come on man they're just blue jeans."
"Very funny. With the glasses I'd even say you look creepy."
Max began walking down the stairs.
"Are you coming? They're waiting for us at the bar."
Waldo locked his door and inspected his reflection in the windowpane for a moment. He shrugged and they began making their way down 8th Avenue.
"I really don't see what's wrong with the sweater."
"You look like a damn candy cane. For God's sake your hat even matches."
"Ella likes this outfit."
"I could pick you out in a stadium full of people, from the blimp. That's how goofy you look."
"I doubt it, tons of people have sweaters like this."
"No, they really don't. I bet I could find you anywhere in the world if you stay dressed like that."
Max tugged at Waldo's sleeve.
"And if I win I get to burn that sweater."
"And if I win?"
"I'll buy you beer for the rest of your life."
"Really?"
"Sure. But you can only hide in public places. Don't worry I'll find you. Those stripes really stand out."
"Good luck. You're on."
Max laughed as Waldo climbed into a cab.
"Say goodbye to that sweater!"
Waldo was in Panama when he realized that they had never specified how long he had to hide to win the bet.
Some say he's still hiding...
|
Unfortunately, he had no idea.
It was a routine winter Thursday. Waldo, an average accountant at an average firm in Manhattan, left early because he had a dentist appointment. The drive was a little busy for a Thursday, but he left himself plenty of time to make it there and back home before rush hour. As he left his car and stepped into the tiny dentist's office, something seemed just a little off. With just one look toward the snow-covered streets he shrugged off his concerns, adjusting his bright hat and stepping inside. That was when everything changed.
He was having his wisdom teeth removed very late in his life. Waldo only remembered because of how many times the receptionist brought it up while she was filing his paperwork. She was a cute girl, just a little younger than him, but the ring on her finger was large enough to be noticed. He only had to sit for two or three minutes before his name was called and he was ushered past the tall brown doors, asked to sit in the grey chair as the dentist explained his procedure. It would only be five or ten minutes before he was asleep, and by the time he woke up everything would be done. The dentist wasn't lying -- when he woke, alone in his apartment with his comforter draped loosely over him, everything was done and there was no going back.
Waldo went to yell, but immediately he found his lips would not budge. Jumping up to look into the tall mirror at his bedside he came to realize that his lips were surgically attached to each other and his face was stuck in a warm, goofy smile. He had no idea what to think now...why was this done to him? He was a normal man, never had any enemies and didn't have anything worth taking. As the knocks on his door began, however, he quickly came to the conclusion that it didn't matter why.
The young Waldo scurried toward the door, cracking it open carefully to find a well-dressed woman before him. She looked very familiar to him, but he couldn't place where he had seen her for all the money in the world. "Mr. Waldo...I'm very, very sorry this had to happen to you. I wish I could explain everything but there's no time. You need to run, Waldo, and you need to hide. They're coming for you and there's nothing you can do about it. Find yourself somewhere safe, and I'll contact you when I can." Before he could even try to hum a response she was gone. "The receptionist..." he thought to himself, shaking his head to dismiss the thought and looking around.
With no direction and no other options he ran in the opposite direction, leaping down the stairs and stepping out into the busy Manhattan streets. He had packed no bags or even bothered to close his door, wearing only his comfortable striped hat, a matching striped shirt and vibrant blue jeans. Keeping to the crowded areas, Waldo made his way toward Times Square to blend in with the many tourists around him.
Merely miles away, three men sit in a large board room overlooking much of Manhattan. "Have you heard from your men, Richard?" asked the largest of the three, his tie unable to fall past his protruding stomach. "He's escaped his apartment..." began another of the men. "They're searching for him now. I have men making rounds of the area as we speak. I will let you know as soon as I have an update."
"Good-" began the large man, bringing his fingers together and apart. "He needs to go away. I have only one question for you two to answer within the next twenty-four hours. And to be quite frank...your lives depend on." He nodded slowly, raising himself from his seat and turning to face the window.
"Where's Waldo?"
|
|
[WP] Why is Waldo hiding?
|
No one ever asked "*How's* Waldo?"
In a feeble attempt to find himself, he lost himself.
Help Waldo help himself.
Find Waldo.
|
Unfortunately, he had no idea.
It was a routine winter Thursday. Waldo, an average accountant at an average firm in Manhattan, left early because he had a dentist appointment. The drive was a little busy for a Thursday, but he left himself plenty of time to make it there and back home before rush hour. As he left his car and stepped into the tiny dentist's office, something seemed just a little off. With just one look toward the snow-covered streets he shrugged off his concerns, adjusting his bright hat and stepping inside. That was when everything changed.
He was having his wisdom teeth removed very late in his life. Waldo only remembered because of how many times the receptionist brought it up while she was filing his paperwork. She was a cute girl, just a little younger than him, but the ring on her finger was large enough to be noticed. He only had to sit for two or three minutes before his name was called and he was ushered past the tall brown doors, asked to sit in the grey chair as the dentist explained his procedure. It would only be five or ten minutes before he was asleep, and by the time he woke up everything would be done. The dentist wasn't lying -- when he woke, alone in his apartment with his comforter draped loosely over him, everything was done and there was no going back.
Waldo went to yell, but immediately he found his lips would not budge. Jumping up to look into the tall mirror at his bedside he came to realize that his lips were surgically attached to each other and his face was stuck in a warm, goofy smile. He had no idea what to think now...why was this done to him? He was a normal man, never had any enemies and didn't have anything worth taking. As the knocks on his door began, however, he quickly came to the conclusion that it didn't matter why.
The young Waldo scurried toward the door, cracking it open carefully to find a well-dressed woman before him. She looked very familiar to him, but he couldn't place where he had seen her for all the money in the world. "Mr. Waldo...I'm very, very sorry this had to happen to you. I wish I could explain everything but there's no time. You need to run, Waldo, and you need to hide. They're coming for you and there's nothing you can do about it. Find yourself somewhere safe, and I'll contact you when I can." Before he could even try to hum a response she was gone. "The receptionist..." he thought to himself, shaking his head to dismiss the thought and looking around.
With no direction and no other options he ran in the opposite direction, leaping down the stairs and stepping out into the busy Manhattan streets. He had packed no bags or even bothered to close his door, wearing only his comfortable striped hat, a matching striped shirt and vibrant blue jeans. Keeping to the crowded areas, Waldo made his way toward Times Square to blend in with the many tourists around him.
Merely miles away, three men sit in a large board room overlooking much of Manhattan. "Have you heard from your men, Richard?" asked the largest of the three, his tie unable to fall past his protruding stomach. "He's escaped his apartment..." began another of the men. "They're searching for him now. I have men making rounds of the area as we speak. I will let you know as soon as I have an update."
"Good-" began the large man, bringing his fingers together and apart. "He needs to go away. I have only one question for you two to answer within the next twenty-four hours. And to be quite frank...your lives depend on." He nodded slowly, raising himself from his seat and turning to face the window.
"Where's Waldo?"
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[WP] Why is Waldo hiding?
|
"Goddammit Waldo."
"What?"
"What are you wearing? You look ridiculous."
Waldo adjusted his beanie and looked down at his red and white striped sweater.
"Come on man they're just blue jeans."
"Very funny. With the glasses I'd even say you look creepy."
Max began walking down the stairs.
"Are you coming? They're waiting for us at the bar."
Waldo locked his door and inspected his reflection in the windowpane for a moment. He shrugged and they began making their way down 8th Avenue.
"I really don't see what's wrong with the sweater."
"You look like a damn candy cane. For God's sake your hat even matches."
"Ella likes this outfit."
"I could pick you out in a stadium full of people, from the blimp. That's how goofy you look."
"I doubt it, tons of people have sweaters like this."
"No, they really don't. I bet I could find you anywhere in the world if you stay dressed like that."
Max tugged at Waldo's sleeve.
"And if I win I get to burn that sweater."
"And if I win?"
"I'll buy you beer for the rest of your life."
"Really?"
"Sure. But you can only hide in public places. Don't worry I'll find you. Those stripes really stand out."
"Good luck. You're on."
Max laughed as Waldo climbed into a cab.
"Say goodbye to that sweater!"
Waldo was in Panama when he realized that they had never specified how long he had to hide to win the bet.
Some say he's still hiding...
|
"Where's Waldo?" asked the President. It was a simple question, direct with no ambiguity, but every man and woman in a suit or dress uniform presently seated around the Situation Room table squirmed in uncomfortable silence. The leader of the free world tapped his fingers against the rich mahogany wood of the long oval table, his tapping the only sound in the room. "Let me ask you all again. Where. Is. Waldo." A firm executive hand pounded the table to emphasize each word. "Jackson, what do we know?"
Reginald Jackson was the President's national security adviser, a tough, no nonsense black man from Brooklyn with a Harvard education. Jackson cleared his throat and opened the thick file folder stamped with 'Top Secret' on every page. A grainy photograph fell out of a tall man with round glasses, wearing an outlandish red and white striped sweater and matching knitted cap. It was the last image anyone in the world had on that mysterious Waldo.
"Mister President, ladies and gentlemen of the National Security council, good afternoon," began Jackson formally, his rich baritone filling the room. "As of 0800 hours this morning, an NSA analyst walked out of the Electronic Analysis Unit in Langley with what we are estimating was over ninety terabytes of data. I don't need to remind you that the EAU is where we house the Five-Eyes program, sorting and collecting all internet and telephonic communication across the globe. Not only did this agent manage to walk right out the front door with a massive amount of highly classified data, he introduce a meme virus into our systems that has insidiously been worming its way through every government system from the NSA down to the IRS." Jackson paused and shuffled through the stack of papers in the folder. "It's quite impressive, really..."
"Regg, don't tell me you actually admire this pencil necked traitor!" snarled the President.
Jackson removed his glasses and wiped them out of habit, something he developed while teaching law school when he needed a moment to think. "Sir, I don't think you realize the scope of this virus. While the data he holds is critical yes, it is this Waldo virus that we are really amazed by. It's like nothing we've ever seen. Every piece of data about this character we've dubbed Waldo has been deleted, overwritten, or encrypted. Even his damn birth certificate got pulled and shredded based on an email order the virus generated, replaced with a new one that only says 'Waldo Waldo'. God only knows what else he has up his sleeve."
"So what did this twerp walk out with? Stevens?" The President glared at his NSA director, a weaselly looking man with a pinched nose and an ill-fitting suit.
"As far as we can tell Mister President, he captured at least several days worth of Five-Eyes collections in their raw format. We're talking emails, text messages, cables, instant messages, phone calls, everything. Literally every damn form of communication known to man in every god forsaken country, save for whispers and smoke signals. By the way, hopefully we'll be able to collect on those too next year when Six-Eyes comes online and we can start culling active cell signal sonar." The man seemed genuinely pleased about the prospect of hearing even a whisper.
"Mister President," Jackson chimed in, struggling to keep any of the disgust he felt for Stevens to himself, "I don't need to tell you that the implications of this data being released will likely be the end of your presidency, let alone NATO and every other partnership the United States has. When our allies find out how deep we've had our hands down their pants..." the adviser left the statement hanging.
Standing, the President walked over to an ornate model of the globe decorating a corner of the room. He gave the globe a thoughtful spin and watched the whirl of countries fly by, countries that would soon be lining up to punish America in one way or another. The globe rested with the continental US facing the President, and in that moment he felt the country looked very lonely.
"Find him. Find Waldo," growled the President. "Find him and kill him."
|
|
[WP] Why is Waldo hiding?
|
No one ever asked "*How's* Waldo?"
In a feeble attempt to find himself, he lost himself.
Help Waldo help himself.
Find Waldo.
|
"Where's Waldo?" asked the President. It was a simple question, direct with no ambiguity, but every man and woman in a suit or dress uniform presently seated around the Situation Room table squirmed in uncomfortable silence. The leader of the free world tapped his fingers against the rich mahogany wood of the long oval table, his tapping the only sound in the room. "Let me ask you all again. Where. Is. Waldo." A firm executive hand pounded the table to emphasize each word. "Jackson, what do we know?"
Reginald Jackson was the President's national security adviser, a tough, no nonsense black man from Brooklyn with a Harvard education. Jackson cleared his throat and opened the thick file folder stamped with 'Top Secret' on every page. A grainy photograph fell out of a tall man with round glasses, wearing an outlandish red and white striped sweater and matching knitted cap. It was the last image anyone in the world had on that mysterious Waldo.
"Mister President, ladies and gentlemen of the National Security council, good afternoon," began Jackson formally, his rich baritone filling the room. "As of 0800 hours this morning, an NSA analyst walked out of the Electronic Analysis Unit in Langley with what we are estimating was over ninety terabytes of data. I don't need to remind you that the EAU is where we house the Five-Eyes program, sorting and collecting all internet and telephonic communication across the globe. Not only did this agent manage to walk right out the front door with a massive amount of highly classified data, he introduce a meme virus into our systems that has insidiously been worming its way through every government system from the NSA down to the IRS." Jackson paused and shuffled through the stack of papers in the folder. "It's quite impressive, really..."
"Regg, don't tell me you actually admire this pencil necked traitor!" snarled the President.
Jackson removed his glasses and wiped them out of habit, something he developed while teaching law school when he needed a moment to think. "Sir, I don't think you realize the scope of this virus. While the data he holds is critical yes, it is this Waldo virus that we are really amazed by. It's like nothing we've ever seen. Every piece of data about this character we've dubbed Waldo has been deleted, overwritten, or encrypted. Even his damn birth certificate got pulled and shredded based on an email order the virus generated, replaced with a new one that only says 'Waldo Waldo'. God only knows what else he has up his sleeve."
"So what did this twerp walk out with? Stevens?" The President glared at his NSA director, a weaselly looking man with a pinched nose and an ill-fitting suit.
"As far as we can tell Mister President, he captured at least several days worth of Five-Eyes collections in their raw format. We're talking emails, text messages, cables, instant messages, phone calls, everything. Literally every damn form of communication known to man in every god forsaken country, save for whispers and smoke signals. By the way, hopefully we'll be able to collect on those too next year when Six-Eyes comes online and we can start culling active cell signal sonar." The man seemed genuinely pleased about the prospect of hearing even a whisper.
"Mister President," Jackson chimed in, struggling to keep any of the disgust he felt for Stevens to himself, "I don't need to tell you that the implications of this data being released will likely be the end of your presidency, let alone NATO and every other partnership the United States has. When our allies find out how deep we've had our hands down their pants..." the adviser left the statement hanging.
Standing, the President walked over to an ornate model of the globe decorating a corner of the room. He gave the globe a thoughtful spin and watched the whirl of countries fly by, countries that would soon be lining up to punish America in one way or another. The globe rested with the continental US facing the President, and in that moment he felt the country looked very lonely.
"Find him. Find Waldo," growled the President. "Find him and kill him."
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|
[WP] Why is Waldo hiding?
|
The sun hits its zenith as the man behind the sniper rifle sits up for a brief sip of water. Joseph Ricketzo, known as "Joey Rickets" to his friends, had worked the New York syndicate for the better part of two decades, but he'd never had an assignment this grueling. For the last several days, he'd been camped out on a hill above the carnival grounds. They had it on good intel that Walter Hallerstom had been placed here by the feds after his trial. You'd think they would have thought of something a little less blatant than a red striped shirt and hat to disguise their star witness in. Oh well, makes the job easier, Joey reasoned to himself. Suddenly, his earpiece crackles to life, an almost child-like voice coming through.
"There he is, there he is! Next to the bumper cars!"
Joey turns his rifle to spot, and spots a glimpse of red and white fabric. He grins, "Gotcha now, Waldo." Just as his finger begins to tighten on the trigger, the glint off his scope shines in Waldo's face, who wheels around. Waldo quickly hits a button on his watch.
Then, something very, very interesting happens. The space next to Waldo begins to ripple, and the fabric of reality bends, opening in the form of a circular entrance, which Waldo quickly jumps through.
"Son of a bitch!" Joey throws down his rifle and sprints down the hill. The wormhole begins to shiver and shake, slowly closing. Just as it collapses on itself, Joey leaps forward, and through the opening.
Thud.
Joey shakes his head, clearing his senses. Around him, hundreds of Crusade knights hustle around, carrying supplies and weapons to load on massive ships sitting in the Italian harbor. Waldo is nowhere in sight. Joey stands up, and grabs a crossbow from a table next to him. He racks the bolt in place, and slings it over his shoulder.
"At least it ain't the fucking pirates this time."
He trudges off into the crowd in search of his quarry.
|
"Where's Waldo?" asked the President. It was a simple question, direct with no ambiguity, but every man and woman in a suit or dress uniform presently seated around the Situation Room table squirmed in uncomfortable silence. The leader of the free world tapped his fingers against the rich mahogany wood of the long oval table, his tapping the only sound in the room. "Let me ask you all again. Where. Is. Waldo." A firm executive hand pounded the table to emphasize each word. "Jackson, what do we know?"
Reginald Jackson was the President's national security adviser, a tough, no nonsense black man from Brooklyn with a Harvard education. Jackson cleared his throat and opened the thick file folder stamped with 'Top Secret' on every page. A grainy photograph fell out of a tall man with round glasses, wearing an outlandish red and white striped sweater and matching knitted cap. It was the last image anyone in the world had on that mysterious Waldo.
"Mister President, ladies and gentlemen of the National Security council, good afternoon," began Jackson formally, his rich baritone filling the room. "As of 0800 hours this morning, an NSA analyst walked out of the Electronic Analysis Unit in Langley with what we are estimating was over ninety terabytes of data. I don't need to remind you that the EAU is where we house the Five-Eyes program, sorting and collecting all internet and telephonic communication across the globe. Not only did this agent manage to walk right out the front door with a massive amount of highly classified data, he introduce a meme virus into our systems that has insidiously been worming its way through every government system from the NSA down to the IRS." Jackson paused and shuffled through the stack of papers in the folder. "It's quite impressive, really..."
"Regg, don't tell me you actually admire this pencil necked traitor!" snarled the President.
Jackson removed his glasses and wiped them out of habit, something he developed while teaching law school when he needed a moment to think. "Sir, I don't think you realize the scope of this virus. While the data he holds is critical yes, it is this Waldo virus that we are really amazed by. It's like nothing we've ever seen. Every piece of data about this character we've dubbed Waldo has been deleted, overwritten, or encrypted. Even his damn birth certificate got pulled and shredded based on an email order the virus generated, replaced with a new one that only says 'Waldo Waldo'. God only knows what else he has up his sleeve."
"So what did this twerp walk out with? Stevens?" The President glared at his NSA director, a weaselly looking man with a pinched nose and an ill-fitting suit.
"As far as we can tell Mister President, he captured at least several days worth of Five-Eyes collections in their raw format. We're talking emails, text messages, cables, instant messages, phone calls, everything. Literally every damn form of communication known to man in every god forsaken country, save for whispers and smoke signals. By the way, hopefully we'll be able to collect on those too next year when Six-Eyes comes online and we can start culling active cell signal sonar." The man seemed genuinely pleased about the prospect of hearing even a whisper.
"Mister President," Jackson chimed in, struggling to keep any of the disgust he felt for Stevens to himself, "I don't need to tell you that the implications of this data being released will likely be the end of your presidency, let alone NATO and every other partnership the United States has. When our allies find out how deep we've had our hands down their pants..." the adviser left the statement hanging.
Standing, the President walked over to an ornate model of the globe decorating a corner of the room. He gave the globe a thoughtful spin and watched the whirl of countries fly by, countries that would soon be lining up to punish America in one way or another. The globe rested with the continental US facing the President, and in that moment he felt the country looked very lonely.
"Find him. Find Waldo," growled the President. "Find him and kill him."
|
|
[WP] Why is Waldo hiding?
|
No one ever asked "*How's* Waldo?"
In a feeble attempt to find himself, he lost himself.
Help Waldo help himself.
Find Waldo.
|
"Goddammit Waldo."
"What?"
"What are you wearing? You look ridiculous."
Waldo adjusted his beanie and looked down at his red and white striped sweater.
"Come on man they're just blue jeans."
"Very funny. With the glasses I'd even say you look creepy."
Max began walking down the stairs.
"Are you coming? They're waiting for us at the bar."
Waldo locked his door and inspected his reflection in the windowpane for a moment. He shrugged and they began making their way down 8th Avenue.
"I really don't see what's wrong with the sweater."
"You look like a damn candy cane. For God's sake your hat even matches."
"Ella likes this outfit."
"I could pick you out in a stadium full of people, from the blimp. That's how goofy you look."
"I doubt it, tons of people have sweaters like this."
"No, they really don't. I bet I could find you anywhere in the world if you stay dressed like that."
Max tugged at Waldo's sleeve.
"And if I win I get to burn that sweater."
"And if I win?"
"I'll buy you beer for the rest of your life."
"Really?"
"Sure. But you can only hide in public places. Don't worry I'll find you. Those stripes really stand out."
"Good luck. You're on."
Max laughed as Waldo climbed into a cab.
"Say goodbye to that sweater!"
Waldo was in Panama when he realized that they had never specified how long he had to hide to win the bet.
Some say he's still hiding...
|
|
[WP] After WWIII people have finally realised that war is a human necessity. Every 50 years countries form alliances and different factions declare war to each other. Mass destruction weapons are not allowed. The winners rule the world economy.
|
"Honey, can you pass me the War section?" Walter asked without looking up from the financial pages that he was currently ensconced in.
*War section? Oh, I'll pass you the War section alright* Missy thought as she handed him the paper. "Are we winning?"
"Hmmm" Walt sighed as he turned to the scores "Seems like the Aussies took 200 from us last night in a bombing run over Lisbon. Say, wasn't the Hoffman's boy over in Lisbon?"
"No, you're thinking of Danny Thompson. He was a gunners mate or something on a boat" Missy corrected him.
"Dear, now.. a boat is something you take in a tub. Danny was on a ship. Anyway, seems like Danny might be in a little hot water. Looks like his ship was the main strike" Walter commented.
"Oh dear" Missy said "I'll have to bake Jane a cake."
"Well, anyway, that moves us down to fourth and with only three months remaining we need to really kick it in." Walter finished his coffee, folded the paper and got up to leave for work.
"Say Missy" Walter put on his sweet voice, the same voice that he used when he impregnated her back in college "I was thinking of having a few of the boys over to watch the fun. Jimmers has an inside tip that we're fire bombing Mumbai tonight and he heard ESPN is covering it live."
*fuck you* she thought, but she was raised better than that. "Of course dear. I'll make some sandwiches."
Walter kissed her cheek and swatted her ass. "Sandwiches? That sounds nice. Yes, make me some sandwiches and be a Hon and put some beer in the fridge when you get a minute." Walter put on his jacket, grabbed the Buick keys and headed out the door.
Missy stared at that door for a good 20 minutes. Then she quietly went to the basement, took a six pack of beer and placed it in the fridge.
|
It turns out that war was the only solution that provided stability and preserved freedom. As populations grew, resources became stretched, the envionment neared collapsing. Attempts at forced population control measures only triggered revolutions, and governments were forced to implement draconian control measures to contain them or be destroyed. The situation lead to widespread outbreaks of terrorism, causing further economic chaos and straining resources further. Meanwhille, while humanity dithered, the ice caps began to melt, triggering widespread population migrations and refugee crises. A solution was finally proposed in order to save the human race, and after much debate, adopted by the United Nations.
Every generation, a great war would be called to cull the population. Each nation would call for volunteers to form an army. The nations would then form factions and alliances along idealogical lines, and prepare their forces. They would be landed on the shores of Antartica, and then, at a pre-determined time, march for the South Pole. The war lasted until the worlds population had been reduced by 10%, with whichever faction controlled the pole at the time being granted control of the United Nations Security Council until the next war.
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[WP] Humanity invents interstellar travel and discovers a planet with a less developed sentient species. Something is stopping them from progressing....
|
"Coming up on the planet, sir."
"On screen."
It was a terrestrial blue planet, much like ours but different in its landmasses. No matter how many times I have come across habitable, terrestrial planets, I still can't help but feel breathless every time I see the calm, peaceful movement of a living planet as it turns slowly in space.
"Science, gimme the stats," I called out to the science officer, curious to hear what the inhabitants were like, if any.
"We see signs of civilization; inhabitants: humanoid." He paused. "Interesting captain... They have not progressed much beyond the hunter-and-gather stage of society, yet their civilization has clear evidence of being several thousand years old."
"Several thousand?" I turned to the science officer to confirm what were startling findings. He nodded silently.
Hunters and gatherers? Several thousand years old? It didn't make sense. There must have been someone or something deliberately stopping them from making progress.
"Well let's beam down there and make contact, introduce ourselves and see what the hubub's about."
We beamed down; myself, the science officer, medical and two security escorts. We made our way through the jungle and found a tribal chief surrounded by a group of maybe a dozen tribespeople, scantly clad, but calm and reserved in their movements. They sat around a roaring fire and were preparing a feast. We emerged from the leaves and made our peaceful hello.
"Hello, we come in peace," I said calmly, hands raised.
The tribespeople turned their heads and slowly stood up. The chief calmly looked us over with steady eyes. Our automatic translators were able to translate their speech.
"Do you come from space?" The chief had a large booming voice.
I looked at my companions with a smile, and responded "Why yes, yes we do."
"Good. Well, eat what you want, stay as long as you like and don't cause trouble. We have seen many of your kind before and we are aware of your travels across the stars. You must have many questions, as your people usually do. We will answer them. But come now, let's eat."
I soon came to know the chief's name, Temba, who welcomed us with arms wide into his tribe that night. We feasted and I posited my questions to Temba, which I'm sure he had answered before.
"We are able to tell that your people are over seven thousand years old." Temba nodded. The firelight splashed across his face as he chewed his share of the feast. "Yet you are a simple society; you hunt for food, you live in huts made from leaves of the trees. Why? Why don't you try to better yourselves? Why don't you push yourself and your tribe beyond the limits to find new ways of living? Better ways!" I could not control my gusto and yet did not want to; what I was saying was full of life and energy, and I wanted to convey that.
"It is simple, my space captain," Temba said with a mouthful. "Does not matter where we go, at the end of the day, you will need to eat, you will need to sleep, you will need someone to love and you'll need to piss and you'll need to shit." He lowered his leg of turkey. "We do have youths, who are curious. Who want to see space, travel the stars. And for them, we let them visit your spaceships under your guidance and if you see fit, let them join your ranks. But our culture knows a truth that many cultures and civilizations can go ages and ages without realizing."
"What is that?" I was genuinely curious.
"Peace, my captain. Life is born from peace. An equilibrium between opposing forces. When the wind blows, the trees may hustle but eventually they will rest. Our lives are filled with needs, but we find great joy in finding peace amongst them. For this, one does not need massive buildings and extraordinary inventions to achieve. We find them moment to moment. And with that, we find ourselves to be highly civilized, my dear captain." The shit-eating grin on the chief's face said it all. He was happy, anyone could see it. Everyone was.
The next day, we left, and in my mind, there was doubt. What are we doing flying around the galaxy for?
|
We exited slip-space completely blind. One of the disadvantages of post-relativistic travel was outrunning information; you can't know what's going to be waiting on the other side if you cross the river with 100 years to spare before its light would see the bank from which you began.
So we were alone, of course. Or so we thought--as the images from the sensors slowly shifted from white, to blue, to their natural state as our ship re-stabilized its orbital plane, there was an unmistakable aberration in the stellar system we'd landed. There, high above the second planet of this old red dwarf, hung an immense starship.
"Captain?" the first navigator turned to me with uneasy eyes. I was baffled. They all looked at me now, awaiting a response.
I scrutinized the ship; it was white, and resembled a space-plane but larger. Either it was terrestrial, or convergence is very strong in space travel.
"Maybe someone left after us and showed up a little earlier?" I offered. It was possible; though the quantum lattice controller had finally overcome three decades of supremely declining returns on conventional relativistic travel velocities, there was no practical reason that the QLC our ship housed was a perfect realisation of its conceptual foundation.
Our explorer spoke next: "Why are they parked above that planet? Logic indicates that no matter how rapid their QLC propagation, they would still need to enter stellar-space outside the Oort cloud of the system. If they were waiting for us, they'd wait there--that is, here. Perhaps they want to make their presence known to us without direct contact at once? Scanners indicate a distance of about 2 light days to the second planet."
"Or perhaps they've found something." I said, half facetious. Solar monitoring equipment was no where near powerful enough to guarantee any sighting this far off, and there shouldn't be a reason to jump ahead of our mission.
"We're going to have to make contact, captain, our batteries are nearly drained. We'll have to refuel at the star any-ways--no way else out."
We began long, steady flight inward.
|
|
[WP] Humanity invents interstellar travel and discovers a planet with a less developed sentient species. Something is stopping them from progressing....
|
It's a virus. No, it's not. It must be a fungus. The more active your brain is- It's a virus. I cannot think anymore, what is it? Do I call another researcher? I drank the water. I drank the water. I drank the water. I landed and I drank...? It is in my brain. The water? The virus. The fungus. Prion. What is fungus? My brain activity is killing me. Large. Small cerebrum. What is a cerebrum? What is evolve?
Cure.
Goodbye.
|
We exited slip-space completely blind. One of the disadvantages of post-relativistic travel was outrunning information; you can't know what's going to be waiting on the other side if you cross the river with 100 years to spare before its light would see the bank from which you began.
So we were alone, of course. Or so we thought--as the images from the sensors slowly shifted from white, to blue, to their natural state as our ship re-stabilized its orbital plane, there was an unmistakable aberration in the stellar system we'd landed. There, high above the second planet of this old red dwarf, hung an immense starship.
"Captain?" the first navigator turned to me with uneasy eyes. I was baffled. They all looked at me now, awaiting a response.
I scrutinized the ship; it was white, and resembled a space-plane but larger. Either it was terrestrial, or convergence is very strong in space travel.
"Maybe someone left after us and showed up a little earlier?" I offered. It was possible; though the quantum lattice controller had finally overcome three decades of supremely declining returns on conventional relativistic travel velocities, there was no practical reason that the QLC our ship housed was a perfect realisation of its conceptual foundation.
Our explorer spoke next: "Why are they parked above that planet? Logic indicates that no matter how rapid their QLC propagation, they would still need to enter stellar-space outside the Oort cloud of the system. If they were waiting for us, they'd wait there--that is, here. Perhaps they want to make their presence known to us without direct contact at once? Scanners indicate a distance of about 2 light days to the second planet."
"Or perhaps they've found something." I said, half facetious. Solar monitoring equipment was no where near powerful enough to guarantee any sighting this far off, and there shouldn't be a reason to jump ahead of our mission.
"We're going to have to make contact, captain, our batteries are nearly drained. We'll have to refuel at the star any-ways--no way else out."
We began long, steady flight inward.
|
|
[WP] Humanity invents interstellar travel and discovers a planet with a less developed sentient species. Something is stopping them from progressing....
|
-United Nations' Space Station, orbiting planet XV13-
"Sir! We've made contact!" Private Jenkins panted as he ran to bring the news to the general.
"What is it?" General Briggs boomed, "You better not be wasting my time, private!"
"We've made contact with an alien species! The big heads down on the surface of the planet— they've made contact!"
"Out with it Jenkins!" General Briggs ordered.
"They say that— that physically, they're millions of years ahead of us in evolution—" Private Jenkins coughed out. "But their technology is— It's total shit!"
"Get a hold of yourself, private! And watch your language. You're in front of the United Nations' Space Council," the general explained, as he pointed at the men and women sitting behind high-rise desks.
"YES SIR!" Private Jenkins saluted. "Apologies council, but we've just made contact with an alien species in planet designation XV13. They appear to have been living on this planet for millions of years, undisturbed—"
"Are they a threat, private?" A councilman interrupted.
"No sir, I do not think they pose any threat. We are vastly superior to them in terms of technology sir. The big heads down on the surface can't seem to understand why their technology hasn't improved over thousands of years."
"Continue private."
"The big heads say that physically, they've evolved over millions of years. They say that they're perfect physical specimens. They're able to learn vast amounts of information almost instantly... And they also seem to have no signs of illnesses, diseases, cancers... No biological ailments of any kind, sir."
"A perfect species?" a councilman remarked.
"For such an intelligent species, why do you think they haven't improved their technology after thousands of years?" a councilwoman asked.
"Beats me, ma'am. Seems like they don't care much for technology. It doesn't look like they *need* it. The big heads are recommending a full scan of the planet and more men to help establish a base of operations."
"Excuse me council, I've got a call from the planet's surface. Private Jenkins, I want you to stay here and tell them everything you know about these aliens." General Briggs walked out of the council room.
"Who am I talkin' to?" General Briggs asked over the phone.
"This is Dr. Klein of the United Nations' Science Division. We've just made contact with the aliens."
"What's the news doc?"
"We just discovered that this alien species has been evolving for millions of years. Physically, they're a perfect species. We have found no illnesses among the tribes here on the surface. The tribesman we've made contact with has also learned our language almost instantly. We still need more research, but it seems they can manipulate their bodies on the molecular level, allowing them to destroy any invading bacteria they come across, and even form new limbs of different shapes and sizes. "
"Form new limbs? Interesting... Well, I already know most of this, doc. Tell me something I don't know."
"What? But we just found— GENERAL! WHOEVER TOLD YOU ABOUT THE ALIENS— HE'S NOT ONE OF US."
EDIT: Wording/spacing.
|
We exited slip-space completely blind. One of the disadvantages of post-relativistic travel was outrunning information; you can't know what's going to be waiting on the other side if you cross the river with 100 years to spare before its light would see the bank from which you began.
So we were alone, of course. Or so we thought--as the images from the sensors slowly shifted from white, to blue, to their natural state as our ship re-stabilized its orbital plane, there was an unmistakable aberration in the stellar system we'd landed. There, high above the second planet of this old red dwarf, hung an immense starship.
"Captain?" the first navigator turned to me with uneasy eyes. I was baffled. They all looked at me now, awaiting a response.
I scrutinized the ship; it was white, and resembled a space-plane but larger. Either it was terrestrial, or convergence is very strong in space travel.
"Maybe someone left after us and showed up a little earlier?" I offered. It was possible; though the quantum lattice controller had finally overcome three decades of supremely declining returns on conventional relativistic travel velocities, there was no practical reason that the QLC our ship housed was a perfect realisation of its conceptual foundation.
Our explorer spoke next: "Why are they parked above that planet? Logic indicates that no matter how rapid their QLC propagation, they would still need to enter stellar-space outside the Oort cloud of the system. If they were waiting for us, they'd wait there--that is, here. Perhaps they want to make their presence known to us without direct contact at once? Scanners indicate a distance of about 2 light days to the second planet."
"Or perhaps they've found something." I said, half facetious. Solar monitoring equipment was no where near powerful enough to guarantee any sighting this far off, and there shouldn't be a reason to jump ahead of our mission.
"We're going to have to make contact, captain, our batteries are nearly drained. We'll have to refuel at the star any-ways--no way else out."
We began long, steady flight inward.
|
|
[WP] Humanity invents interstellar travel and discovers a planet with a less developed sentient species. Something is stopping them from progressing....
|
It's a virus. No, it's not. It must be a fungus. The more active your brain is- It's a virus. I cannot think anymore, what is it? Do I call another researcher? I drank the water. I drank the water. I drank the water. I landed and I drank...? It is in my brain. The water? The virus. The fungus. Prion. What is fungus? My brain activity is killing me. Large. Small cerebrum. What is a cerebrum? What is evolve?
Cure.
Goodbye.
|
"Coming up on the planet, sir."
"On screen."
It was a terrestrial blue planet, much like ours but different in its landmasses. No matter how many times I have come across habitable, terrestrial planets, I still can't help but feel breathless every time I see the calm, peaceful movement of a living planet as it turns slowly in space.
"Science, gimme the stats," I called out to the science officer, curious to hear what the inhabitants were like, if any.
"We see signs of civilization; inhabitants: humanoid." He paused. "Interesting captain... They have not progressed much beyond the hunter-and-gather stage of society, yet their civilization has clear evidence of being several thousand years old."
"Several thousand?" I turned to the science officer to confirm what were startling findings. He nodded silently.
Hunters and gatherers? Several thousand years old? It didn't make sense. There must have been someone or something deliberately stopping them from making progress.
"Well let's beam down there and make contact, introduce ourselves and see what the hubub's about."
We beamed down; myself, the science officer, medical and two security escorts. We made our way through the jungle and found a tribal chief surrounded by a group of maybe a dozen tribespeople, scantly clad, but calm and reserved in their movements. They sat around a roaring fire and were preparing a feast. We emerged from the leaves and made our peaceful hello.
"Hello, we come in peace," I said calmly, hands raised.
The tribespeople turned their heads and slowly stood up. The chief calmly looked us over with steady eyes. Our automatic translators were able to translate their speech.
"Do you come from space?" The chief had a large booming voice.
I looked at my companions with a smile, and responded "Why yes, yes we do."
"Good. Well, eat what you want, stay as long as you like and don't cause trouble. We have seen many of your kind before and we are aware of your travels across the stars. You must have many questions, as your people usually do. We will answer them. But come now, let's eat."
I soon came to know the chief's name, Temba, who welcomed us with arms wide into his tribe that night. We feasted and I posited my questions to Temba, which I'm sure he had answered before.
"We are able to tell that your people are over seven thousand years old." Temba nodded. The firelight splashed across his face as he chewed his share of the feast. "Yet you are a simple society; you hunt for food, you live in huts made from leaves of the trees. Why? Why don't you try to better yourselves? Why don't you push yourself and your tribe beyond the limits to find new ways of living? Better ways!" I could not control my gusto and yet did not want to; what I was saying was full of life and energy, and I wanted to convey that.
"It is simple, my space captain," Temba said with a mouthful. "Does not matter where we go, at the end of the day, you will need to eat, you will need to sleep, you will need someone to love and you'll need to piss and you'll need to shit." He lowered his leg of turkey. "We do have youths, who are curious. Who want to see space, travel the stars. And for them, we let them visit your spaceships under your guidance and if you see fit, let them join your ranks. But our culture knows a truth that many cultures and civilizations can go ages and ages without realizing."
"What is that?" I was genuinely curious.
"Peace, my captain. Life is born from peace. An equilibrium between opposing forces. When the wind blows, the trees may hustle but eventually they will rest. Our lives are filled with needs, but we find great joy in finding peace amongst them. For this, one does not need massive buildings and extraordinary inventions to achieve. We find them moment to moment. And with that, we find ourselves to be highly civilized, my dear captain." The shit-eating grin on the chief's face said it all. He was happy, anyone could see it. Everyone was.
The next day, we left, and in my mind, there was doubt. What are we doing flying around the galaxy for?
|
|
[WP] Humanity invents interstellar travel and discovers a planet with a less developed sentient species. Something is stopping them from progressing....
|
It's a virus. No, it's not. It must be a fungus. The more active your brain is- It's a virus. I cannot think anymore, what is it? Do I call another researcher? I drank the water. I drank the water. I drank the water. I landed and I drank...? It is in my brain. The water? The virus. The fungus. Prion. What is fungus? My brain activity is killing me. Large. Small cerebrum. What is a cerebrum? What is evolve?
Cure.
Goodbye.
|
"Sir! The satellite reached the orbit. It is in the right speed and according to our calculations, it should remain there" Lady Bogora, the iron lady of science brightened as she smiled enthusiastically "We have done it!"
"Inform the media, history is being written. We need to get the word out." The president ordered.
The headline ended and the article spoke mostly about the reasons why space exploration is important.
It was written three months ago. Mere three months and since then so many things have happened. Really early on life was found on the planet of Osmos. Previously, there were talks about water maybe being there. Scans showed biological activity all over the planet. It was blooming with life.
The satellite had a second part. A research bot. It dropped on the planet around the time more satellites arrived. People really wanted to know more about this hidden gem in our system.
Maybe they shouldn't have.
On the third week on the planet, the bot encountered a cave system. It was deep and dark, but there were tracks of civilization inside. Paintings on the walls, torch holders imbued or rusting on the ground, simple tools lying around. But that was the weird part. Why would there be tools just lying around without somebody there? Were they scared and ran away? Or did they not care about any tools anymore? People had more questions. Their lust for answers drove them too far.
After long debates, they forced the bot to continue further in. Eventually, it discovered corpses. Lots and lots of corpses. Canine beings with opposed thumbs on their front legs. Their heads larger but softer. Their bodies in a stage of rot. Many of them were obviously murdered and dragged onto the pile. Scientists realized quickly something was wrong. They made the bot run away, but it was too late. It has been spotted. By them. They followed the bot. They found one of the satellites and traced its signal back to us. We didn't know. If we did, we would prepare. We would set up defenses.
We would not try to get the bot back home.
Since it landed, things have gone awry. One of them was attached on the satellite. We found him almost instantly. We don't know how he survived the landing, but he didn't survive our weapons.
Or so we thought. After that, I don't have much information on what happened. Electronics started acting up. Signals stopped working occasionally. It even made us stand and fight against each other. Not everything was bad though. My team was stationed around a lab dissecting the corpse. Its body was bright yellow blob and it absorbed energy from waves in the air. Even though it was dead, the body was still pulsing.
One day I would have sworn everything was going to be all right. A guy got a brilliant idea and managed to connect to the pulse rate of the being. He used it as a signal. The thing was connected to others. They knew where it was. They knew of us. They were there on Osmos and they were coming here.
Later that day, the thing exploded in a full room of people. After that it was dead. The scientists called it "The Sun". I called it a bastard.
Only three of my boys are alive today. One of them will die when the night comes. We boarded their ship. They didn't know we were there. Not at first. One of the survived scientists cracked their language. To a degree. We found out what they were doing on Osmos. And everywhere else. They were making sure nothing living could come and kill them. Bunch of bastards. One of my boys asked why they never came to earth. We couldn't answer. Maybe they didn't notice us. Maybe they thought we were too dumb to survive even on our own.
Yellow blobs. They are very strange. They don't have any internal structure. Or an external one. More of them can join and form larger, stronger blobs. Or get shot up and divided, forming smaller ones. Nearly invulnerable.
They don't like cold. They prefer to stay in sunlight. They 'grow' in sunlight. They absorb the Sun's energy and use it for various tasks. Like exploding. That one is the dirtiest, right after changing colours. Nothing like green blob falling on your head when you are in the shower.
Today our mission is nearing its end. We managed to hide out of their sights. Now we will notify them. With a blast of ice. They did help earth, to be honest. Due to their constant absorption of energy, they made earth cooler. They killed bunch of people as well. Enough to make them think we all died.
For now, only few thousands of us are here. We will get more.
We built the base under a sea. That one got found. Another was under a mountain. They were there as well. The third time...we made sure they weren't with us. We first built only a chamber. A freezer. Its wonderful how low temperatures the human body can survive. If we don't count the losses on lives anyway. It was a high price, but it worked. With a small team, we moved south. As south is it gets. Then we dug under the ground. Few operations later and now we have remote controlled freeze generators across the globe.
The button is at my fingertips. My fingers hold that which shall cleanse. And kill. There are setup bases for the survivors. If there will be any. But most of all, we need to expel the bastards. Send them through freezing hells. Hopefully, it will work.
I press the button.
|
|
[WP] Humanity invents interstellar travel and discovers a planet with a less developed sentient species. Something is stopping them from progressing....
|
-United Nations' Space Station, orbiting planet XV13-
"Sir! We've made contact!" Private Jenkins panted as he ran to bring the news to the general.
"What is it?" General Briggs boomed, "You better not be wasting my time, private!"
"We've made contact with an alien species! The big heads down on the surface of the planet— they've made contact!"
"Out with it Jenkins!" General Briggs ordered.
"They say that— that physically, they're millions of years ahead of us in evolution—" Private Jenkins coughed out. "But their technology is— It's total shit!"
"Get a hold of yourself, private! And watch your language. You're in front of the United Nations' Space Council," the general explained, as he pointed at the men and women sitting behind high-rise desks.
"YES SIR!" Private Jenkins saluted. "Apologies council, but we've just made contact with an alien species in planet designation XV13. They appear to have been living on this planet for millions of years, undisturbed—"
"Are they a threat, private?" A councilman interrupted.
"No sir, I do not think they pose any threat. We are vastly superior to them in terms of technology sir. The big heads down on the surface can't seem to understand why their technology hasn't improved over thousands of years."
"Continue private."
"The big heads say that physically, they've evolved over millions of years. They say that they're perfect physical specimens. They're able to learn vast amounts of information almost instantly... And they also seem to have no signs of illnesses, diseases, cancers... No biological ailments of any kind, sir."
"A perfect species?" a councilman remarked.
"For such an intelligent species, why do you think they haven't improved their technology after thousands of years?" a councilwoman asked.
"Beats me, ma'am. Seems like they don't care much for technology. It doesn't look like they *need* it. The big heads are recommending a full scan of the planet and more men to help establish a base of operations."
"Excuse me council, I've got a call from the planet's surface. Private Jenkins, I want you to stay here and tell them everything you know about these aliens." General Briggs walked out of the council room.
"Who am I talkin' to?" General Briggs asked over the phone.
"This is Dr. Klein of the United Nations' Science Division. We've just made contact with the aliens."
"What's the news doc?"
"We just discovered that this alien species has been evolving for millions of years. Physically, they're a perfect species. We have found no illnesses among the tribes here on the surface. The tribesman we've made contact with has also learned our language almost instantly. We still need more research, but it seems they can manipulate their bodies on the molecular level, allowing them to destroy any invading bacteria they come across, and even form new limbs of different shapes and sizes. "
"Form new limbs? Interesting... Well, I already know most of this, doc. Tell me something I don't know."
"What? But we just found— GENERAL! WHOEVER TOLD YOU ABOUT THE ALIENS— HE'S NOT ONE OF US."
EDIT: Wording/spacing.
|
"Sir! The satellite reached the orbit. It is in the right speed and according to our calculations, it should remain there" Lady Bogora, the iron lady of science brightened as she smiled enthusiastically "We have done it!"
"Inform the media, history is being written. We need to get the word out." The president ordered.
The headline ended and the article spoke mostly about the reasons why space exploration is important.
It was written three months ago. Mere three months and since then so many things have happened. Really early on life was found on the planet of Osmos. Previously, there were talks about water maybe being there. Scans showed biological activity all over the planet. It was blooming with life.
The satellite had a second part. A research bot. It dropped on the planet around the time more satellites arrived. People really wanted to know more about this hidden gem in our system.
Maybe they shouldn't have.
On the third week on the planet, the bot encountered a cave system. It was deep and dark, but there were tracks of civilization inside. Paintings on the walls, torch holders imbued or rusting on the ground, simple tools lying around. But that was the weird part. Why would there be tools just lying around without somebody there? Were they scared and ran away? Or did they not care about any tools anymore? People had more questions. Their lust for answers drove them too far.
After long debates, they forced the bot to continue further in. Eventually, it discovered corpses. Lots and lots of corpses. Canine beings with opposed thumbs on their front legs. Their heads larger but softer. Their bodies in a stage of rot. Many of them were obviously murdered and dragged onto the pile. Scientists realized quickly something was wrong. They made the bot run away, but it was too late. It has been spotted. By them. They followed the bot. They found one of the satellites and traced its signal back to us. We didn't know. If we did, we would prepare. We would set up defenses.
We would not try to get the bot back home.
Since it landed, things have gone awry. One of them was attached on the satellite. We found him almost instantly. We don't know how he survived the landing, but he didn't survive our weapons.
Or so we thought. After that, I don't have much information on what happened. Electronics started acting up. Signals stopped working occasionally. It even made us stand and fight against each other. Not everything was bad though. My team was stationed around a lab dissecting the corpse. Its body was bright yellow blob and it absorbed energy from waves in the air. Even though it was dead, the body was still pulsing.
One day I would have sworn everything was going to be all right. A guy got a brilliant idea and managed to connect to the pulse rate of the being. He used it as a signal. The thing was connected to others. They knew where it was. They knew of us. They were there on Osmos and they were coming here.
Later that day, the thing exploded in a full room of people. After that it was dead. The scientists called it "The Sun". I called it a bastard.
Only three of my boys are alive today. One of them will die when the night comes. We boarded their ship. They didn't know we were there. Not at first. One of the survived scientists cracked their language. To a degree. We found out what they were doing on Osmos. And everywhere else. They were making sure nothing living could come and kill them. Bunch of bastards. One of my boys asked why they never came to earth. We couldn't answer. Maybe they didn't notice us. Maybe they thought we were too dumb to survive even on our own.
Yellow blobs. They are very strange. They don't have any internal structure. Or an external one. More of them can join and form larger, stronger blobs. Or get shot up and divided, forming smaller ones. Nearly invulnerable.
They don't like cold. They prefer to stay in sunlight. They 'grow' in sunlight. They absorb the Sun's energy and use it for various tasks. Like exploding. That one is the dirtiest, right after changing colours. Nothing like green blob falling on your head when you are in the shower.
Today our mission is nearing its end. We managed to hide out of their sights. Now we will notify them. With a blast of ice. They did help earth, to be honest. Due to their constant absorption of energy, they made earth cooler. They killed bunch of people as well. Enough to make them think we all died.
For now, only few thousands of us are here. We will get more.
We built the base under a sea. That one got found. Another was under a mountain. They were there as well. The third time...we made sure they weren't with us. We first built only a chamber. A freezer. Its wonderful how low temperatures the human body can survive. If we don't count the losses on lives anyway. It was a high price, but it worked. With a small team, we moved south. As south is it gets. Then we dug under the ground. Few operations later and now we have remote controlled freeze generators across the globe.
The button is at my fingertips. My fingers hold that which shall cleanse. And kill. There are setup bases for the survivors. If there will be any. But most of all, we need to expel the bastards. Send them through freezing hells. Hopefully, it will work.
I press the button.
|
|
[WP] Humanity invents interstellar travel and discovers a planet with a less developed sentient species. Something is stopping them from progressing....
|
-United Nations' Space Station, orbiting planet XV13-
"Sir! We've made contact!" Private Jenkins panted as he ran to bring the news to the general.
"What is it?" General Briggs boomed, "You better not be wasting my time, private!"
"We've made contact with an alien species! The big heads down on the surface of the planet— they've made contact!"
"Out with it Jenkins!" General Briggs ordered.
"They say that— that physically, they're millions of years ahead of us in evolution—" Private Jenkins coughed out. "But their technology is— It's total shit!"
"Get a hold of yourself, private! And watch your language. You're in front of the United Nations' Space Council," the general explained, as he pointed at the men and women sitting behind high-rise desks.
"YES SIR!" Private Jenkins saluted. "Apologies council, but we've just made contact with an alien species in planet designation XV13. They appear to have been living on this planet for millions of years, undisturbed—"
"Are they a threat, private?" A councilman interrupted.
"No sir, I do not think they pose any threat. We are vastly superior to them in terms of technology sir. The big heads down on the surface can't seem to understand why their technology hasn't improved over thousands of years."
"Continue private."
"The big heads say that physically, they've evolved over millions of years. They say that they're perfect physical specimens. They're able to learn vast amounts of information almost instantly... And they also seem to have no signs of illnesses, diseases, cancers... No biological ailments of any kind, sir."
"A perfect species?" a councilman remarked.
"For such an intelligent species, why do you think they haven't improved their technology after thousands of years?" a councilwoman asked.
"Beats me, ma'am. Seems like they don't care much for technology. It doesn't look like they *need* it. The big heads are recommending a full scan of the planet and more men to help establish a base of operations."
"Excuse me council, I've got a call from the planet's surface. Private Jenkins, I want you to stay here and tell them everything you know about these aliens." General Briggs walked out of the council room.
"Who am I talkin' to?" General Briggs asked over the phone.
"This is Dr. Klein of the United Nations' Science Division. We've just made contact with the aliens."
"What's the news doc?"
"We just discovered that this alien species has been evolving for millions of years. Physically, they're a perfect species. We have found no illnesses among the tribes here on the surface. The tribesman we've made contact with has also learned our language almost instantly. We still need more research, but it seems they can manipulate their bodies on the molecular level, allowing them to destroy any invading bacteria they come across, and even form new limbs of different shapes and sizes. "
"Form new limbs? Interesting... Well, I already know most of this, doc. Tell me something I don't know."
"What? But we just found— GENERAL! WHOEVER TOLD YOU ABOUT THE ALIENS— HE'S NOT ONE OF US."
EDIT: Wording/spacing.
|
"What do you mean they don't have a religion," Pastor Reynolds asked suddenly. The general gave him a smug look and chuckled. "The natives don't worship anything, not the Planet, not either of their suns, and certainly not some bearded man in the sky," He was enjoying it more than he should but the look on the pastor's face was too good not to enjoy. "They haven't developed enough to form any type of religious sect' it's kept them very isolated." The general said no longer containing the smile he had halfheartedly tried to hide. "Well i guess i'll have to change that then," The pastor said with an abrupt determination that shocked the general out of his bliss. "Well here's the thing Reynolds, i kind of already broke the news to them about God." The pastor looked surprised at first and then very confused. "I let them know that a God does indeed exist," The general said as he sunk his knife into the old clergyman's heart, "And his name is General Riggs."
|
|
[WP] "The thing most people don't know about me," said the President of the United States, "is that I slept my way to the top."
|
There is a good reason no one had ever seen the President's real bedroom.
One man, the only one he could trust with this kind of secret--he could know. He was ready. First, a phone call--
"Johnson?" The President of the United States of America asked, gravelly voice quiet, like it would cheat the tap on his phone line.
"Yes?"
"I need you in my office."
And with that, he hung up--the less they knew, the better. Maybe his phone wasn't tapped, he didn't know. He hadn't slept with the head of the CIA yet. No way to know for sure.
Johnson opened the door a crack, straightening his tie as he peeked inside. "Mr. President?"
"You're supposed to knock, Johnson."
"I--sorry, sir."
"Johnson, come a little closer."
Johnson blinked, and edged towards him. The president wasn't a very imposing man. Five foot seven on a good day with a hearty breakfast. Thin, failing eyesight, but impeccably dressed, and an incredibly sharp mind that leaked out through his eyeballs.
The president's eyes never left him.
"You know me. You know me more than anyone else in this entire building."
"Yes, sir."
The president leaned forward.
"Surely you've heard me say that sleep is for the weak. That a second spent with eyes closed is a second wasted."
"Yes, sir. I've heard that."
The president stood, taking slow steps around his desk. He was shorter than Johnson by a good margin, yet Johnson never felt so small.
"What if I told you I solved that? You see, during my first senate term, I began sleeping more. Eight hours instead of five or six. Did that strike you as odd, Johnson?"
"Um...yes--no, sir, it--"
"Doesn't matter. The important thing is this: the one thing most people don't know about me," said the President of the United States with a flat mouth and solid eyes--"is that I slept my way to the top."
Johnson pulled a face. For half a second, but it was a face.
"You think I had sex."
"Um--"
The president broke into a grin. "Well, I did that too--but that's not what I mean. Come with me. I have something important to show you."
He led Johnson down the hall outside of the Oval Office, to a little closet, only used by maids and on occasion, Johnson himself.
"What's in here?" he asked, as soon as the President closed the door behind them.
"In here," the President said, "is the future."
Behind a mop bucket was a tiny lever--no longer than a thumb knuckle. He flicked it, and the back wall slid silently away.
A light clicked on in the distance.
"After you," the President said, giving Johnson a light push.
They walked--Johnson stumbled, but the President most definitely walked--down the new hall, a space that Johnson had never thought possible in the White House.
Johnson stopped at the end.
The room contained nothing but a bed and machines. A helmet, monitors, all kinds of gently flashing a beeping machinery that he couldn't make heads or tails of.
It looked somewhat like a hospital ward.
"This is how I made it, Johnson. It's been in different places over the years, but this is it. How I slept to the top. See, I can lucid dream on command. And this--to put it simply--lets me make *other* people lucid dream. The way I want them to."
"Mind...control?"
The President smiled. "Something like that."
Johnson began to feel very sick. It wasn't a nauseous feeling--it was a kind of sickness of the head, like a world falling out of place. Like too many things becoming irrelevant too fast.
"I...need to sit down."
"Take your time," the President said. "After all, there's always nighttime for my work."
|
"I admit it," Obama said as he saw the shocked audience. "I am a narcoleptic. I sometimes doze off randomly in the middle of..."
The sound of snoring could be heard as the president's head began to slump before a member of the Secret Service quickly ran over and caught Obama before he hit the ground. "Don't worry," the agent said. "This happens all the time. Sure, we had to threaten Putin to stop him exposing this."
|
|
[WP] "The thing most people don't know about me," said the President of the United States, "is that I slept my way to the top."
|
There is a good reason no one had ever seen the President's real bedroom.
One man, the only one he could trust with this kind of secret--he could know. He was ready. First, a phone call--
"Johnson?" The President of the United States of America asked, gravelly voice quiet, like it would cheat the tap on his phone line.
"Yes?"
"I need you in my office."
And with that, he hung up--the less they knew, the better. Maybe his phone wasn't tapped, he didn't know. He hadn't slept with the head of the CIA yet. No way to know for sure.
Johnson opened the door a crack, straightening his tie as he peeked inside. "Mr. President?"
"You're supposed to knock, Johnson."
"I--sorry, sir."
"Johnson, come a little closer."
Johnson blinked, and edged towards him. The president wasn't a very imposing man. Five foot seven on a good day with a hearty breakfast. Thin, failing eyesight, but impeccably dressed, and an incredibly sharp mind that leaked out through his eyeballs.
The president's eyes never left him.
"You know me. You know me more than anyone else in this entire building."
"Yes, sir."
The president leaned forward.
"Surely you've heard me say that sleep is for the weak. That a second spent with eyes closed is a second wasted."
"Yes, sir. I've heard that."
The president stood, taking slow steps around his desk. He was shorter than Johnson by a good margin, yet Johnson never felt so small.
"What if I told you I solved that? You see, during my first senate term, I began sleeping more. Eight hours instead of five or six. Did that strike you as odd, Johnson?"
"Um...yes--no, sir, it--"
"Doesn't matter. The important thing is this: the one thing most people don't know about me," said the President of the United States with a flat mouth and solid eyes--"is that I slept my way to the top."
Johnson pulled a face. For half a second, but it was a face.
"You think I had sex."
"Um--"
The president broke into a grin. "Well, I did that too--but that's not what I mean. Come with me. I have something important to show you."
He led Johnson down the hall outside of the Oval Office, to a little closet, only used by maids and on occasion, Johnson himself.
"What's in here?" he asked, as soon as the President closed the door behind them.
"In here," the President said, "is the future."
Behind a mop bucket was a tiny lever--no longer than a thumb knuckle. He flicked it, and the back wall slid silently away.
A light clicked on in the distance.
"After you," the President said, giving Johnson a light push.
They walked--Johnson stumbled, but the President most definitely walked--down the new hall, a space that Johnson had never thought possible in the White House.
Johnson stopped at the end.
The room contained nothing but a bed and machines. A helmet, monitors, all kinds of gently flashing a beeping machinery that he couldn't make heads or tails of.
It looked somewhat like a hospital ward.
"This is how I made it, Johnson. It's been in different places over the years, but this is it. How I slept to the top. See, I can lucid dream on command. And this--to put it simply--lets me make *other* people lucid dream. The way I want them to."
"Mind...control?"
The President smiled. "Something like that."
Johnson began to feel very sick. It wasn't a nauseous feeling--it was a kind of sickness of the head, like a world falling out of place. Like too many things becoming irrelevant too fast.
"I...need to sit down."
"Take your time," the President said. "After all, there's always nighttime for my work."
|
"I know many of you have raised questions about my education." The newly elected President stated. This was one of his first press conferences since his election and the Presidents somewhat unusual behavior and shady past "Many have questioned how someone with little to no education, who dropped out of college, was able to make such well thought out policy decisions. Wll my friends, time to tell you all the truth." "The thing most people don't know about me," said the President of the United States, "is that I slept my way to the top."
There was a murmur of shock throughout the room. Cameras clicked and journalists frantically scribbled in their notebooks. News of the President using sex to reach his position would be the story of the decade. But why would the president up and confess when there had been no accusations against him previously?
The president said nothing until one brave reporter in the front row raised his hand.
The President pointed at him.
"Mr. President, who exactly did you sleep with to reach this position?"
"No one of course." The President replied. "There was only room for one in the pod."
The confusion in the room increased dramatically.
"Um... What pod, Mr. President?" the reporter asked.
"The Dormant Education, Enhancement and Programming sleep pod, or DEEP sleep pod for short of course." The president stated matter-of-factly. "Fantastic technology too, I've really learned a lot from it."
The President gazed around the room at the shocked and confused faces.
"Well you see, I was first put into the pod by the EEEOOOOWWWWW!!!!!!"
A secret service agent had casually walked up to the President and tazed him. The President slumped to the floor. Two more agents picked him up and started carrying him out the door. The first agent replaced his taser in his pocket and took the podium.
"This press conference is over as the President needs some rest. Obviously a full investigation to the incident will be conducted shortly. Thank you and uh... God Bless America."
He then walked away from the podium leaving the reporters in profound confusion.
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[WP] "The thing most people don't know about me," said the President of the United States, "is that I slept my way to the top."
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"The thing most people don't know about me," said President George W. Bush, "is that I slept my way to the top."
"I was asleep during the first election, was sleep-inaugurated I reckon. Heck, I didn't even wake up that first year until Dicky nudged me with his boot and told me I had to go tell a goat story to a bunch of little kids. And look how bad THAT day turned out. After that I resigned to sleep as much as possible."
He yawns. "I figure if it ain't broke, don't fix it, and America, you ain't not broken. But if reelected I promise I'll put the same amount of work in in the next five years as I did in the first. I'll work for this country '24x7': 24 hours a week, seven weeks a year. God bless America. Amen."
|
"I know many of you have raised questions about my education." The newly elected President stated. This was one of his first press conferences since his election and the Presidents somewhat unusual behavior and shady past "Many have questioned how someone with little to no education, who dropped out of college, was able to make such well thought out policy decisions. Wll my friends, time to tell you all the truth." "The thing most people don't know about me," said the President of the United States, "is that I slept my way to the top."
There was a murmur of shock throughout the room. Cameras clicked and journalists frantically scribbled in their notebooks. News of the President using sex to reach his position would be the story of the decade. But why would the president up and confess when there had been no accusations against him previously?
The president said nothing until one brave reporter in the front row raised his hand.
The President pointed at him.
"Mr. President, who exactly did you sleep with to reach this position?"
"No one of course." The President replied. "There was only room for one in the pod."
The confusion in the room increased dramatically.
"Um... What pod, Mr. President?" the reporter asked.
"The Dormant Education, Enhancement and Programming sleep pod, or DEEP sleep pod for short of course." The president stated matter-of-factly. "Fantastic technology too, I've really learned a lot from it."
The President gazed around the room at the shocked and confused faces.
"Well you see, I was first put into the pod by the EEEOOOOWWWWW!!!!!!"
A secret service agent had casually walked up to the President and tazed him. The President slumped to the floor. Two more agents picked him up and started carrying him out the door. The first agent replaced his taser in his pocket and took the podium.
"This press conference is over as the President needs some rest. Obviously a full investigation to the incident will be conducted shortly. Thank you and uh... God Bless America."
He then walked away from the podium leaving the reporters in profound confusion.
|
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[WP] "The thing most people don't know about me," said the President of the United States, "is that I slept my way to the top."
|
"The thing most people don't know about me," said President George W. Bush, "is that I slept my way to the top."
"I was asleep during the first election, was sleep-inaugurated I reckon. Heck, I didn't even wake up that first year until Dicky nudged me with his boot and told me I had to go tell a goat story to a bunch of little kids. And look how bad THAT day turned out. After that I resigned to sleep as much as possible."
He yawns. "I figure if it ain't broke, don't fix it, and America, you ain't not broken. But if reelected I promise I'll put the same amount of work in in the next five years as I did in the first. I'll work for this country '24x7': 24 hours a week, seven weeks a year. God bless America. Amen."
|
"The thing most people don't know about me," said the President of the United States, "is that I slept my way to the top."
Standing at her desk with a plastered smile as she prepared her speech for the presidential dinner, Hillary crumpled as she looked at Nancy's eyes rolling as she listened on the couch.
"Yeah, I don't think we should go with that," Nancy said quietly. "For one, most people do know and two we should stay away from any sexual connotations."
"Well, how else am I supposed to introduce the bastard!"
"How about, here's my husband former president..."
Hillary shook, "I don't want to acknowledge that!"
"That he was president or..."
"That he's my husband. When the divorce goes through I don't want it on record that I said that."
Grudgingly nancy flipped through the papers on her lap looking for her timeline schedule. "I still think we should wait until the second term to go through with it. People don't really want to vote for a divorcee, except... well, Reagan, but no one's done it in office before."
"Well," Hillary said as she sat down, "we've been through a lot of firsts."
Concerned Nancy replied as she walked up: "I just don't want your term to have a lot of lasts."
"Where on that schedule are you going to tell them about our first." Hillary said softly.
Nancy reached over and caressed her chin, "When they're ready, we'll tell them about us, and your abortion."
The film stopped and the stern pasty old man's face returned as he flipped on the lights in the south florida classroom. The old man in a red and blue suit stood in front of the classroom and with a booming voice added: "This is why you shouldn't vote for Hillary Clinton in the next election. She does not support family values. Marco Rubio does and you should tell your parents to vote for him."
A little girl in the back asked, "Sir why are you showing this to us, doesn't it impede on several regulatory..."
The frame skipped forward. This as where it gets... eugh... informative and very fake. James skipped to a white screen with an infographic about banned books and a voiceover interrupted: "...lies in the classroom, the privatization of prisons, why would you vote for Marco Rubio?"
Pausing the youtube video James clicked closed "Hilary Clinton's Lesbian Affair" and sighed. Political advertisements were just getting too meta, and even the internet wasn't safe.
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[WP] "The thing most people don't know about me," said the President of the United States, "is that I slept my way to the top."
|
“The thing most people don’t know about me,” Obama said, “is that I slept my way to the top.” He glanced over at Hillary and winked.
“I’m not so sure now is the best time,” Hillary said, pressing her palm to her forehead.
“Like hell it isn’t,” Obama said, taking a sip from the brown-bagged bottle in front of him. “Now is the best god damn time for this discussion.” He turned back toward the rows of seats in front of him. “I don’t understand how people don’t realize it. The Presidency is basically a slutty popularity contest. You should have seen the things Bush did for power. I will now open the floor to questions.”
The room remained silent, save for the occasional click of a camera’s shutter. A small, thin hand slowly rose into the air.
“Yes, you,” Obama said with a hiccup. “Speak.”
A small boy, no older than ten, stood up. He was wearing a poor-fitting, black suit, the jacket at least a size too big.
“Hello, Mr. President,” said the boy. “My name is Timmy, I am in third grade. What is your favorite sport?”
“Are hookers a sport?” Obama said, tipping back the brown-bagged bottle into his mouth. “If so, hookers. If not, then still hookers. Next question.”
“Mr. President,” Hillary muttered, taking a step closer to him. She was now just about teen feet away.
Another thin, young hand slowly rose up.
“You, with the hand,” Obama said.
“Hello,” said a young girl. She wore a loose, red-and-white blouse, her hair tied tightly back in a ponytail. “My name is Sarah, I’m a fourth grader. I play the flute. Do you like to play any instruments?”
“That question sucks,” Obama said, slamming the brown bag against the pulpit. “Next question.”
“Barack,” Hillary whispered. “You’re in a god damn elementary school. For once, can you please behave yourself?”
“I am behaving myself,” Obama said, ending the sentence with an inexplicably vulgar hiccup. “Next damn question.”
A third thin, tiny hand rose into the air.
“Didn’t I already call on you? Or was that a different hand? You people all look the same,” Obama said, pausing. “And that isn’t racist,” he added. “You’ve all got hands.”
“No, sir,” said a small boy. He, too, wore an over-sized suit, but his a beige color. “I haven’t asked anything yet.”
“You sure haven’t,” Obama said. “Next question.”
“But I didn’t say my question,” the child said.
“Too late,” Obama said.
“Answer his question,” Hillary snarled.
“Fine, what’s your stupid question,” Obama said, taking another sip from the bag.
“My name is Mark, I am in fifth grade. I wanted to know what you meant by ‘sleeping your way to the top.’”
“Finally,” Obama said, placing the bag down on the pulpit. “A good damn question. How familiar are you with sex?”
“Mr. President,” Hillary shouted. “For the love of god!”
“Get off it, Hillary,” Obama said. “These kids are—how old are you, Mack?”
“Ten,” Mark said. “And my name is Mark.”
“These kids are ten years old already, Hilary. Marco over here wants to know what I meant. I can’t just ignore his question.”
Hillary returned her palm to her face.
“Anyway, Martin, for the sake of this answer, I am going to assume you not too familiar with what sex is. Let’s just go ahead and say it’s when a man sticks his willy in a woman’s wolly. Please note the ‘i’ in ‘willy’ and the ‘o’ and ‘wolly.’ There is imagery associated with them. So, to answer your question, I used my willy strategically to climb the political ladder. In fact, every single president since John Adams did this. You should hear what Bush did.”
“What did Bush do?” said a tiny voice from the audience.
“Another good question,” Obama continued. He picked up the brown bag and tilted it back, lifting it until it was almost vertical. “Do any of you know what a Mississippi Flashbulb is?”
“No,” said a different, high-pitched voice.
“Really?” Obama said. “How about the Alaskan Turnstile?”
“Nope,” said another voice.
“Michigan Steam Engine with Toast and Bacon?”
“Yes,” squeaked several voices.
“Good,” Obama said. “He basically did that for six days straight with anyone who so much as looked his way, straight from the floor of the senate. I had to wear rain boots every time I walked by for a week. Next question.”
“I think we’re done here,” Hilary said, walking over to the microphone and pushing it away from Obama’s mouth. “What the hell are you doing? You promised you’d behave, this is your last public appearance as President.”
“I’m teaching these kids the truth,” Obama said, trying to pull the microphone back toward his face.
“You’re drunk, you need to stop,” Hillary said. “Even if you can’t get impeached, you can still get sued.”
“No, you’re drunk,” Obama said with a hiccup. He grabbed the microphone. “Kids, I’m not leaving. I want to explain to you the importance of getting into drugs at an early age. Also, don’t trust the government. I’m pretty sure it’s being run by lizard people.”
“Barack!” Hilary shouted, pulling the microphone away again, her wrist knocking into the brown bag. It toppled over, landing on its side with a loud clink. “I know you aren’t up for re-election, but you can’t just go around revealing all these government secrets to preteens. You’re also making me look bad, remember who has to replace you. I didn't sleep around for nothing.”
“God fucking dammit,” Obama said, pausing and pulling the microphone back toward his mouth. “God fucking dammit,” he repeated, this time directly into the microphone. He glanced down at the toppled bag, liquid now pooling beneath it, then down at the crowd. Rows of children, each wearing their finest outfits, stared back at him, eyes wide and mouths agape. “She spilled my liquor,” he said. “I’m out this bitch.”
Obama grabbed the microphone out of its stand, took a step back, and dropped it on the floor. He then folded the fingers on his right hand into a "peace" sign before turning and walking off stage.
The crowd of children erupted into tremendous applause.
|
"The thing most people don't know about me," said the President of the United States, "is that I slept my way to the top."
Standing at her desk with a plastered smile as she prepared her speech for the presidential dinner, Hillary crumpled as she looked at Nancy's eyes rolling as she listened on the couch.
"Yeah, I don't think we should go with that," Nancy said quietly. "For one, most people do know and two we should stay away from any sexual connotations."
"Well, how else am I supposed to introduce the bastard!"
"How about, here's my husband former president..."
Hillary shook, "I don't want to acknowledge that!"
"That he was president or..."
"That he's my husband. When the divorce goes through I don't want it on record that I said that."
Grudgingly nancy flipped through the papers on her lap looking for her timeline schedule. "I still think we should wait until the second term to go through with it. People don't really want to vote for a divorcee, except... well, Reagan, but no one's done it in office before."
"Well," Hillary said as she sat down, "we've been through a lot of firsts."
Concerned Nancy replied as she walked up: "I just don't want your term to have a lot of lasts."
"Where on that schedule are you going to tell them about our first." Hillary said softly.
Nancy reached over and caressed her chin, "When they're ready, we'll tell them about us, and your abortion."
The film stopped and the stern pasty old man's face returned as he flipped on the lights in the south florida classroom. The old man in a red and blue suit stood in front of the classroom and with a booming voice added: "This is why you shouldn't vote for Hillary Clinton in the next election. She does not support family values. Marco Rubio does and you should tell your parents to vote for him."
A little girl in the back asked, "Sir why are you showing this to us, doesn't it impede on several regulatory..."
The frame skipped forward. This as where it gets... eugh... informative and very fake. James skipped to a white screen with an infographic about banned books and a voiceover interrupted: "...lies in the classroom, the privatization of prisons, why would you vote for Marco Rubio?"
Pausing the youtube video James clicked closed "Hilary Clinton's Lesbian Affair" and sighed. Political advertisements were just getting too meta, and even the internet wasn't safe.
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[WP] Your dad suddenly left and never came back, the only thing he left was a wooden box... with something extraordinary in it.
|
**Part One**
My father was a businessman.
Actually he was a collector, but he never liked to call what he did collecting. As part of his job, he would travel to some unknown destination for weeks on end.
During these times, I came to notice that my mother wasn't quite herself. When I was young, I'd sometimes slip out of bed and creep downstairs. The first few times I did this, my mom would see me and carry me back to bed. Eventually, I figured out that I could hide and observe my mom, something that comforted me for some reason.
From the bottom of the stairs, I would hide and sneak glances into the living room where my mom was. The TV would be on, usually muted so I could sleep — oops — and she would be on the couch. However, my mom wouldn't be watching. Curling up, she usually grasped a pillow like it was the only thing keeping her alive. Her cheeks would usually be wet from tears. After watching her for ten minutes or so, I'd eventually make my way back to bed.
When my father would come home, though, she would fill with elation and they would embrace. Holding each other so tight that I sometimes expected them to never let go. When he let go, my father's attention would eventually turn to me. With a big smile, he'd hug me with a similar intensity. He always so ecstatic to see us. What would happen next is the reason I refer to him as a collector.
He'd set me down — shivers running up my spine as my feet met chilly stone-tiled floor — and place his leather briefcase on the hall table; I remember it being engraved with his initials, FTF; Frederick Thomas Falconer, a name we shared. There were two locks on the suitcase and four-number combinations were required for each, followed by the use of two separate keys.
The locks would click as they relinquished their hold on the lid which he would then carefully lift. Always awaiting him at the top of the case was his gift for me: a book.
Actually, there were two books. One was for me and one was for him. His books were typically large and bound in brown or black leather; he would take these into his bedroom and I'd never see them again. I didn't care about those books.
The books for me were not your everyday books; they were in and of themselves works of art. Carefully bound, some would be wrapped in cloth, some in vinyl. And occasionally a leather one would make an appearance.
The colors would vary, but each was spectacular in nature. There were radiant reds, beautiful blues, gorgeous greens, and pulchritudinous purples. Each time my father would delicately remove it with two hands and bequeath it to me. And every time, I would receive the same set of instructions followed by a question.
"Freddy, this book is being placed under your care; it is your responsibility to watch over it. Do you accept this duty?" He always asked that with such formality; it was like a game.
"Yes!" I'd excitedly yell in return.
The first few times I received these gifts, I'd tuck the volume under my arm and sprint to the couch to open it. One day, though, I dropped it in the rush. The book was fine, but my father walked over to me and picked it up with a stern face.
"You *must* treat this book with the utmost care; nothing shall ever happen to it. Do you understand?" His eyes would stared into mine with a calm gravity behind them. My eyes looking down, I slowly nodded my head. He handed me the book, and I firmly held it with both hands. Slowly, I escorted the book to the coffee table. After that day, I would always handle the books this way.
Softly, I would place the book down and open the cover. I was met with a series of creaks that signified a book untravelled. The lengths were different with every book: some 20 pages long and others 100.
Opening the books for the first time, I would turn the pages — mostly made from parchment, occasionally a fabric — with utmost care, tracing each picture with my fingers, getting lost in them without reading.
Illustrations were common in my books, each edition differing in style. Some done only in ink, with long, intricate strokes. Some done with vibrant water-colors. And other done in simple sketches with pencils. No illustrations were the same. One thing was common with every book, though: the theme. All of them concerned fairytales. The myths would come from different cultures — English, Irish, German, Chinese, Russian, etc. — but they all were filled with magic and fantastical creatures.
With every first look at these books, I would avoid reading. That act was reserved for my father.
The original reading of each book was done by him at bedtime. He would take on voices for each new character and creature; hissing for dragons, cackling for witches, using a clumsy bass for the trolls. I'd get lost as my protector led me through those journeys, calming when I would hide under the sheets in fear. He did this until I was twelve years old.
Then he left.
He was on one of his usual trips, a few days in, when my mother received a phone call. Watching TV, I didn't think much of it until my mother's hand covered her mouth and she fell into one of the kitchen chairs in shock. She thanked whoever had called, hung up, and burst into tears. She then informed me that my father wouldn't be returning home and we hugged for hours, the tops of our shirts soaking in each others' tears.
Despite the countless questions, my mother never told me what had happened to my father, and I stopped asking around the time I turned 16. The imagination that he had fostered came up with wild explanations. He was an undercover agent, shot by a spy. He was a superhero who had to go into hiding. He was a time-traveler who got caught in the Middle Ages. But I knew that he'd likely died in a car accident or something boring like that.
The rainbow of books took up an entire case made up of six rows, each three feet long. Every so often, I would pull one out and catch up on my fairytales, but I eventually grew out of that and the books collected dust.
The last time I saw my father was six years ago. Today I turned 18.
I woke up to a wooden box at the foot of my bed, likely placed there by my mother. A perfect cube with each side a foot in length, the box was made of beautiful mahogany, but it was worn with small scratches here and there. A bronze clasp held the box closed. Sidling down to end of the bed, I placed my fingers along its edges.
It perplexed me, but that wasn't going to stop me from opening it. The clasp rattled as I pop it open, and the box squeaked as I lifted the top. Inside was a key and an aged-yellow, folded note. I pulled out the note and opened it; it was a latter.
>*Dear, son,*
>*I hope the day never comes when you receive this letter, but if you're reading this it obviously has.*
>*If your mother has followed the instructions I gave her the day you were born, then today is your 18th birthday. Happy birthday; I wish I was there to celebrate with you. Today you officially become an adult in more ways than one.*
>*It is time you know why I disappeared from your life. I don't know the exact reasoning, but it likely has to do with my profession. I won't delve into what that is. There is always a chance that this letter is stolen or accidentally read by someone else, which would put you and your mother at risk. I will say this; the books I always brought you were given to you with a specific purpose.*
>*At the local library, on the top floor, there is a bookcase at the back. This part of the library is rarely ever visited. Take the key inside of this box and go there. Pull the book entitled "An Essential History." What you need to do next should be self-explanatory.*
>*Your life is about to change entirely, son. Just do me a favor and don't tell your mother about this.*
>*I love you,*
>*Dad*
>*P.S. Remember your name.*
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My father left when I was twenty one, and he was forty seven. I was the last one out of the house, not including him; my two sisters having done their college thing and married. If it surprised my mother that my father left her after nearly thirty years of rock-solid marriage, she didn't show it. She gathered us at Louise's house (my oldest sister) and matter-of-factly told us that Dad had moved to Dubai for work and we wouldn't see him again, not as part of the family. We got a text from him later that week, just after we'd started to come out of our individual states of shock and started wondering aloud if she'd murdered him; it didn't seem likely, but neither did the anchor of our younger existence suddenly exiting stage left.
The text was infuriating. *Goodbye kids, I have every faith in you. I love you. Dad.* Louise got very quiet after that, and wouldn't discuss it without a lot of wheedling. I think she hated him for the confusion he'd wrought. Our mother was, if anything, even more of a trigger for our hurt… she was, at least, accessible, but no more helpful. *He's gone*, she'd say, *be glad he was here.* It was like some weird death analogy. Neave, who was their middle child, moved back home for a while 'to keep mom company'. Mom let her stay a week and then shoo'd her out again, and she got nowhere during that week as far as I knew.
I was busy with college, and could not find a way, over the phone, to make her tell me what was going on. Calls to Dad went unanswered. Conversations between my sisters and I would trail off into vague 'maybe this, maybe that' scenarios, or end on decisive 'we'll make her tell us at Christmas' notes. Then Christmas rolled around and our mother announced she was going to Argentina to stay with her friends Lucy and Max for two months. I could use the house, of course, and hold Christmas there if I wanted to. Louise and Neave both decided to do Christmas at their own homes, and so it was that I found myself drifting, in a peculiar state of nostalgic numbness, through our family home on Christmas day, trying and failing, for about the millionth time, to plausibly explain what had happened to my father. I was on 'CIA agent' and weaving a pretty involved back-story.
We'd each gotten a card from him. A phone call between us that morning had ascertained this. I hadn't opened mine yet… I was already in a strange enough head-space, and wishing I'd taken up Neave's offer to have her toddlers crawl all over me for a week and a half.
I was holding the unopened envelope in one hand and a generous glass of my Dad's favourite whisky in the other when I wandered down into the basement. I thought I might find some of my old things down here, since my room had been pared down to guest-room status. Instead, I found it had been completely cleared of all it's former junk and storage, and a small folding table stood in the centre of the room, with a box on it.
The hair on my arms began to prickle.
I told myself it was just a box. Neutral, neither benign nor threatening. A box in the basement wasn't so weird, presentation aside. Maybe I'd ignore it and go back upstairs and see if my stuff was in the attic. I was already moving towards it while I was telling myself this. Maybe I should phone Neave? I glanced at my watch. Almost eleven. She'd be exhausted after Christmas day with the kids, probably already in bed. Louise's *I-don't-care* stance, would take more effort to break through than I was prepared to give right now.
I opened the box.
It was relief to see a pile of photographs… some were polaroid style, others, further back, seemed more up to date; they were stacked in a bundle, in reverse chronological order, and I was already smiling as I took them out because I recognised our family.
Well. Wait.
No, I didn't. I took a good long look at the top photo, then a good long look at my diminished glass of whisky and tried to calculate if one could be responsible for the other.
In the top photo, a family smiled back at me from under the magnolia tree in our back yard; myself, both sisters, both parents and another little boy. The little boy had a brace around his back, and his leg, but was looking cheerful enough. Mom's hand was ruffling his hair, and the mop of it had become almost a halo as the camera caught the shot. He looked about five, and very much like part of us, but I'd never seen him before. In the picture I was eight, perhaps, and wearing a sling around my arm. I looked less cheerful, slightly dazed, in fact. I recognised my put-on smile, the one I resorted to when distressed but determined to put on a good front.
My issue with the photo was not that there was a strange little boy in it, or that I could not remember ever breaking or badly injuring my arm, but that my father was missing a leg. He sat at the side of the frame, rather than behind us, in a clunky pre-eighty's wheelchair, with Neave's arms around his neck, hugging him close. There were livid scars on her chin, jaw and neck that even the polaroid quality photo couldn't diffuse. This family… *this* family, had been in an accident. A bad one. There were another couple of pictures from the same day; I got the idea that this was Louise's fifteenth or sixteenth birthday. She hovered at the back looking brave, looking lost, looking *I-don't-care.* This was *us*, and yet it was not. My arms were not the only thing prickling now; my entire body had goose-bumps.
I shifted these photos to one side. There were a couple that, had I not seen the first group, I might have mistaken for our own lives - Louise and Mom at a park, me chasing Neave around a lake, my arm apparently healed enough to torment my sisters. Then another 'family' photo. This one much subdued. It looked like Grandpa's place, before it was sold. Neave and Louise sitting on the ground with the little boy between them, his back and neck braced this time. Neave's scars were better, but still visible despite the hair she had grown out. Mom looked thinner and much sadder, kneeling next to them. I had taken up the hovering-at-the-back spot, and my smile looked weak.
Dad wasn't in it. Maybe he was taking it. But I didn't think so.
Tears were rolling down my face now, and I sat on the floor in front of the table, with the stack of photos, flipping through the lives of this version of my family. Mom disappeared. Louise, at far too young an age, seemed to have taken over the care of the little boy, who adopted a wheelchair (Dad's?), and lost the brace. He no longer looked like the tot that had graced the first picture with cheerfulness, although there was something of my put-on smile in his. There were some shots of me with Grandma, looking bleak and shut down. There was a school-shot of Neave, self-conscious enough to have started covering the scars, with dates on the back. Two dates. Birth and death. I gulped whisky and cried for her.
To my surprise, Mom reappeared in some of the photos. She looked ill, but was obviously making an effort. Louise stood shoulder-to-shoulder with her, and I sat next to the little boy's wheelchair; this one was in the front yard. We were back together, for a very small selection of photos.
Further back through the pile, and now Mom was gone forever. You could tell by the time between pictures; it was always Mom who made us get photos taken. Now Louise seemed to have bullied me into frame, next to our younger brother who didn't exist. I might have been seventeen. She looked hard, stubborn. I looked petulant. Our brother looked like the saddest kid in existence.
I disappeared. Off to uni? Hard to imagine how. My parents had both worked hard to send us. Medical bills, lack of support, was I the sort of kid who made an effort on his own behalf under those circumstances? I worried that I was not. The idea that I could have let the memory of my parents down, and not been a help to Louise with that broken kid, ate at me. Then again, perhaps I'd lost the petulance and lived up to their promise. Perhaps. I wondered if I was going mad. None of this had happened. I was doing fine. Just fine.
The last photo was hard to take. It was our brother, aged about nineteen. He was in a hospital bed, with ventilator tubes and other things sticking out of him. He seemed conscious, looking at the photographer. Who had chronicled that moment? Me? Louise? Why were neither of us next to him?
I stood up, shaking. I put the photos carefully back in the box, realising as I did so that I'd piled them on top of the envelope with Dad's card in it. I relinquished my grip on the whisky glass, and opened the seal.
*"We figured you'd find the box first. Neave next, okay? We love you. You'll be fine."* Mom's handwriting, not Dad's. I wiped my eyes, and tucked the box under my arm. Neave and Louise would both need to see these. When they did they would understand where our parents had gone, that Mom wasn't in Argentina, nor Dad in Dubai; why they had waited until we were all okay here, and that they were needed… somewhere else.
As for everything else that left for us to try to understand, at least we had a reason, and that's all any of us had been waiting for.
|
|
[WP] Your dad suddenly left and never came back, the only thing he left was a wooden box... with something extraordinary in it.
|
**Part One**
My father was a businessman.
Actually he was a collector, but he never liked to call what he did collecting. As part of his job, he would travel to some unknown destination for weeks on end.
During these times, I came to notice that my mother wasn't quite herself. When I was young, I'd sometimes slip out of bed and creep downstairs. The first few times I did this, my mom would see me and carry me back to bed. Eventually, I figured out that I could hide and observe my mom, something that comforted me for some reason.
From the bottom of the stairs, I would hide and sneak glances into the living room where my mom was. The TV would be on, usually muted so I could sleep — oops — and she would be on the couch. However, my mom wouldn't be watching. Curling up, she usually grasped a pillow like it was the only thing keeping her alive. Her cheeks would usually be wet from tears. After watching her for ten minutes or so, I'd eventually make my way back to bed.
When my father would come home, though, she would fill with elation and they would embrace. Holding each other so tight that I sometimes expected them to never let go. When he let go, my father's attention would eventually turn to me. With a big smile, he'd hug me with a similar intensity. He always so ecstatic to see us. What would happen next is the reason I refer to him as a collector.
He'd set me down — shivers running up my spine as my feet met chilly stone-tiled floor — and place his leather briefcase on the hall table; I remember it being engraved with his initials, FTF; Frederick Thomas Falconer, a name we shared. There were two locks on the suitcase and four-number combinations were required for each, followed by the use of two separate keys.
The locks would click as they relinquished their hold on the lid which he would then carefully lift. Always awaiting him at the top of the case was his gift for me: a book.
Actually, there were two books. One was for me and one was for him. His books were typically large and bound in brown or black leather; he would take these into his bedroom and I'd never see them again. I didn't care about those books.
The books for me were not your everyday books; they were in and of themselves works of art. Carefully bound, some would be wrapped in cloth, some in vinyl. And occasionally a leather one would make an appearance.
The colors would vary, but each was spectacular in nature. There were radiant reds, beautiful blues, gorgeous greens, and pulchritudinous purples. Each time my father would delicately remove it with two hands and bequeath it to me. And every time, I would receive the same set of instructions followed by a question.
"Freddy, this book is being placed under your care; it is your responsibility to watch over it. Do you accept this duty?" He always asked that with such formality; it was like a game.
"Yes!" I'd excitedly yell in return.
The first few times I received these gifts, I'd tuck the volume under my arm and sprint to the couch to open it. One day, though, I dropped it in the rush. The book was fine, but my father walked over to me and picked it up with a stern face.
"You *must* treat this book with the utmost care; nothing shall ever happen to it. Do you understand?" His eyes would stared into mine with a calm gravity behind them. My eyes looking down, I slowly nodded my head. He handed me the book, and I firmly held it with both hands. Slowly, I escorted the book to the coffee table. After that day, I would always handle the books this way.
Softly, I would place the book down and open the cover. I was met with a series of creaks that signified a book untravelled. The lengths were different with every book: some 20 pages long and others 100.
Opening the books for the first time, I would turn the pages — mostly made from parchment, occasionally a fabric — with utmost care, tracing each picture with my fingers, getting lost in them without reading.
Illustrations were common in my books, each edition differing in style. Some done only in ink, with long, intricate strokes. Some done with vibrant water-colors. And other done in simple sketches with pencils. No illustrations were the same. One thing was common with every book, though: the theme. All of them concerned fairytales. The myths would come from different cultures — English, Irish, German, Chinese, Russian, etc. — but they all were filled with magic and fantastical creatures.
With every first look at these books, I would avoid reading. That act was reserved for my father.
The original reading of each book was done by him at bedtime. He would take on voices for each new character and creature; hissing for dragons, cackling for witches, using a clumsy bass for the trolls. I'd get lost as my protector led me through those journeys, calming when I would hide under the sheets in fear. He did this until I was twelve years old.
Then he left.
He was on one of his usual trips, a few days in, when my mother received a phone call. Watching TV, I didn't think much of it until my mother's hand covered her mouth and she fell into one of the kitchen chairs in shock. She thanked whoever had called, hung up, and burst into tears. She then informed me that my father wouldn't be returning home and we hugged for hours, the tops of our shirts soaking in each others' tears.
Despite the countless questions, my mother never told me what had happened to my father, and I stopped asking around the time I turned 16. The imagination that he had fostered came up with wild explanations. He was an undercover agent, shot by a spy. He was a superhero who had to go into hiding. He was a time-traveler who got caught in the Middle Ages. But I knew that he'd likely died in a car accident or something boring like that.
The rainbow of books took up an entire case made up of six rows, each three feet long. Every so often, I would pull one out and catch up on my fairytales, but I eventually grew out of that and the books collected dust.
The last time I saw my father was six years ago. Today I turned 18.
I woke up to a wooden box at the foot of my bed, likely placed there by my mother. A perfect cube with each side a foot in length, the box was made of beautiful mahogany, but it was worn with small scratches here and there. A bronze clasp held the box closed. Sidling down to end of the bed, I placed my fingers along its edges.
It perplexed me, but that wasn't going to stop me from opening it. The clasp rattled as I pop it open, and the box squeaked as I lifted the top. Inside was a key and an aged-yellow, folded note. I pulled out the note and opened it; it was a latter.
>*Dear, son,*
>*I hope the day never comes when you receive this letter, but if you're reading this it obviously has.*
>*If your mother has followed the instructions I gave her the day you were born, then today is your 18th birthday. Happy birthday; I wish I was there to celebrate with you. Today you officially become an adult in more ways than one.*
>*It is time you know why I disappeared from your life. I don't know the exact reasoning, but it likely has to do with my profession. I won't delve into what that is. There is always a chance that this letter is stolen or accidentally read by someone else, which would put you and your mother at risk. I will say this; the books I always brought you were given to you with a specific purpose.*
>*At the local library, on the top floor, there is a bookcase at the back. This part of the library is rarely ever visited. Take the key inside of this box and go there. Pull the book entitled "An Essential History." What you need to do next should be self-explanatory.*
>*Your life is about to change entirely, son. Just do me a favor and don't tell your mother about this.*
>*I love you,*
>*Dad*
>*P.S. Remember your name.*
|
I don't remember my father, I don't remember his face, or his arms holding me as I was a child.
I don't remember him feeding me.
I don't remember him leaving on my first day of school.
I don't remember him leaving me nothing but a wooden box.
I don't remember him teaching me to shave.
I don't remember him helping me when I was bullied at school.
I don't remember him showing me the world.
I don't remember him helping me through the heartache of my first break-up.
I don't remember him helping me to rent my first flat.
I don't remember him on my wedding day.
I don't remember him being there to hold his grandson.
I don't remember him being there for his wife's funeral.
I don't remember opening the box because I didn't.
Because I don't need him.
|
|
[WP] Your dad suddenly left and never came back, the only thing he left was a wooden box... with something extraordinary in it.
|
**Part One**
My father was a businessman.
Actually he was a collector, but he never liked to call what he did collecting. As part of his job, he would travel to some unknown destination for weeks on end.
During these times, I came to notice that my mother wasn't quite herself. When I was young, I'd sometimes slip out of bed and creep downstairs. The first few times I did this, my mom would see me and carry me back to bed. Eventually, I figured out that I could hide and observe my mom, something that comforted me for some reason.
From the bottom of the stairs, I would hide and sneak glances into the living room where my mom was. The TV would be on, usually muted so I could sleep — oops — and she would be on the couch. However, my mom wouldn't be watching. Curling up, she usually grasped a pillow like it was the only thing keeping her alive. Her cheeks would usually be wet from tears. After watching her for ten minutes or so, I'd eventually make my way back to bed.
When my father would come home, though, she would fill with elation and they would embrace. Holding each other so tight that I sometimes expected them to never let go. When he let go, my father's attention would eventually turn to me. With a big smile, he'd hug me with a similar intensity. He always so ecstatic to see us. What would happen next is the reason I refer to him as a collector.
He'd set me down — shivers running up my spine as my feet met chilly stone-tiled floor — and place his leather briefcase on the hall table; I remember it being engraved with his initials, FTF; Frederick Thomas Falconer, a name we shared. There were two locks on the suitcase and four-number combinations were required for each, followed by the use of two separate keys.
The locks would click as they relinquished their hold on the lid which he would then carefully lift. Always awaiting him at the top of the case was his gift for me: a book.
Actually, there were two books. One was for me and one was for him. His books were typically large and bound in brown or black leather; he would take these into his bedroom and I'd never see them again. I didn't care about those books.
The books for me were not your everyday books; they were in and of themselves works of art. Carefully bound, some would be wrapped in cloth, some in vinyl. And occasionally a leather one would make an appearance.
The colors would vary, but each was spectacular in nature. There were radiant reds, beautiful blues, gorgeous greens, and pulchritudinous purples. Each time my father would delicately remove it with two hands and bequeath it to me. And every time, I would receive the same set of instructions followed by a question.
"Freddy, this book is being placed under your care; it is your responsibility to watch over it. Do you accept this duty?" He always asked that with such formality; it was like a game.
"Yes!" I'd excitedly yell in return.
The first few times I received these gifts, I'd tuck the volume under my arm and sprint to the couch to open it. One day, though, I dropped it in the rush. The book was fine, but my father walked over to me and picked it up with a stern face.
"You *must* treat this book with the utmost care; nothing shall ever happen to it. Do you understand?" His eyes would stared into mine with a calm gravity behind them. My eyes looking down, I slowly nodded my head. He handed me the book, and I firmly held it with both hands. Slowly, I escorted the book to the coffee table. After that day, I would always handle the books this way.
Softly, I would place the book down and open the cover. I was met with a series of creaks that signified a book untravelled. The lengths were different with every book: some 20 pages long and others 100.
Opening the books for the first time, I would turn the pages — mostly made from parchment, occasionally a fabric — with utmost care, tracing each picture with my fingers, getting lost in them without reading.
Illustrations were common in my books, each edition differing in style. Some done only in ink, with long, intricate strokes. Some done with vibrant water-colors. And other done in simple sketches with pencils. No illustrations were the same. One thing was common with every book, though: the theme. All of them concerned fairytales. The myths would come from different cultures — English, Irish, German, Chinese, Russian, etc. — but they all were filled with magic and fantastical creatures.
With every first look at these books, I would avoid reading. That act was reserved for my father.
The original reading of each book was done by him at bedtime. He would take on voices for each new character and creature; hissing for dragons, cackling for witches, using a clumsy bass for the trolls. I'd get lost as my protector led me through those journeys, calming when I would hide under the sheets in fear. He did this until I was twelve years old.
Then he left.
He was on one of his usual trips, a few days in, when my mother received a phone call. Watching TV, I didn't think much of it until my mother's hand covered her mouth and she fell into one of the kitchen chairs in shock. She thanked whoever had called, hung up, and burst into tears. She then informed me that my father wouldn't be returning home and we hugged for hours, the tops of our shirts soaking in each others' tears.
Despite the countless questions, my mother never told me what had happened to my father, and I stopped asking around the time I turned 16. The imagination that he had fostered came up with wild explanations. He was an undercover agent, shot by a spy. He was a superhero who had to go into hiding. He was a time-traveler who got caught in the Middle Ages. But I knew that he'd likely died in a car accident or something boring like that.
The rainbow of books took up an entire case made up of six rows, each three feet long. Every so often, I would pull one out and catch up on my fairytales, but I eventually grew out of that and the books collected dust.
The last time I saw my father was six years ago. Today I turned 18.
I woke up to a wooden box at the foot of my bed, likely placed there by my mother. A perfect cube with each side a foot in length, the box was made of beautiful mahogany, but it was worn with small scratches here and there. A bronze clasp held the box closed. Sidling down to end of the bed, I placed my fingers along its edges.
It perplexed me, but that wasn't going to stop me from opening it. The clasp rattled as I pop it open, and the box squeaked as I lifted the top. Inside was a key and an aged-yellow, folded note. I pulled out the note and opened it; it was a latter.
>*Dear, son,*
>*I hope the day never comes when you receive this letter, but if you're reading this it obviously has.*
>*If your mother has followed the instructions I gave her the day you were born, then today is your 18th birthday. Happy birthday; I wish I was there to celebrate with you. Today you officially become an adult in more ways than one.*
>*It is time you know why I disappeared from your life. I don't know the exact reasoning, but it likely has to do with my profession. I won't delve into what that is. There is always a chance that this letter is stolen or accidentally read by someone else, which would put you and your mother at risk. I will say this; the books I always brought you were given to you with a specific purpose.*
>*At the local library, on the top floor, there is a bookcase at the back. This part of the library is rarely ever visited. Take the key inside of this box and go there. Pull the book entitled "An Essential History." What you need to do next should be self-explanatory.*
>*Your life is about to change entirely, son. Just do me a favor and don't tell your mother about this.*
>*I love you,*
>*Dad*
>*P.S. Remember your name.*
|
One morning Dad went to the store,
Ten years have passed, I miss him more.
He kissed my as he headed out,
"Be good kiddo - see you scout."
He never sent a birthday card,
Something in my soul is scarred,
And all I have is a wooden box,
It stays shut, though it has no locks.
Inside I store my memories of him.
Its empty but full to the brim,
Of things I wish we'd done, or said
But now those wishes are all dead.
He left us on a cold September day,
He left and took the sun away,
I haven't seen it come back yet.
I wonder if he feels regret.
|
|
[WP] When you die, the amount of good and bad deeds you have committed is calculated and you are placed respectively in heaven and hell. Unfortunately for you, you have committed an equal amount of good and bad deeds and have caused quite a bit of trouble amongst the gate keepers.
|
EDIT: Sorry, didn't notice the prompt specified first person.
--------
"What do you mean they're equal? Weigh them again!"
"I've weighed them five times boss. Definitely equal."
The angel manning the scales of judgment had called his supervisor after taking the first four measurements. This, he decided, was beyond his limited expertise. His supervisor was looking increasingly frustrated, and after a few minutes he turned his frustration to Steve.
"Are you fucking taking the piss mate? I've been at work since five in the fucking morning and you come and drop this shit on my plate right before lunch?"
Taken aback by the angel's rather specific use of language, Steve barely managed to stammer out a response.
"Ex-excuse me?" This choice of words only seemed to compound the supervisor's anger.
"No mate!" He exclaimed, "I will not fucking excuse you. Do you not realise what's going on? You're totally fucking neutral! An equal amount of good and bad! This is un-fucking-precedented you prick!"
"Surely, " Steve began, "that's better than being bad."
"Maybe to the big guy. Maybe to God, he's the one that owns the place, I just fucking work here. Do you have any idea how much time I'm going to have to spend altering the fucking regulations? I don't mind bad people, I know what to do with them. Drop them in the fucking pit! Now I'm going to have to rewrite the entire fucking rulebook due to a once in an eternity event because you had to go through life acting like fucking Switzerland!"
"So what happens to me now?"
"Haven't you heard what I've been saying mate? I don't fucking know! Nobody fucking knows!"
At this point the angel manning the scales spoke up.
"How about boss, we just toss a coin?"
"Good job Nigel, I knew there was a reason we hired you." The frustration seemed to lift from his face. "Okay mate, we're gonna toss a coin. Heads you go up, tails you go down."
Steve hadn't even had time to protest before the coin was flicked in the air. His fate, heaven or hell, was now a fifty-fifty chance. He held his breath and watched as the coin landed, on its edge, on the desk.
"Jesus fucking Christ," blasphemed the supervisor. "This fucking day."
|
Awake!
I had always imagined the waiting room after death would be blindingly white, or at least bright white in color. Alas, this waiting room seemed more like the one at the Planned Parenthood clinic on 5th and Broadway. Featuring dingy carpets, stained walls, a creaky fan and a sour old woman reading a 14 year old issue of Home & Garden, this facility was almost a sure indication that I was in Hell.
I was about to start panicking when my name was called from a distant voice beyond the heavy wooden door. I was pleased to note that I couldn’t tell if it was a male or female voice – it had a sort of otherworldly cadence to it that justified the incredibly mundane 5 minutes I had already experienced in the afterlife. When I opened the door, I proceeded down another hallway where I was met with a scowling old man who didn’t look up from the clipboard he was studying.
“Mr. Weber?” he asked in a voice that was perfectly distinct and male.
“Um, yes, that’s me.” I wondered where the angelic voice had come from.
“We have a small discrepancy with your ATSC.” He finally looked up at me to reveal bright blue eyes – a little too blue to be natural. They looked strange set in his wrinkly old face.
“What’s my ATSC?” I asked, a twinge of worry in my voice. Discrepancies in purgatory are never good.
“Your All Time Sin Count. It seems you have committed an equal amount of good deeds and bad deeds. We haven’t seen this since 11 BC.”
He proceeded to tell me that I had two options. One: I could stay in purgatory forever (they even offered me a job as a Data Entry Specialist!), or two: I could go back to earth for one day and do as much good as possible in hopes of tipping the balance. Of course, I chose the second option – but not without asking what kind of benefits the data entry position came with.
“Before I go, can I ask you something?” The old man perked up – he wasn’t used to questions.
“By all means,” his scowl lightened somewhat.
“Why is this place so…well…normal?”
He actually cracked a smile, as he took off his glasses and started wiping them with what appeared to be a mythril cloth he procured from his pocket.
“What did you expect? This place is designed to be as comfortably boring as possible – we decided to model it after the waiting rooms you humans use for your doctor’s visits and such. It’s brilliantly mundane. The place has its glitches though,” he said while looking around as his scowl returned. “The budget for this place has dropped to almost nothing. Hence this.”
He pointed at his eyeballs, indicating that they were of an unnatural blue color.
“My human suit is over 15 years old, and the eyeballs were the first to wear out. Also look at this,”
He rolled up his sleeve to reveal an arm that was beautiful and muscular, much too perfectly sculpted to belong to the dour old man standing before me. It glowed gold with what looked like ancient runes of some sort. Now this was the kind of thing I had expected in the afterlife.
“Also, my voice gives out from time to time. It happened when I called you in here.”
I felt bad for him. Here was a man who was dedicated to his job, but nobody seemed to care. It seemed that the administrative sector of heaven needed an overhaul. Maybe they were holding elections soon. Either way I resolved to do something about it.
So, I went back to Earth and bought a little girl an ice cream cone. I was instantly transported back to the waiting room where I met with the old man, whose name was Haladrial (he went by Hal), and was cleared for access to heaven. Before I ascended the pearly white escalator, I turned to Hal and let him know I was going to petition for more money for purgatory. I wanted things to go well for Hal, as I felt some sort of strange connection with him.
“I’ll get you enough money for a new human suit Hal! I promise!”
And as the escalator took me up and away, I had just enough time to see a small glistening tear form in the corner of Hal’s brilliant blue eye.
|
|
[WP] When you die, the amount of good and bad deeds you have committed is calculated and you are placed respectively in heaven and hell. Unfortunately for you, you have committed an equal amount of good and bad deeds and have caused quite a bit of trouble amongst the gate keepers.
|
EDIT: Sorry, didn't notice the prompt specified first person.
--------
"What do you mean they're equal? Weigh them again!"
"I've weighed them five times boss. Definitely equal."
The angel manning the scales of judgment had called his supervisor after taking the first four measurements. This, he decided, was beyond his limited expertise. His supervisor was looking increasingly frustrated, and after a few minutes he turned his frustration to Steve.
"Are you fucking taking the piss mate? I've been at work since five in the fucking morning and you come and drop this shit on my plate right before lunch?"
Taken aback by the angel's rather specific use of language, Steve barely managed to stammer out a response.
"Ex-excuse me?" This choice of words only seemed to compound the supervisor's anger.
"No mate!" He exclaimed, "I will not fucking excuse you. Do you not realise what's going on? You're totally fucking neutral! An equal amount of good and bad! This is un-fucking-precedented you prick!"
"Surely, " Steve began, "that's better than being bad."
"Maybe to the big guy. Maybe to God, he's the one that owns the place, I just fucking work here. Do you have any idea how much time I'm going to have to spend altering the fucking regulations? I don't mind bad people, I know what to do with them. Drop them in the fucking pit! Now I'm going to have to rewrite the entire fucking rulebook due to a once in an eternity event because you had to go through life acting like fucking Switzerland!"
"So what happens to me now?"
"Haven't you heard what I've been saying mate? I don't fucking know! Nobody fucking knows!"
At this point the angel manning the scales spoke up.
"How about boss, we just toss a coin?"
"Good job Nigel, I knew there was a reason we hired you." The frustration seemed to lift from his face. "Okay mate, we're gonna toss a coin. Heads you go up, tails you go down."
Steve hadn't even had time to protest before the coin was flicked in the air. His fate, heaven or hell, was now a fifty-fifty chance. He held his breath and watched as the coin landed, on its edge, on the desk.
"Jesus fucking Christ," blasphemed the supervisor. "This fucking day."
|
The Process, believe it or not, took a while. You’d have a detailed look at the Petitioner’s life, deeds and intentions all. You’d spend a while arguing about their motivations - were they really ignorant, or malicious? Were they trying their best, or just not caring about the consequences? And so on, and so on. Both sides had a vested interest in the Petitioner ending up on their side of the moonlight, but at the same time, neither really wanted ones that wouldn’t really fit in. It was bad for morale.
And so, the Process was agreed upon. Sometimes it was simple. Sometimes… not so much. Maybe Upstairs didn’t really want the guy who gave to charity, helped the poor, loved his wife and died in prison for reasons the media liked to foam at the mouth about. Other times, they argued that yes, what she did was murder, but have you seen the other guy? When the lot Below threw him a welcome party, you could hear the screams on the far side of Creation.
And so, the Process went on. Slowly but surely, always Fairly, always getting there in the end.
Almost always.
It started innocently enough. Another excorporation, another Petitioner, another Process. Then the committee retreated for deliberations. Then an Archon got a call. He got in. He got out. He came back with his superior. Some time later, his superior went in to see what the big deal is about. He didn’t leave for a long while. A Lord stopped by, then another. They sent for their best accountants. Those called for their colleagues.
Employees were running around. Comparing notes. Whispering. Rumors spread like wildfire. Like Deluge 2.0. On fire. Never before was there a Petitioner so perfectly positioned in the balance atop the moonlight.
In a tiny, cramped, infinitely large room Employees debated. One of Below’s best accountants sat in the middle of a circle of acolytes, going through the numbers again. An Overlord and a Dominion were seated either side of a small wooden table, conversing in quiet murmurs. They’ve taken off their robes of office; if you knew what to look for, you could almost tell which one was which. Between them was the latest sheet of paper, listing maybe a dozen reasons this Petitioner shouldn’t be in their respective realm. One of them picked up a quill to cross one out, joining the few hundred already discarded. The other one frowned and nodded. The discussion continued.
In one corner of the room stood a broom, a dustpan, and a little conical pile of ash. Nobody commented on the poor new guy who made the mistake of suggesting they bring this up to the Man. You never bothered the Man with trivialities, no matter how untrivial. But now and then, an Employee or another would glance over, and privately admit it was starting to sound like a reasonable idea.
Time passed on. Employees came and went. Ideas were brought up and shot down. Avenues of inquiry only reaffirmed the situation. Every time a solution was leaning even slightly into favor, somebody else would bring up the implications. If we consider this, we have no right to disregard this, it’s only Fair. And the others would frown and nod. It’s only Fair. They all wanted this over with, but not at the cost of being unFair. That’d be Wrong.
“You know…” begun one of the Lords from Below, the heads and tired, empty eyes of his peers and rivals turning towards him. “There’s always Solomon.”
Employees looked at one another. “Solomon?”, a few mouthed. Finally, one of them asked it out loud. The Lord nodded lightly, then reached under the table, producing a terrible beast of orange and metal. Along its flat front, somebody crossed out most of STIHL and spray-painted SOLOMON.
The folks from Upstairs opened their mouths to protest. Not one, however, had quite the strength to say anything. The Lord looked around them, shrugged, and pulled the ripcord.
The beast roared to life. In a distant waiting room, a Petitioner sneezed. It was, after all, Fair.
---
_-120 | [more](/r/vonBoomslang)_
|
|
[WP] Every night, as long as you have lived there, a man stands under the streetlight outside your window and leaves in cab 302. One night the man does not come. Instead there is a letter addressed to you telling you to be in the in that spot, at the exact time, and leave in cab 302.
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The old Cartex clock on my credenza loudly drops the 9 flap, indicating 10:59 - one minute to make my decision. I've already measured it out - 23 feet from my doorstep to the street light under which I'm to meet the cab. 302. Yellow. Driver, I'm assuming, to take me...somewhere.
The letter itself was nothing special. Handwritten with a fountain pen in a flowing script. Looked a hundred years old, but no matter. All it said was, "He's gone now. I know you've been watching. Your turn. 11 pm, cab 302."
Nothing special. Just, y'know. All of a sudden a letter shows up, no postmark.
I think I'm trying to convince myself not to go as I walk out the door. In a yellow pool of sodium vapor light, the white light of headlamps wipe my shadow from the face of the earth. All I can think in that moment is that this could be the last I see of what I thought up until now was a pretty good life.
The cab stops. 302. The door opens. I pause, my heart pounding. I realize that I haven't taken a breath since the headlamps swung around the corner. I also realize that I can hear someone breathing - it sure as hell isn't me. Hell. Uh-oh.
I get into the car. There is a driver. He says nothing. Figures.
The cab moves away from the curb. Away from my normal little life. Job, bike, food, music, friends...trends.
Maybe this is why the last guy did this every night. The sudden realization that his life sucked. I didn't think my life sucked until I was invited into cab 302. Whatever the hell that means. Hell. I did it again. What is the deal with my gut when I say hell?
I look out the window of the cab - it is the natural thing to do in a cab. But I can't see anything. Windows must be blacked out - not sure why I didn't realize that earlier. Pretty sure my mother taught me better than that. Maybe not, since I'm in the back of a cab, with a driver of unknown...origin, headed to wherever I was invited, and...hell. That's where I'm going. It's suddenly clear. I'm going to hell.
"So, when do you kill me?" I ask the driver.
A deep, throaty laugh echoes in the cab like it's a cave. The driver stands up and turns to look at me. First thing I notice is that the driver is standing up in the cab. Second thing I notice is that we aren't moving. Third thing is that the driver isn't human. Fourth is that I'm not scared.
The Driver invites me in the deepest voice I've ever heard to stand up and step forward. I do so, because, well, really, why not?
He asks if I'm sorry I came. I tell him no, although I'm not sure why. I'm not sorry, I suppose, but I sure as hell am wondering what made me come. Hell. I don't swear as a rule, but something about this stupid place is bringing out a strange side of me. I'm filled with a bizarre calmness that is terrifying.
He asks me if I'm happy with my life. I tell him no, although I was until 20 minutes ago; I assume that's how long we've been gone - really I have no idea.
He asks me if I want to know the secret to a happy life. I tell him no - in a split second I realize that if I know the secret to happiness it will rob me of happiness.
He asks me if I want to go home - I'm starting to wonder what the point of this is. Maybe this is actually hell - stupid questions from some guy...thing...ad infinitum.
I tell him yes. Figured I should change things up a bit.
He nods and walks away. With him goes any traces of light. In the bizarre world of whatever-the-hell-this-is, I'm plunged into darkness. My mind races, my eyes dart, my blood pounds, and I desperately wish I would have said "no". Being somewhere unknown with someone unknown is one thing. Being somewhere alone with no one in utter darkness is totally different.
The Driver's voice echoes through the cab-chamber-cave. I can't tell what he's saying, but his bass voice is accompanied by a treble hiss. The hiss gets louder and louder. The voice gets quieter and quieter.
The darkness starts to lift, like a fog; the hiss doesn't go away. It gets louder. It's my fridge.
What the hell? I'm back in my living room as the Cartex drops its flaps and hits 11 pm. My fridge is hissing. My eyes are heavy.
As I fall asleep I know I sure as hell will be under that street light tomorrow at 11 pm. What in the world was that?
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“Where are we going?” I asked. The old cab rattled stiffly through the icy Montclair night.
“Shut up,” said the cabby. “Shut the fuck up.” He sounded stressed, scared even. He leaned over and tossed a bundle of cloth onto the backseat.
“Put it on.”
I held the fabric up in the moonlight. It was a long, beige coat, tattered in some places. I’d seen it before.
A crumpled, black fedora fell down onto my lap. I picked it up, but withdrew my hand when I felt the damp inside. A passing headlight shown brightly against my palm.
Blood.
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*If you'll play my game, keep going--each post 100 words or less*
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[WP] 500 feet from the summit, your climbing partner says something that makes you turn around.
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Saying the climb was arduous was the understatement of the century. It had taken months, no, years of preparation. Intensive training, conditioning, and mental sharpening had gone into this. They were at the peak of human capability. Thousands of dollars had been spent acquiring the special gear and travel required to reach their destination. This was it. The precipice of his existance and the next great leap for mankind.
***Ckshhz*** What a beautiful sunrise. Don't you agree, Nautilus-1?
***Ckshhz*** Sure do, Nautilus-2. Sure d- Awwwww, shit.
***Ckshhz*** What is it? We're 500ft from being the highest humanity has been from a planet's surface.
***Ckshhz*** Well, about that... We're on the wrong damn mountain. Olympus Mons is *that* one over there...
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It seemed like forever we climbed to the summit of Mt. Narwhal, though it would pay off. My partner, Tyler followed close behind while I shield him from the downwind and snow coming my way. All was fine until he said 6 words that shook me horribly. "Did you leave the oven on?"
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[WP] 500 feet from the summit, your climbing partner says something that makes you turn around.
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Setting his pack down for a quick breather, Bill could see it, the summit. So close to finally completing their 2 week trek to the top of the mountain. It was a shame that Sally hadn't come, she had been really emotional and prone to tears the whole time leading up to this trip. She had tried to persuade him not to go, but he'd managed to get this trip, he'd needed this trip.
Greg got up beside him and leaned his pack against Bill's. The two of them stared off at the view. It was magical, the clouds were crisp and clearly outlined in the baby blue sky. After a few minutes of silence, Greg spoke, "This'll be a story to tell your kid eh?"
Bill's head whipped around, "What?"
Greg looked at him, "You know, you and Sally's kid. I heard she's toughing it out and let you go on this trip because it meant so much to you. That kid deserves a good story."
Bill stared at Greg as the puzzle pieces clicked into place. Sally's distress at Bill leaving. Her hesitation in giving a clear reason. Sweet, beautiful Sally alone in that house.
*I have a kid coming.*
As soon as that thought clicked, his body moved to action. Grabbing his pack, he began sliding down the path they had so tediously climbed. He moved at a reckless pace, there was somewhere he had to be. Greg shouted behind him, "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! We're almost at the top."
Bill didn't waste his breath trying to respond.
*Sally is alone right now.*
*She needed me and I left her to go climb this... this... rock.*
There was no beauty to it anymore, the mountain was in his way. He had somewhere to be. He would not be stopped until he got back to where he belonged.
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It seemed like forever we climbed to the summit of Mt. Narwhal, though it would pay off. My partner, Tyler followed close behind while I shield him from the downwind and snow coming my way. All was fine until he said 6 words that shook me horribly. "Did you leave the oven on?"
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[WP] 500 feet from the summit, your climbing partner says something that makes you turn around.
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There's a part of the human mind that is inherently arrogant. I'd discovered this several times over throughout the four day climb, surprising myself with just how little I knew about this whole endeavor that James and I were undertaking. After living in one of the windiest places in the States for ten years I thought I knew what real, cold wind was like: wind that cuts lines across my face and sweeps my hair into a raging animal, that burns my eyes and digs into my bones. But the gusts back home were nothing compared to what we had experienced climbing Everest. The air here seemed a living being, a demon hell-bent on my destruction. She's ferociously fast, incomprehensibly loud, and colder than the most brutal of winter nights.
With each new step I paid my dues to the spirit, and now, just five hundred feet from the summit, we seemed to be growing a mutual respect.
The guide we had hired was climbing behind me, keeping a steady pace. I had insisted that I take point on the journey - out of pride or stupidity, I still don't know. Regardless, I'm sure he appreciated the buffer I provided, shielding him from some of the gale, as there are not many other comforts when you're at the top of the world. James and I had started our day with vigor, emboldened by the progress we made. I was eager to reach the peak of the mountain. Few words were exchanged as we started our ascent. The oxygen tanks were the only thing that were keeping the group going, so conversation was kept to a minimum at this point in the trek.
Which was why I was surprised to hear James's voice behind me, clear as day.
"We're almost there, Daniel."
Shocked, I nearly lost my balance and would've tumbled down the face of the mountain had the guide not caught me just in time. Gathering myself, I turned to him and shouted through the mask.
"Did you say something?"
The guide shook his head. He gestured to me, forming a strained OK symbol through the thick gloves. I a thumbs-up in return and turned back towards the summit, feeling foolish. I patted the side of my pack and, with relief, felt the small box through the nylon. It was still intact. None of the ashes had fallen out.
Another gust of wind buffeted my chest, yet this time it felt soothing. My mind cleared and my heart calmed.
Perhaps, through our new friendship, the wind spirit had just been carrying one last message from James to me.
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It seemed like forever we climbed to the summit of Mt. Narwhal, though it would pay off. My partner, Tyler followed close behind while I shield him from the downwind and snow coming my way. All was fine until he said 6 words that shook me horribly. "Did you leave the oven on?"
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[WP] 500 feet from the summit, your climbing partner says something that makes you turn around.
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There's a part of the human mind that is inherently arrogant. I'd discovered this several times over throughout the four day climb, surprising myself with just how little I knew about this whole endeavor that James and I were undertaking. After living in one of the windiest places in the States for ten years I thought I knew what real, cold wind was like: wind that cuts lines across my face and sweeps my hair into a raging animal, that burns my eyes and digs into my bones. But the gusts back home were nothing compared to what we had experienced climbing Everest. The air here seemed a living being, a demon hell-bent on my destruction. She's ferociously fast, incomprehensibly loud, and colder than the most brutal of winter nights.
With each new step I paid my dues to the spirit, and now, just five hundred feet from the summit, we seemed to be growing a mutual respect.
The guide we had hired was climbing behind me, keeping a steady pace. I had insisted that I take point on the journey - out of pride or stupidity, I still don't know. Regardless, I'm sure he appreciated the buffer I provided, shielding him from some of the gale, as there are not many other comforts when you're at the top of the world. James and I had started our day with vigor, emboldened by the progress we made. I was eager to reach the peak of the mountain. Few words were exchanged as we started our ascent. The oxygen tanks were the only thing that were keeping the group going, so conversation was kept to a minimum at this point in the trek.
Which was why I was surprised to hear James's voice behind me, clear as day.
"We're almost there, Daniel."
Shocked, I nearly lost my balance and would've tumbled down the face of the mountain had the guide not caught me just in time. Gathering myself, I turned to him and shouted through the mask.
"Did you say something?"
The guide shook his head. He gestured to me, forming a strained OK symbol through the thick gloves. I a thumbs-up in return and turned back towards the summit, feeling foolish. I patted the side of my pack and, with relief, felt the small box through the nylon. It was still intact. None of the ashes had fallen out.
Another gust of wind buffeted my chest, yet this time it felt soothing. My mind cleared and my heart calmed.
Perhaps, through our new friendship, the wind spirit had just been carrying one last message from James to me.
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"Come on, man. Hold up." My voracious climbing partner begged, he was lagging behind and I could hear his stomach rumbling.
"We are just 500 feet away, Kevin, let's push on through it eh?" I knew I shouldn't have brought him along, but my wife insisted that this new brother-in-law of mine and I needed some kind of relationship now that our two families were "one". She had two failed marriages under her belt, and was desperately attempting to make this one count.
"I can't, please, just let me scarf up a quick can of beans?" We both now stood facing each other, surrounded by a landscape too beautiful for words. 'I wouldn't mind being buried here,' I thought.
"Okay fine, we'll stop. But we'll have to make up for it later, it's already close to 15:00" I replied.
"No problem! We got this mate! Do you want some?" He dropped his pack, and hastily pulled out his can of Bush's Best. Every time he said 'mate', I wanted to strangle him.
"No, I'm okay, I have a Clif Bar left."
"More for me!" He replied. His cheeky, cocky, and high-pitched voice vibrated off of the surrounding masses of rock.
We were both now sitting where we paused our climb, 15 feet away from each-other. I cringed at this new opportunity for conversation.
"So, how many times have you used this path? Do many others come around here?" He asked, that effervescent grin of his remaining consistent through each word.
"This is my third time, and no; I've never seen anyone else use it. Say, what is it with your sister's previous two marriages? What happened to those guys?" My wife, throughout our relationship, has always avoided this question. Maybe he can be of some use after all?
"Erm, I'm not sure, they kinda disapeared, y'know?" He finished his beans, and put the empty can back in his pack.
"Ah, okay. Well, let's keep going then." As usual, he's useless. We continued onward up the slope.
About 100 feet later, I hear a shuffling of dirt, he is gaining ground quickly.
I ignore it, the idiot is just wasting energy.
"*It's because they weren't good enough for her*." I hear in a shrill voice.
Turning around, I see Kevin, five feet away from me. In his hand, is a thick hunting blade.
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[WP] 500 feet from the summit, your climbing partner says something that makes you turn around.
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“Aaah, nope. Nope. This isn’t gonna work.” Greg’s nasal twang cut through the raging wind with astonishing clarity.
“What?” I turned around. We had 500 feet to go. 500 feet. “Did you drop something?”
He had his phone out, his disgustingly snow-burnt nose held half an inch from the screen. “You ‘member those two dudes from base camp the other day. Err,” he snapped his fingers, “/u/NolanTheIrishman, aaand /u/axis_of_weevil?”
“Yeah,” I shouted through my face mask. “What? What about ‘em? Did they fall?!”
“Wha? Nah, nah not that,” said Greg. His avocado shape teetered precariously in the gale. “They’re up there right now and they just posted this *bitchin* panoramic pic on reddit, aaand it’s…yep, it’s blowin’ up now. /r/Earthporn, /r/Climbing, they got all of it. It’s done. We’re done. This is pointless.”
He pulled a banana out of his pocket, peeled it with a disappointed huff and bit down as he started tromping back through the snow, disappearing into the frosty haze.
I sighed and turned back toward the summit. “I fucking hate you Greg.”
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"Come on, man. Hold up." My voracious climbing partner begged, he was lagging behind and I could hear his stomach rumbling.
"We are just 500 feet away, Kevin, let's push on through it eh?" I knew I shouldn't have brought him along, but my wife insisted that this new brother-in-law of mine and I needed some kind of relationship now that our two families were "one". She had two failed marriages under her belt, and was desperately attempting to make this one count.
"I can't, please, just let me scarf up a quick can of beans?" We both now stood facing each other, surrounded by a landscape too beautiful for words. 'I wouldn't mind being buried here,' I thought.
"Okay fine, we'll stop. But we'll have to make up for it later, it's already close to 15:00" I replied.
"No problem! We got this mate! Do you want some?" He dropped his pack, and hastily pulled out his can of Bush's Best. Every time he said 'mate', I wanted to strangle him.
"No, I'm okay, I have a Clif Bar left."
"More for me!" He replied. His cheeky, cocky, and high-pitched voice vibrated off of the surrounding masses of rock.
We were both now sitting where we paused our climb, 15 feet away from each-other. I cringed at this new opportunity for conversation.
"So, how many times have you used this path? Do many others come around here?" He asked, that effervescent grin of his remaining consistent through each word.
"This is my third time, and no; I've never seen anyone else use it. Say, what is it with your sister's previous two marriages? What happened to those guys?" My wife, throughout our relationship, has always avoided this question. Maybe he can be of some use after all?
"Erm, I'm not sure, they kinda disapeared, y'know?" He finished his beans, and put the empty can back in his pack.
"Ah, okay. Well, let's keep going then." As usual, he's useless. We continued onward up the slope.
About 100 feet later, I hear a shuffling of dirt, he is gaining ground quickly.
I ignore it, the idiot is just wasting energy.
"*It's because they weren't good enough for her*." I hear in a shrill voice.
Turning around, I see Kevin, five feet away from me. In his hand, is a thick hunting blade.
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[WP] 500 feet from the summit, your climbing partner says something that makes you turn around.
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“Aaah, nope. Nope. This isn’t gonna work.” Greg’s nasal twang cut through the raging wind with astonishing clarity.
“What?” I turned around. We had 500 feet to go. 500 feet. “Did you drop something?”
He had his phone out, his disgustingly snow-burnt nose held half an inch from the screen. “You ‘member those two dudes from base camp the other day. Err,” he snapped his fingers, “/u/NolanTheIrishman, aaand /u/axis_of_weevil?”
“Yeah,” I shouted through my face mask. “What? What about ‘em? Did they fall?!”
“Wha? Nah, nah not that,” said Greg. His avocado shape teetered precariously in the gale. “They’re up there right now and they just posted this *bitchin* panoramic pic on reddit, aaand it’s…yep, it’s blowin’ up now. /r/Earthporn, /r/Climbing, they got all of it. It’s done. We’re done. This is pointless.”
He pulled a banana out of his pocket, peeled it with a disappointed huff and bit down as he started tromping back through the snow, disappearing into the frosty haze.
I sighed and turned back toward the summit. “I fucking hate you Greg.”
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It was blowing an easy 30 knots and we had to lean at what felt like a forty-five degree angle to remain upright. Every gust threatened to blow us off the col. Roger's efforts to pantomime some question to me disappeared in a frenzy of flailing limbs, blown out by the wind like a whisper at a rock concert.
I kicked in, double checked that I was clipped on and that my pole straps were secure around my wrists. Letting go of the handles of the poles, they blew to my left, horizontal. The pull of the straps against my arms felt as though I was swimming through honey.
I turned into the wind and my hood whipped off my head. I'd not thought it would be ripped off and was reaching to pull it back. Good thing or else my stocking cap would have taken a 5000 foot tumble. Ice crystals smashed into my skull as though I were in a sandblaster. It wouldn't take long, exposed as I was, for my bare scalp to freeze solid.
I carefully unhinged the right side of my oxygen mask, taking care - and failing - to not be smacked in the face by my hiking pole blown across my face. With my other hand I - just as ineffectively as Roger - I attempted to point, first at myself and then to him to indicate he should do the same.
Fumbling, the 30 seconds it took for him to dig in and unmask felt like an eternity. It felt as though the blood in my scalp had turned to ice. Leaning in Roger shouted, inches from my ear. He was a loud man with a booming voice but in the roar of the wind I could barely make out his words.
"Do you have the keys?"
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[WP] Wikipedia entries for living notable individuals are mysteriously being edited to include a future date of death. Nobody takes these seriously, that is until the first few deaths start to occur as predicted.
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An unseen contract was signed. Two hands shook behind a dimensional curtain, renegotiating the pact between cause and effect. Either recently windowed or divorced, cause relinquished control on its precious effect. Friction was to heat as poverty to famine, and graphite on paper to symbolic meaning - before it all changed.
Humans rarely met in groups anymore. Since the change, they'd become nomads, trying to get off the map. The more people who knew of your existence on this spherical planet, the worst. But humans are the biggest suckers for hope. Me included. I get lonely, too. And when I get lonely, I can't help but find somebody, anybody to talk with.
One day in my abandoned farm sted, I saw a women from a few hundred meters off. Something came over me. I did what I normally never do, and yelled, "Oi, want to die? Get off the fucking road."
She just continued to stare down at her feet. After an awful silent while, she lifted her head to my voice, but eventaully she slowly began moving towards me.
"Not this fucking way."
Closer.
"Turn the around or die."
But she kept coming my direction, first a walk, then a jaunt and then a run. I opened the door before she could reach me with my father's shotgun in hand, pointed at her chest. "Turn the fuck around, love, and go."
"What has happened here?" she said blankly, not alarmed in the least.
"You'll get me killed."
"But where is everybody?" Her voice cracked with confusion.
I cocked the gun, "Turn right around where you can came" I articulated, trying to scare her with my controlled tone of voice.
"But where's my life? My home is gone, my family just collapsed. I see men killing each other for rabbits, guns point in every direction. When, how, and why did order go to fucking hell?" Her voice began to fail at the end in a hysterical fit.
I sighed as older men do before finally giving up, "come on in. I can tell you as much as I know." Thank god too. I was lonely.
After sipping her cup of hot water (forget about tea or coffee!) I poured her, I started. "THere's been a change."
"Don't play stupid with me. I can god damn well see that."
I eye her impatience and she shuts up. "The lay of the land is different now, somehow. We humans used to control our actions, the world, life. Enact change with our own limbs. But its now different."
"What do you mean by it, or enact change."
I exhale loudly, just about fed up with this chica. "Let me put it this way, before these new changes, when I slam your face with my shotgun's butt for being so inconsiderate, your crown would shatter, right? The cranial shards slid into your frontal lobe erasing, let's say, the name of your mother's name or your favorite fetishes. Against the blow, you will fly back, screaming some proverbial bloody tune. Passersby would call the police, and I'd be swiftly sentenced for second degree murder, blah blah, you know the rest. This is how life was. Cause and effect. But it's changed….all of it."
Her first words surprised me. No effort to even dismiss my nut-job theory. "It's a book."
"A what?"
"A book. It exists, a thing, with pages."
I can't seem to grasp the sounds, her mouth is producing. "A book is what?"
"I've seen it being passed between two people. I was with my family at the time." Large globs of water form at her eyes. But she continues, "They looked back and saw my family, but not me. I was hiding around a corner. They looked back, then jotted something down in that book with graphite. Then my entire family just collapsed on the ground." She lost her composure.
TO BE CONTINUED
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Everything that we see is bigger than what we see. I understand I need to be a little more precise. Get me that pencil over that would you? Thanks, son. Now, what do you see here? Okay, now imagine he can see the things drawn on the paper, not as we try to depict them, with height and width, with perspective, but as if he was on the same plane as the other things. How would the man see... this? Are you sure? It's all on the piece of paper, a very thin piece of paper... Exactly. He sees vertical lines. Tall and short vertical lines. He understands the objects go deeper than what he sees, they have lenght. He can walk on them, or under them, perharps even through them, but he cannot observe them entirely if he doesn't move forward. He only sees vertical lines, he is bound to them. Now, how would he see this diagonal line? Exactly a short, vertical line. If he moves through the lenght of it, he'll understand it better. What happens if I fold the paper? Smart man. He will see the same line, as he would see it as if he moved through the paper, but without the need to move. Lucas, we are stick men. What we see around us are vertical lines. When we walk forward, we walk throught time. What you saw on that computer screen was the result of the Paper being folded. Now, this is all a lot information, but I'd like to point out one last thing. When the Paper is folded we observe how the line is on the "future". What will we observe when we reach the point where the Paper has been folded?
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[WP] Wikipedia entries for living notable individuals are mysteriously being edited to include a future date of death. Nobody takes these seriously, that is until the first few deaths start to occur as predicted.
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It was a matter of time, one could suppose, before something like this started. Everyone was online - connected, hooked up, wired in. Well, almost anyone anyways. *Those* people never mattered in the larger scheme of things.
He hadn't yet worked out the kinks with his programming. ESP was not extra-sensory perception (which was a dead duck for quite some time now) but **Electronic Stimulation Protocol**; something that he had developed as a side-project in his years with Google in the late fifties. It had not gained the traction it could have and was largely forgotten. He was happy with that, twenty years down the line.
It was fairly easy, locking onto celebrities' movements online - they were tracked almost constantly by just about anyone, especially the e-paparazzi and the voyeurs. Their interests and transitions from one *focus* to another could be graphed, enlarged, purveyed and auctioned. And they seemed to thrive on it - some even monetizing their entire endeavor. However, it was a little tricky with powerful Government agents and authorities. Blackberry had gone back to being Research in Motion and the reason for the resurgence of its eminence in security had been the lockdowns it had instituted on access to feeds of these kinds of important people. Their feeds originated from RIM devices, used RIM-curated searches, *noised-off* focuses, were robustly encrypted and, generally, difficult to identify or separate from each other in the first place. Officially, they operated in RIM networks across the globe and used non-identifiable personas, in their private lives online on other devices and systems.
He had found a way in. He was not interested in the idiotic celebrities anyway. It had not been easy. The messaging and face communications between authorities were still beyond his capabilities. But he was not interested in that. What he sought was serving these notable people, on their RIM systems, search results which were connected to what they thought they wanted - but just that wee bit off. You know, there's nothing like inducing a healthy dose of paranoia. He would then follow up with connecting *focuses*, even if there was nothing remotely linking them in the first degree. With everyone going online, the apocryphal six had reduced to three. The Wikipedia was a shining example as a monolithic monster of the third degree.
Transitions had to be shaped. It took effort and patience. You had to coax these important people to glance at what you suggested and provide a hook for them to hang themselves by.
He was working on the case of the Federal Chancellor of Unified Europe, the largest global entity. She had been responsible for the dissolution of national identities. All old nations were now reduced to being mere states. He recalled the times when he had toured Europe as a young man - the various countries and their individualities. And here was this woman, seeking to homogenize beautiful diversity under the call for cultural supremacy and ancient history, willfully destroying all that was great in that part of the world.
She was staid, from what he could gather - which did not help. A little paranoid too, which, on the other hand, was of immense assistance. She was keenly interested in what was said about her and immediate impact assessments of her pronouncements in various fora in UE and around the world. And then, most importantly, she was *hooked* on *auto-refresh* to her Wikipedia page. He could use that.
He introduced *off-chance* relevance to below the fold results to her searches for herself. Misrepresented views of fringe antagonists as those of a burgeoning mainstream. **Nazi Murderess slays Ukrainians** was interesting, hiding in some obscure site of the Global Forum. He needed to bring that up to her. It was bullshit, of course. But then, she wouldn’t know - at least, not know well enough. For someone who needed severe control on perceptions, it was perfect to set off the right notes of dissonance. She always checked below the fold, for search results.
He opened up his terminal and pulled up her feed. She was in her office. Possibly dealing with the Ukrainian disturbance which had been in the focus recently. Some people had died in the security crackdown which went out of hand. She needed to spin that to her advantage as a strong leader. He made a small edit to the Wiki with the Nazi thing. It auto-refreshed for her with the change highlighted.
She searched for the source. He had a authentic-looking dummy with protest videos served from a respectable source. They even had a picture of her, somewhat, masculine looking face with a Hitler-moustache painted on. It was easy to populate the popular feedback section with a curated selection of random comments and videos in response. Very few were actually relevant. But it made a difference.
She transited to Ukrainian media. The same page had been reduced and paraphrased into the local language, with a slightly different set of videos, served from seemingly reputable sources. She called someone. He could not make out who. But it was good enough.
She released a statement - the guilty policemen would be identified and acted against. He got what he needed.
He made another edit. ***Federal Chancellor*** *eliminates dissidents based on past personal agenda*. It hadn't been difficult to establish linkage. Some of those dead had demonstrated against her heavy-handedness earlier and had been arrested and incarcerated. Third degree helps, you see.
*Auto-refresh*. She was hooked. And the wiki edits had also caught the eye of regular news-feeders who highlighted that for the Ukrainian state, generating actual backlash. Her statements were being pored over word by word and analyzed. She studied the responses. Just that the statements that he served to her, had some words replaced, at key places, altering emphasis in some instances and opening up contrary meanings in others. Did she really say that? He could see her asking herself ...
Setting the date was always an issue. It was not an exact science. But it generally took about three weeks since he started working on a person. The edits were impossible to trace back, with the new anonymity guidelines and communication protocols for wikis and the General Forum, so he was safe on personal accountability.
Paranoia had to develop to full-blown psychosis. Some were high-functioning, so it took longer, requiring future edits to future DDs. However, most could be assured of killing themselves, give or take a day or so. And in the latter stages, he had a better handle on things - he knew *what* these people were *focusing* on and *how*. Death by suggestion of suicide was easy to engineer in those times. He had managed to get fifty percent of his victims on the prophesied dates and was improving. For the others, some edits later could help. It did not matter ultimately, if the dates changed. People tended to ignore the edits if things happened close to the original forecast. And then it made it just a bit more mysterious.
It was always easier with others who had some skeletons in the personal cupboard. The processes could be expedited. He got to work searching for data on her aristocratic businessman husband who had been found dead of a MTH overdose in his secretary's office …
Nobody would ever have a clue as to what was happening. And nobody would seriously bother pursuing ghost trails on RIM data.
Engineered suicide was classified as euthanasia.
PS : It's been a couple of decades since my last such attempt. Apologies for the stiltedness. Also I do not know much about the EU or Ukraine. It could just as well be any other random entities. Would love criticism!
|
Everything that we see is bigger than what we see. I understand I need to be a little more precise. Get me that pencil over that would you? Thanks, son. Now, what do you see here? Okay, now imagine he can see the things drawn on the paper, not as we try to depict them, with height and width, with perspective, but as if he was on the same plane as the other things. How would the man see... this? Are you sure? It's all on the piece of paper, a very thin piece of paper... Exactly. He sees vertical lines. Tall and short vertical lines. He understands the objects go deeper than what he sees, they have lenght. He can walk on them, or under them, perharps even through them, but he cannot observe them entirely if he doesn't move forward. He only sees vertical lines, he is bound to them. Now, how would he see this diagonal line? Exactly a short, vertical line. If he moves through the lenght of it, he'll understand it better. What happens if I fold the paper? Smart man. He will see the same line, as he would see it as if he moved through the paper, but without the need to move. Lucas, we are stick men. What we see around us are vertical lines. When we walk forward, we walk throught time. What you saw on that computer screen was the result of the Paper being folded. Now, this is all a lot information, but I'd like to point out one last thing. When the Paper is folded we observe how the line is on the "future". What will we observe when we reach the point where the Paper has been folded?
|
|
[WP] Wikipedia entries for living notable individuals are mysteriously being edited to include a future date of death. Nobody takes these seriously, that is until the first few deaths start to occur as predicted.
|
Jazz music shuffled around Leonardo's room, coiling through the furniture and knocking on the windows, almost as if Miles Davis himself was using the place as a stage for another sold-out gig. The smooth tunes were in sharp contrast to Leonardo's jumpy demeanor; he had hoped the music would calm him down, but his nerves were still frayed more than the plug of a fifty year old coffee maker.
"Leo, you're fine. It's going to be all right. We've got the best security in Hollywood at your house, the cops are on full alert - *nobody's going to hurt you*."
Leonardo turned on his heels, his socks wearing thin from pacing, and shoved a finger at the telephone set on the side table next to the couch.
"People keep telling me that, Laura. Everyone's saying I'm going to be fine, but...goddammit! How much you want to bet that Affleck's agent said that to him as well? And now look where he is!" Leonardo scoffed and raised his hands in defeat.
There was a knock on the door and a very stocky individual stepped into the room. Underneath his jacket, there was the glint of a pistol holstered at his side.
"Sorry to interrupt, Mr. DiCaprio. Just making my rounds."
Leonardo nodded and waved him off, only to turn back around.
"Hey, how's my wife doing? Is she okay?"
"She's fine, Mr. DiCaprio."
"Good." He sighed and rubbed his eyes. He spoke again, this time into the phone. "It's getting late, Laura. You should get some sleep. Goodnight." He pressed the hang-up button on the set and placed the phone back in its cradle.
The bodyguard finished checking out the room and gave a crisp nod as he left, closing the door behind him. Leonardo picked up the remote from the side table and turned the music off. *The show was over, ladies and gentlemen. Thanks for coming.*
Leonardo dropped onto the couch and closed his eyes, hoping to follow his own advice and get some sleep. Barely a minute passed before there was another knock on the door. Leonardo groaned.
"One of you guys was just in here! Please go away!"
The door creaked open, and Leonardo heard someone step out onto the empty stage.
|
Everything that we see is bigger than what we see. I understand I need to be a little more precise. Get me that pencil over that would you? Thanks, son. Now, what do you see here? Okay, now imagine he can see the things drawn on the paper, not as we try to depict them, with height and width, with perspective, but as if he was on the same plane as the other things. How would the man see... this? Are you sure? It's all on the piece of paper, a very thin piece of paper... Exactly. He sees vertical lines. Tall and short vertical lines. He understands the objects go deeper than what he sees, they have lenght. He can walk on them, or under them, perharps even through them, but he cannot observe them entirely if he doesn't move forward. He only sees vertical lines, he is bound to them. Now, how would he see this diagonal line? Exactly a short, vertical line. If he moves through the lenght of it, he'll understand it better. What happens if I fold the paper? Smart man. He will see the same line, as he would see it as if he moved through the paper, but without the need to move. Lucas, we are stick men. What we see around us are vertical lines. When we walk forward, we walk throught time. What you saw on that computer screen was the result of the Paper being folded. Now, this is all a lot information, but I'd like to point out one last thing. When the Paper is folded we observe how the line is on the "future". What will we observe when we reach the point where the Paper has been folded?
|
|
[WP] Wikipedia entries for living notable individuals are mysteriously being edited to include a future date of death. Nobody takes these seriously, that is until the first few deaths start to occur as predicted.
|
"Well, of course my first thought was: time travel," Mark confided.
"Time travel?" Sarah asked.
"Sure. But then, my first thought is *always* time travel. You know: why are blueberries blue: time travel."
"What has time travel..." Sarah began.
"Don't ask him that," Jenn cautioned.
"...got to do with blueberries being blue?" Sarah finished anyway.
"Well," Mark said,"there's not really any other reason why a randomly selected fruit would happen to be blue, so, by process of elimination: time travel."
"Told you not to ask," Jenn said, nodding sagely.
"Anyway," Mark continued, seeming unperturbed by his sudden loss of credibility, "I had to abandon that line of reasoning..."
"Pity. Just when it was getting good."
"... in light of the origin of the edits."
"You found where they were coming from?"
"Kind of."
"Where?"
"That --- isn't really an appropriate term. 'Where', I mean. As near as I can tell, the internet is sort of... writing them itself."
"The internet is --- say what, now?"
"Yeah. The strange thing about the data trails are that they just come from all over. Packets of data assembling themselves spontaneously into intelligible data from thousands of different sources all over the internet."
"OK, I'm not a programmer but that doesn't seem right to me."
"Oh, it's not! If the edit had a source, all the data should be ultimately tracked to a single source, no matter how many layers you have to follow it through, but they aren't. It's like thousands of servers are cooperatively collaborating in seemingly arbitrary ways that just happen to add up into an ultimate end product we can read."
"So this is like nothing we've ever seen before?"
"Not quite," Jenn said, setting down her coffee mug. Clearly this was where she came into the picture, but now that it came to it, she seemed oddly reluctant to join in. "We've seen it a lot, though in a very different context. It's... disturbingly reminiscent of how a human brain fires off impulses in numerous different centers, routing them though complex pathways, which cumulatively add up to what we call 'thought.'"
Sarah sat back and studied Jenn's face, expecting her to be kidding. If it had been Mark saying it she would have been certain of it, but that wasn't usually Jenn's style. "You're saying, the internet is 'thinking'?"
"Better that that!" Mark exclaimed with a dopey looking enthusiastic grin, "It's freakin' psychic! Don't you see? It's not just editing text like it wants to deliver a message... it's making predictions, *and they're happening*."
"Wait... so humans have never found any concrete proof of psychic powers, and now you're saying when we finally find the proof, it's a computer that's doing it?"
"Well, a lot of computers working together actually, but, sure. And why not? A lot of AI research has been devoted to predictive algorithms. We not only showed the internet what we wanted from artificial intelligence, we taught it how to do so." He rotated the portable workstation around to face Sarah more directly and motioned to it in a be-my-guest motion. "Meet the world's first scientifically verifiable psychic. All we gotta do is decide what to ask it, and how best to communicate it."
Sarah stared at the screen which prominently featured a standard search prompt. Then she suspiciously looked back and forth between Mark and Jenn searching for some sign in either of their faces that this was a prank. She wasn't seeing it if it was. Well, it was hard to tell in Mark's case, of course, but if this was a joke, Jenn was playing it like a professional actress.
And if it wasn't? Then what? What would you say to the computer than can literally tell you the future? The text cursor in the search prompt blinked steadily, as if patiently waiting...
|
Everything that we see is bigger than what we see. I understand I need to be a little more precise. Get me that pencil over that would you? Thanks, son. Now, what do you see here? Okay, now imagine he can see the things drawn on the paper, not as we try to depict them, with height and width, with perspective, but as if he was on the same plane as the other things. How would the man see... this? Are you sure? It's all on the piece of paper, a very thin piece of paper... Exactly. He sees vertical lines. Tall and short vertical lines. He understands the objects go deeper than what he sees, they have lenght. He can walk on them, or under them, perharps even through them, but he cannot observe them entirely if he doesn't move forward. He only sees vertical lines, he is bound to them. Now, how would he see this diagonal line? Exactly a short, vertical line. If he moves through the lenght of it, he'll understand it better. What happens if I fold the paper? Smart man. He will see the same line, as he would see it as if he moved through the paper, but without the need to move. Lucas, we are stick men. What we see around us are vertical lines. When we walk forward, we walk throught time. What you saw on that computer screen was the result of the Paper being folded. Now, this is all a lot information, but I'd like to point out one last thing. When the Paper is folded we observe how the line is on the "future". What will we observe when we reach the point where the Paper has been folded?
|
|
[WP] Wikipedia entries for living notable individuals are mysteriously being edited to include a future date of death. Nobody takes these seriously, that is until the first few deaths start to occur as predicted.
|
It was a matter of time, one could suppose, before something like this started. Everyone was online - connected, hooked up, wired in. Well, almost anyone anyways. *Those* people never mattered in the larger scheme of things.
He hadn't yet worked out the kinks with his programming. ESP was not extra-sensory perception (which was a dead duck for quite some time now) but **Electronic Stimulation Protocol**; something that he had developed as a side-project in his years with Google in the late fifties. It had not gained the traction it could have and was largely forgotten. He was happy with that, twenty years down the line.
It was fairly easy, locking onto celebrities' movements online - they were tracked almost constantly by just about anyone, especially the e-paparazzi and the voyeurs. Their interests and transitions from one *focus* to another could be graphed, enlarged, purveyed and auctioned. And they seemed to thrive on it - some even monetizing their entire endeavor. However, it was a little tricky with powerful Government agents and authorities. Blackberry had gone back to being Research in Motion and the reason for the resurgence of its eminence in security had been the lockdowns it had instituted on access to feeds of these kinds of important people. Their feeds originated from RIM devices, used RIM-curated searches, *noised-off* focuses, were robustly encrypted and, generally, difficult to identify or separate from each other in the first place. Officially, they operated in RIM networks across the globe and used non-identifiable personas, in their private lives online on other devices and systems.
He had found a way in. He was not interested in the idiotic celebrities anyway. It had not been easy. The messaging and face communications between authorities were still beyond his capabilities. But he was not interested in that. What he sought was serving these notable people, on their RIM systems, search results which were connected to what they thought they wanted - but just that wee bit off. You know, there's nothing like inducing a healthy dose of paranoia. He would then follow up with connecting *focuses*, even if there was nothing remotely linking them in the first degree. With everyone going online, the apocryphal six had reduced to three. The Wikipedia was a shining example as a monolithic monster of the third degree.
Transitions had to be shaped. It took effort and patience. You had to coax these important people to glance at what you suggested and provide a hook for them to hang themselves by.
He was working on the case of the Federal Chancellor of Unified Europe, the largest global entity. She had been responsible for the dissolution of national identities. All old nations were now reduced to being mere states. He recalled the times when he had toured Europe as a young man - the various countries and their individualities. And here was this woman, seeking to homogenize beautiful diversity under the call for cultural supremacy and ancient history, willfully destroying all that was great in that part of the world.
She was staid, from what he could gather - which did not help. A little paranoid too, which, on the other hand, was of immense assistance. She was keenly interested in what was said about her and immediate impact assessments of her pronouncements in various fora in UE and around the world. And then, most importantly, she was *hooked* on *auto-refresh* to her Wikipedia page. He could use that.
He introduced *off-chance* relevance to below the fold results to her searches for herself. Misrepresented views of fringe antagonists as those of a burgeoning mainstream. **Nazi Murderess slays Ukrainians** was interesting, hiding in some obscure site of the Global Forum. He needed to bring that up to her. It was bullshit, of course. But then, she wouldn’t know - at least, not know well enough. For someone who needed severe control on perceptions, it was perfect to set off the right notes of dissonance. She always checked below the fold, for search results.
He opened up his terminal and pulled up her feed. She was in her office. Possibly dealing with the Ukrainian disturbance which had been in the focus recently. Some people had died in the security crackdown which went out of hand. She needed to spin that to her advantage as a strong leader. He made a small edit to the Wiki with the Nazi thing. It auto-refreshed for her with the change highlighted.
She searched for the source. He had a authentic-looking dummy with protest videos served from a respectable source. They even had a picture of her, somewhat, masculine looking face with a Hitler-moustache painted on. It was easy to populate the popular feedback section with a curated selection of random comments and videos in response. Very few were actually relevant. But it made a difference.
She transited to Ukrainian media. The same page had been reduced and paraphrased into the local language, with a slightly different set of videos, served from seemingly reputable sources. She called someone. He could not make out who. But it was good enough.
She released a statement - the guilty policemen would be identified and acted against. He got what he needed.
He made another edit. ***Federal Chancellor*** *eliminates dissidents based on past personal agenda*. It hadn't been difficult to establish linkage. Some of those dead had demonstrated against her heavy-handedness earlier and had been arrested and incarcerated. Third degree helps, you see.
*Auto-refresh*. She was hooked. And the wiki edits had also caught the eye of regular news-feeders who highlighted that for the Ukrainian state, generating actual backlash. Her statements were being pored over word by word and analyzed. She studied the responses. Just that the statements that he served to her, had some words replaced, at key places, altering emphasis in some instances and opening up contrary meanings in others. Did she really say that? He could see her asking herself ...
Setting the date was always an issue. It was not an exact science. But it generally took about three weeks since he started working on a person. The edits were impossible to trace back, with the new anonymity guidelines and communication protocols for wikis and the General Forum, so he was safe on personal accountability.
Paranoia had to develop to full-blown psychosis. Some were high-functioning, so it took longer, requiring future edits to future DDs. However, most could be assured of killing themselves, give or take a day or so. And in the latter stages, he had a better handle on things - he knew *what* these people were *focusing* on and *how*. Death by suggestion of suicide was easy to engineer in those times. He had managed to get fifty percent of his victims on the prophesied dates and was improving. For the others, some edits later could help. It did not matter ultimately, if the dates changed. People tended to ignore the edits if things happened close to the original forecast. And then it made it just a bit more mysterious.
It was always easier with others who had some skeletons in the personal cupboard. The processes could be expedited. He got to work searching for data on her aristocratic businessman husband who had been found dead of a MTH overdose in his secretary's office …
Nobody would ever have a clue as to what was happening. And nobody would seriously bother pursuing ghost trails on RIM data.
Engineered suicide was classified as euthanasia.
PS : It's been a couple of decades since my last such attempt. Apologies for the stiltedness. Also I do not know much about the EU or Ukraine. It could just as well be any other random entities. Would love criticism!
|
An unseen contract was signed. Two hands shook behind a dimensional curtain, renegotiating the pact between cause and effect. Either recently windowed or divorced, cause relinquished control on its precious effect. Friction was to heat as poverty to famine, and graphite on paper to symbolic meaning - before it all changed.
Humans rarely met in groups anymore. Since the change, they'd become nomads, trying to get off the map. The more people who knew of your existence on this spherical planet, the worst. But humans are the biggest suckers for hope. Me included. I get lonely, too. And when I get lonely, I can't help but find somebody, anybody to talk with.
One day in my abandoned farm sted, I saw a women from a few hundred meters off. Something came over me. I did what I normally never do, and yelled, "Oi, want to die? Get off the fucking road."
She just continued to stare down at her feet. After an awful silent while, she lifted her head to my voice, but eventaully she slowly began moving towards me.
"Not this fucking way."
Closer.
"Turn the around or die."
But she kept coming my direction, first a walk, then a jaunt and then a run. I opened the door before she could reach me with my father's shotgun in hand, pointed at her chest. "Turn the fuck around, love, and go."
"What has happened here?" she said blankly, not alarmed in the least.
"You'll get me killed."
"But where is everybody?" Her voice cracked with confusion.
I cocked the gun, "Turn right around where you can came" I articulated, trying to scare her with my controlled tone of voice.
"But where's my life? My home is gone, my family just collapsed. I see men killing each other for rabbits, guns point in every direction. When, how, and why did order go to fucking hell?" Her voice began to fail at the end in a hysterical fit.
I sighed as older men do before finally giving up, "come on in. I can tell you as much as I know." Thank god too. I was lonely.
After sipping her cup of hot water (forget about tea or coffee!) I poured her, I started. "THere's been a change."
"Don't play stupid with me. I can god damn well see that."
I eye her impatience and she shuts up. "The lay of the land is different now, somehow. We humans used to control our actions, the world, life. Enact change with our own limbs. But its now different."
"What do you mean by it, or enact change."
I exhale loudly, just about fed up with this chica. "Let me put it this way, before these new changes, when I slam your face with my shotgun's butt for being so inconsiderate, your crown would shatter, right? The cranial shards slid into your frontal lobe erasing, let's say, the name of your mother's name or your favorite fetishes. Against the blow, you will fly back, screaming some proverbial bloody tune. Passersby would call the police, and I'd be swiftly sentenced for second degree murder, blah blah, you know the rest. This is how life was. Cause and effect. But it's changed….all of it."
Her first words surprised me. No effort to even dismiss my nut-job theory. "It's a book."
"A what?"
"A book. It exists, a thing, with pages."
I can't seem to grasp the sounds, her mouth is producing. "A book is what?"
"I've seen it being passed between two people. I was with my family at the time." Large globs of water form at her eyes. But she continues, "They looked back and saw my family, but not me. I was hiding around a corner. They looked back, then jotted something down in that book with graphite. Then my entire family just collapsed on the ground." She lost her composure.
TO BE CONTINUED
|
|
[WP] Wikipedia entries for living notable individuals are mysteriously being edited to include a future date of death. Nobody takes these seriously, that is until the first few deaths start to occur as predicted.
|
"Well, of course my first thought was: time travel," Mark confided.
"Time travel?" Sarah asked.
"Sure. But then, my first thought is *always* time travel. You know: why are blueberries blue: time travel."
"What has time travel..." Sarah began.
"Don't ask him that," Jenn cautioned.
"...got to do with blueberries being blue?" Sarah finished anyway.
"Well," Mark said,"there's not really any other reason why a randomly selected fruit would happen to be blue, so, by process of elimination: time travel."
"Told you not to ask," Jenn said, nodding sagely.
"Anyway," Mark continued, seeming unperturbed by his sudden loss of credibility, "I had to abandon that line of reasoning..."
"Pity. Just when it was getting good."
"... in light of the origin of the edits."
"You found where they were coming from?"
"Kind of."
"Where?"
"That --- isn't really an appropriate term. 'Where', I mean. As near as I can tell, the internet is sort of... writing them itself."
"The internet is --- say what, now?"
"Yeah. The strange thing about the data trails are that they just come from all over. Packets of data assembling themselves spontaneously into intelligible data from thousands of different sources all over the internet."
"OK, I'm not a programmer but that doesn't seem right to me."
"Oh, it's not! If the edit had a source, all the data should be ultimately tracked to a single source, no matter how many layers you have to follow it through, but they aren't. It's like thousands of servers are cooperatively collaborating in seemingly arbitrary ways that just happen to add up into an ultimate end product we can read."
"So this is like nothing we've ever seen before?"
"Not quite," Jenn said, setting down her coffee mug. Clearly this was where she came into the picture, but now that it came to it, she seemed oddly reluctant to join in. "We've seen it a lot, though in a very different context. It's... disturbingly reminiscent of how a human brain fires off impulses in numerous different centers, routing them though complex pathways, which cumulatively add up to what we call 'thought.'"
Sarah sat back and studied Jenn's face, expecting her to be kidding. If it had been Mark saying it she would have been certain of it, but that wasn't usually Jenn's style. "You're saying, the internet is 'thinking'?"
"Better that that!" Mark exclaimed with a dopey looking enthusiastic grin, "It's freakin' psychic! Don't you see? It's not just editing text like it wants to deliver a message... it's making predictions, *and they're happening*."
"Wait... so humans have never found any concrete proof of psychic powers, and now you're saying when we finally find the proof, it's a computer that's doing it?"
"Well, a lot of computers working together actually, but, sure. And why not? A lot of AI research has been devoted to predictive algorithms. We not only showed the internet what we wanted from artificial intelligence, we taught it how to do so." He rotated the portable workstation around to face Sarah more directly and motioned to it in a be-my-guest motion. "Meet the world's first scientifically verifiable psychic. All we gotta do is decide what to ask it, and how best to communicate it."
Sarah stared at the screen which prominently featured a standard search prompt. Then she suspiciously looked back and forth between Mark and Jenn searching for some sign in either of their faces that this was a prank. She wasn't seeing it if it was. Well, it was hard to tell in Mark's case, of course, but if this was a joke, Jenn was playing it like a professional actress.
And if it wasn't? Then what? What would you say to the computer than can literally tell you the future? The text cursor in the search prompt blinked steadily, as if patiently waiting...
|
An unseen contract was signed. Two hands shook behind a dimensional curtain, renegotiating the pact between cause and effect. Either recently windowed or divorced, cause relinquished control on its precious effect. Friction was to heat as poverty to famine, and graphite on paper to symbolic meaning - before it all changed.
Humans rarely met in groups anymore. Since the change, they'd become nomads, trying to get off the map. The more people who knew of your existence on this spherical planet, the worst. But humans are the biggest suckers for hope. Me included. I get lonely, too. And when I get lonely, I can't help but find somebody, anybody to talk with.
One day in my abandoned farm sted, I saw a women from a few hundred meters off. Something came over me. I did what I normally never do, and yelled, "Oi, want to die? Get off the fucking road."
She just continued to stare down at her feet. After an awful silent while, she lifted her head to my voice, but eventaully she slowly began moving towards me.
"Not this fucking way."
Closer.
"Turn the around or die."
But she kept coming my direction, first a walk, then a jaunt and then a run. I opened the door before she could reach me with my father's shotgun in hand, pointed at her chest. "Turn the fuck around, love, and go."
"What has happened here?" she said blankly, not alarmed in the least.
"You'll get me killed."
"But where is everybody?" Her voice cracked with confusion.
I cocked the gun, "Turn right around where you can came" I articulated, trying to scare her with my controlled tone of voice.
"But where's my life? My home is gone, my family just collapsed. I see men killing each other for rabbits, guns point in every direction. When, how, and why did order go to fucking hell?" Her voice began to fail at the end in a hysterical fit.
I sighed as older men do before finally giving up, "come on in. I can tell you as much as I know." Thank god too. I was lonely.
After sipping her cup of hot water (forget about tea or coffee!) I poured her, I started. "THere's been a change."
"Don't play stupid with me. I can god damn well see that."
I eye her impatience and she shuts up. "The lay of the land is different now, somehow. We humans used to control our actions, the world, life. Enact change with our own limbs. But its now different."
"What do you mean by it, or enact change."
I exhale loudly, just about fed up with this chica. "Let me put it this way, before these new changes, when I slam your face with my shotgun's butt for being so inconsiderate, your crown would shatter, right? The cranial shards slid into your frontal lobe erasing, let's say, the name of your mother's name or your favorite fetishes. Against the blow, you will fly back, screaming some proverbial bloody tune. Passersby would call the police, and I'd be swiftly sentenced for second degree murder, blah blah, you know the rest. This is how life was. Cause and effect. But it's changed….all of it."
Her first words surprised me. No effort to even dismiss my nut-job theory. "It's a book."
"A what?"
"A book. It exists, a thing, with pages."
I can't seem to grasp the sounds, her mouth is producing. "A book is what?"
"I've seen it being passed between two people. I was with my family at the time." Large globs of water form at her eyes. But she continues, "They looked back and saw my family, but not me. I was hiding around a corner. They looked back, then jotted something down in that book with graphite. Then my entire family just collapsed on the ground." She lost her composure.
TO BE CONTINUED
|
|
[WP] Wikipedia entries for living notable individuals are mysteriously being edited to include a future date of death. Nobody takes these seriously, that is until the first few deaths start to occur as predicted.
|
"Well, of course my first thought was: time travel," Mark confided.
"Time travel?" Sarah asked.
"Sure. But then, my first thought is *always* time travel. You know: why are blueberries blue: time travel."
"What has time travel..." Sarah began.
"Don't ask him that," Jenn cautioned.
"...got to do with blueberries being blue?" Sarah finished anyway.
"Well," Mark said,"there's not really any other reason why a randomly selected fruit would happen to be blue, so, by process of elimination: time travel."
"Told you not to ask," Jenn said, nodding sagely.
"Anyway," Mark continued, seeming unperturbed by his sudden loss of credibility, "I had to abandon that line of reasoning..."
"Pity. Just when it was getting good."
"... in light of the origin of the edits."
"You found where they were coming from?"
"Kind of."
"Where?"
"That --- isn't really an appropriate term. 'Where', I mean. As near as I can tell, the internet is sort of... writing them itself."
"The internet is --- say what, now?"
"Yeah. The strange thing about the data trails are that they just come from all over. Packets of data assembling themselves spontaneously into intelligible data from thousands of different sources all over the internet."
"OK, I'm not a programmer but that doesn't seem right to me."
"Oh, it's not! If the edit had a source, all the data should be ultimately tracked to a single source, no matter how many layers you have to follow it through, but they aren't. It's like thousands of servers are cooperatively collaborating in seemingly arbitrary ways that just happen to add up into an ultimate end product we can read."
"So this is like nothing we've ever seen before?"
"Not quite," Jenn said, setting down her coffee mug. Clearly this was where she came into the picture, but now that it came to it, she seemed oddly reluctant to join in. "We've seen it a lot, though in a very different context. It's... disturbingly reminiscent of how a human brain fires off impulses in numerous different centers, routing them though complex pathways, which cumulatively add up to what we call 'thought.'"
Sarah sat back and studied Jenn's face, expecting her to be kidding. If it had been Mark saying it she would have been certain of it, but that wasn't usually Jenn's style. "You're saying, the internet is 'thinking'?"
"Better that that!" Mark exclaimed with a dopey looking enthusiastic grin, "It's freakin' psychic! Don't you see? It's not just editing text like it wants to deliver a message... it's making predictions, *and they're happening*."
"Wait... so humans have never found any concrete proof of psychic powers, and now you're saying when we finally find the proof, it's a computer that's doing it?"
"Well, a lot of computers working together actually, but, sure. And why not? A lot of AI research has been devoted to predictive algorithms. We not only showed the internet what we wanted from artificial intelligence, we taught it how to do so." He rotated the portable workstation around to face Sarah more directly and motioned to it in a be-my-guest motion. "Meet the world's first scientifically verifiable psychic. All we gotta do is decide what to ask it, and how best to communicate it."
Sarah stared at the screen which prominently featured a standard search prompt. Then she suspiciously looked back and forth between Mark and Jenn searching for some sign in either of their faces that this was a prank. She wasn't seeing it if it was. Well, it was hard to tell in Mark's case, of course, but if this was a joke, Jenn was playing it like a professional actress.
And if it wasn't? Then what? What would you say to the computer than can literally tell you the future? The text cursor in the search prompt blinked steadily, as if patiently waiting...
|
Jazz music shuffled around Leonardo's room, coiling through the furniture and knocking on the windows, almost as if Miles Davis himself was using the place as a stage for another sold-out gig. The smooth tunes were in sharp contrast to Leonardo's jumpy demeanor; he had hoped the music would calm him down, but his nerves were still frayed more than the plug of a fifty year old coffee maker.
"Leo, you're fine. It's going to be all right. We've got the best security in Hollywood at your house, the cops are on full alert - *nobody's going to hurt you*."
Leonardo turned on his heels, his socks wearing thin from pacing, and shoved a finger at the telephone set on the side table next to the couch.
"People keep telling me that, Laura. Everyone's saying I'm going to be fine, but...goddammit! How much you want to bet that Affleck's agent said that to him as well? And now look where he is!" Leonardo scoffed and raised his hands in defeat.
There was a knock on the door and a very stocky individual stepped into the room. Underneath his jacket, there was the glint of a pistol holstered at his side.
"Sorry to interrupt, Mr. DiCaprio. Just making my rounds."
Leonardo nodded and waved him off, only to turn back around.
"Hey, how's my wife doing? Is she okay?"
"She's fine, Mr. DiCaprio."
"Good." He sighed and rubbed his eyes. He spoke again, this time into the phone. "It's getting late, Laura. You should get some sleep. Goodnight." He pressed the hang-up button on the set and placed the phone back in its cradle.
The bodyguard finished checking out the room and gave a crisp nod as he left, closing the door behind him. Leonardo picked up the remote from the side table and turned the music off. *The show was over, ladies and gentlemen. Thanks for coming.*
Leonardo dropped onto the couch and closed his eyes, hoping to follow his own advice and get some sleep. Barely a minute passed before there was another knock on the door. Leonardo groaned.
"One of you guys was just in here! Please go away!"
The door creaked open, and Leonardo heard someone step out onto the empty stage.
|
|
Based off of a comment I saw.
|
[WP] A sign on Mars is found that reads: "Level 2" and is signed by God.
|
The clock ticked its noise-less tick again. The green light illuminated my face. It's hard to keep track of time when there is no night nor day. We are to touch down soon on Mars. It's been too long a trip, one in which time seems tossed by the wayside.
It's only us three, Mike, Claire, and Myself. I can't remember the last time we talked, isn't much to talk about when you all experience everything together.
Not too long now, I thought to myself. This journey was sure to end, but then we'd just have to do it again. This time in reverse. I wonder, oh, what time was it again.
I look over at the clock the green light said Eighteen-Zero-Zero. I can't remember what time that was, was it night or morning?
As these questions entered my sub-conscious I felt something push against me. We had finally touched down, been too long since I felt some kind of force, zero gravity is too much...nothing.
Mike was the first to exit, with Claire behind. I usually brought up the end. It was expected. As we stepped out it was unsettling. The pressure on my body was light, it was alien.
Before I could focus more on it I caught Mike out of the corner of my eye. He was waving, he was trying to get me and Claire's attention. In front of him was a huge stone slab. Most of it was covered in finite red coarse Mars dirt.
I approached with Claire as all three of us attempted to wipe off the soil. It was caked on, but as we wiped I noticed that this rock had to have been made. It was oddly shaped and markings were carved into it "רמת שתי" the markings read as Mike knocked the last bit of soil off.
Claire looked at both of us with a perplexed look. 'What does it say?' I thought. Mike was stunned, he seemed taken aback. Finally two words fell out of his mouth "Level Two" he blurted.
Both of us looked at him like he was crazy. "What do you mean Level Two?" I stated. "I mean that says Level Two. It's Hebrew. Why is there Hebrew on Mars?" Mike responded.
"Wait, there looks like there's more underneath it." Claire swiped the soil away. "אלוהים" it read.
Mike at this point was freaking out he was clutching his head and pacing back and forth.
"What's it say Mike?" Claire inquired.
"God, it says God."
'What?' I thought to myself 'how is this possible, it's gotta be a joke right?'
As I thought this the Hebrew letters illuminated, that all too familiar digital green.
"I don't remember much else" I stated to the crew who found me. 'Though I can't help but feel like asking, Where did you come from?'
The spaceman looked at me and calmly said, "We came from Mars, you know the second planet from the Sun."
"We've been attempting a manned expedition to Earth, but the environment has always been a wasteland. Up until this past year."
The tick tock of his mouth was noiseless. I still couldn't tell what time it was.
|
"Harry, I don't think that this is funny," says my superior, but I can't keep from cracking up. I'm trying to hide it as much as I can, but the laughter is seeping through my lips. "I showed this picture to the goddamned president, Harry. We've been freaking out for days."
I start laughing out loud. "Oh, no- you showed this to the president?" I can't believe it. I'm hacking up pieces of cliff bar all over the computer terminal. The other folks in the Mars Rover control room are snickering and mumbling.
"Of course I did, you're a NASA scientist, and you gave me a picture of the surface with "Level 2" signed by God. What was I supposed to think?" he asks. I roll my eyes.
"Oh come on, Frank. I don't know, maybe have like, one second of critical reasoning," I scoff. Frank sighs and grits his teeth, tossing the photo back on my desk.
"Yeah, I guess it was kind of silly to think that...," he trails off and walks away, defeated. My laughter peters out and I frown a little. I didn't mean to give Frank a hard time. It's just so easy.
|
Based off of a comment I saw.
|
[WP] A sign on Mars is found that reads: "Level 2" and is signed by God.
|
I stared in shock at the sign for longer than I would care to admit, unable or perhaps unwilling to comprehend its true meaning. It was a small, simple thing -- made of wood with the message upon it written in what I would, otherwise, think to be black sharpie.
"Level 2. -- God."
I spent minutes there, maybe a quarter of an hour, before I finally tapped the communications switch inside my suit. "Um, base, I am moved to report that I have discovered evidence of extraterrestrial life."
There were only eleven of us on the mission, and it being nighttime, only two of us were awake. Jim, the other night owl, answered. "What? Mike, what are you talking about?"
"There's a sign here. Like, a sign with something written at it. I'm looking at a sign that says...I just, you wouldn't believe it. It says..."
Jim cut me off. "Level 2, God?"
I paused. "Yes, how did you..." Comprehension dawned on me as I heard him guffawing. "Goddamnit, Jim, how did you even make that thing up here?"
"It was my personal item. I figured it'd be a good one once we got here."
"*This* was your personal item?" I asked the question incredulously because most people brought a picture or a moment, not a...practical joke. "Does this even fit the size requirements?"
Jim was still laughing. "Yeah, man. It folds out. It's actually got a camera in it, too. The look on your face when you saw it -- dude, you should've seen it. You can, I got screenshots. It was great. We have to get the Colonel tomorrow, she will absolutely flip. But God, I don't think anything will be better than 'I am moved to report.' Real 'one step for man' moment there. Good thing we didn't let you step out of the ship first."
I found myself laughing as well. Six months traveling here, three months here -- it had all been work, work, work. Sure, we'd stopped to appreciate from time to time, but I'd not really laughed like this since we'd landed. Heck, probably since we'd taken off. Some might have been disappointed -- such a great discovery turning into a tiny joke -- but for me, that joke meant everything.
My giddiness only rose as I considered how the Colonel would react in the morning. Looking around, I saw some easily moveable rocks. I touched the transmitter again. "Jim, let me tell you, if we're really going to get her, we should build up these rocks like a shrine..."
|
"Harry, I don't think that this is funny," says my superior, but I can't keep from cracking up. I'm trying to hide it as much as I can, but the laughter is seeping through my lips. "I showed this picture to the goddamned president, Harry. We've been freaking out for days."
I start laughing out loud. "Oh, no- you showed this to the president?" I can't believe it. I'm hacking up pieces of cliff bar all over the computer terminal. The other folks in the Mars Rover control room are snickering and mumbling.
"Of course I did, you're a NASA scientist, and you gave me a picture of the surface with "Level 2" signed by God. What was I supposed to think?" he asks. I roll my eyes.
"Oh come on, Frank. I don't know, maybe have like, one second of critical reasoning," I scoff. Frank sighs and grits his teeth, tossing the photo back on my desk.
"Yeah, I guess it was kind of silly to think that...," he trails off and walks away, defeated. My laughter peters out and I frown a little. I didn't mean to give Frank a hard time. It's just so easy.
|
Based off of a comment I saw.
|
[WP] A sign on Mars is found that reads: "Level 2" and is signed by God.
|
I stared in shock at the sign for longer than I would care to admit, unable or perhaps unwilling to comprehend its true meaning. It was a small, simple thing -- made of wood with the message upon it written in what I would, otherwise, think to be black sharpie.
"Level 2. -- God."
I spent minutes there, maybe a quarter of an hour, before I finally tapped the communications switch inside my suit. "Um, base, I am moved to report that I have discovered evidence of extraterrestrial life."
There were only eleven of us on the mission, and it being nighttime, only two of us were awake. Jim, the other night owl, answered. "What? Mike, what are you talking about?"
"There's a sign here. Like, a sign with something written at it. I'm looking at a sign that says...I just, you wouldn't believe it. It says..."
Jim cut me off. "Level 2, God?"
I paused. "Yes, how did you..." Comprehension dawned on me as I heard him guffawing. "Goddamnit, Jim, how did you even make that thing up here?"
"It was my personal item. I figured it'd be a good one once we got here."
"*This* was your personal item?" I asked the question incredulously because most people brought a picture or a moment, not a...practical joke. "Does this even fit the size requirements?"
Jim was still laughing. "Yeah, man. It folds out. It's actually got a camera in it, too. The look on your face when you saw it -- dude, you should've seen it. You can, I got screenshots. It was great. We have to get the Colonel tomorrow, she will absolutely flip. But God, I don't think anything will be better than 'I am moved to report.' Real 'one step for man' moment there. Good thing we didn't let you step out of the ship first."
I found myself laughing as well. Six months traveling here, three months here -- it had all been work, work, work. Sure, we'd stopped to appreciate from time to time, but I'd not really laughed like this since we'd landed. Heck, probably since we'd taken off. Some might have been disappointed -- such a great discovery turning into a tiny joke -- but for me, that joke meant everything.
My giddiness only rose as I considered how the Colonel would react in the morning. Looking around, I saw some easily moveable rocks. I touched the transmitter again. "Jim, let me tell you, if we're really going to get her, we should build up these rocks like a shrine..."
|
The clock ticked its noise-less tick again. The green light illuminated my face. It's hard to keep track of time when there is no night nor day. We are to touch down soon on Mars. It's been too long a trip, one in which time seems tossed by the wayside.
It's only us three, Mike, Claire, and Myself. I can't remember the last time we talked, isn't much to talk about when you all experience everything together.
Not too long now, I thought to myself. This journey was sure to end, but then we'd just have to do it again. This time in reverse. I wonder, oh, what time was it again.
I look over at the clock the green light said Eighteen-Zero-Zero. I can't remember what time that was, was it night or morning?
As these questions entered my sub-conscious I felt something push against me. We had finally touched down, been too long since I felt some kind of force, zero gravity is too much...nothing.
Mike was the first to exit, with Claire behind. I usually brought up the end. It was expected. As we stepped out it was unsettling. The pressure on my body was light, it was alien.
Before I could focus more on it I caught Mike out of the corner of my eye. He was waving, he was trying to get me and Claire's attention. In front of him was a huge stone slab. Most of it was covered in finite red coarse Mars dirt.
I approached with Claire as all three of us attempted to wipe off the soil. It was caked on, but as we wiped I noticed that this rock had to have been made. It was oddly shaped and markings were carved into it "רמת שתי" the markings read as Mike knocked the last bit of soil off.
Claire looked at both of us with a perplexed look. 'What does it say?' I thought. Mike was stunned, he seemed taken aback. Finally two words fell out of his mouth "Level Two" he blurted.
Both of us looked at him like he was crazy. "What do you mean Level Two?" I stated. "I mean that says Level Two. It's Hebrew. Why is there Hebrew on Mars?" Mike responded.
"Wait, there looks like there's more underneath it." Claire swiped the soil away. "אלוהים" it read.
Mike at this point was freaking out he was clutching his head and pacing back and forth.
"What's it say Mike?" Claire inquired.
"God, it says God."
'What?' I thought to myself 'how is this possible, it's gotta be a joke right?'
As I thought this the Hebrew letters illuminated, that all too familiar digital green.
"I don't remember much else" I stated to the crew who found me. 'Though I can't help but feel like asking, Where did you come from?'
The spaceman looked at me and calmly said, "We came from Mars, you know the second planet from the Sun."
"We've been attempting a manned expedition to Earth, but the environment has always been a wasteland. Up until this past year."
The tick tock of his mouth was noiseless. I still couldn't tell what time it was.
|
Based off of a comment I saw.
|
[WP] A sign on Mars is found that reads: "Level 2" and is signed by God.
|
I stared in shock at the sign for longer than I would care to admit, unable or perhaps unwilling to comprehend its true meaning. It was a small, simple thing -- made of wood with the message upon it written in what I would, otherwise, think to be black sharpie.
"Level 2. -- God."
I spent minutes there, maybe a quarter of an hour, before I finally tapped the communications switch inside my suit. "Um, base, I am moved to report that I have discovered evidence of extraterrestrial life."
There were only eleven of us on the mission, and it being nighttime, only two of us were awake. Jim, the other night owl, answered. "What? Mike, what are you talking about?"
"There's a sign here. Like, a sign with something written at it. I'm looking at a sign that says...I just, you wouldn't believe it. It says..."
Jim cut me off. "Level 2, God?"
I paused. "Yes, how did you..." Comprehension dawned on me as I heard him guffawing. "Goddamnit, Jim, how did you even make that thing up here?"
"It was my personal item. I figured it'd be a good one once we got here."
"*This* was your personal item?" I asked the question incredulously because most people brought a picture or a moment, not a...practical joke. "Does this even fit the size requirements?"
Jim was still laughing. "Yeah, man. It folds out. It's actually got a camera in it, too. The look on your face when you saw it -- dude, you should've seen it. You can, I got screenshots. It was great. We have to get the Colonel tomorrow, she will absolutely flip. But God, I don't think anything will be better than 'I am moved to report.' Real 'one step for man' moment there. Good thing we didn't let you step out of the ship first."
I found myself laughing as well. Six months traveling here, three months here -- it had all been work, work, work. Sure, we'd stopped to appreciate from time to time, but I'd not really laughed like this since we'd landed. Heck, probably since we'd taken off. Some might have been disappointed -- such a great discovery turning into a tiny joke -- but for me, that joke meant everything.
My giddiness only rose as I considered how the Colonel would react in the morning. Looking around, I saw some easily moveable rocks. I touched the transmitter again. "Jim, let me tell you, if we're really going to get her, we should build up these rocks like a shrine..."
|
"It's not fair," Said Kizmet and he kicked the dust, which flowed and dissipated along the Martian surface past a pile of explosives and bodies set under an ancient sign.
After all of the struggle of mankind working in the dark from the very beginning. All of the arguments about whether He was real, all of the people that died in His name. After the religious turmoil of the past had been all but eradicated from society on earth, God had given them a sign: "Level 2 - God". The cosmic joke had been taken too far.
Kizmet was tired and slowly bleeding to death, but he continued his work feverishly, like a man possessed. Although he was an excellent shot, his first in command had been quicker on the trigger and had left a good sized hole in his abdomen before Kizmet had blown his face off.
As he finished placing the remainder of his research crew's bodies in position and collapsed onto the pile he swore under his breath: "We will not play your game, but humanity will beat you one day, if I don't get there first," and he held down the button on his detonator.
|
Based off of a comment I saw.
|
[WP] A sign on Mars is found that reads: "Level 2" and is signed by God.
|
Level 2
-God
I just stood there, staring at this wooden plank, for longer than I'd care to admit, searching for anything that would lead me to believe it was just another one of Jim's pranks. The silence surrounding me is absolutely terrifying, when a loud *click* sounded off in my helmet. The startle almost causes me to fall over.
"Mick, what do you see?"
*What do I see? How am I supposed to answer that when even I don't know what I'm seeing right now? Can you even imagine the wars that this would start if it were to become public knowledge? I mean, which god signed this? No. I can't say anything about this.*
*click* "There's nothing here. Just more dust." I radioed back, as I started to dig. *No one can know about this.*
Pulling the sign out of the dirt was harder than I thought it would be, but once I managed to break it free I tossed it into its shallow grave, and covered it as quickly as I could with the red dirt. *They would thank me for this if they knew. I just saved humanity.*
*click* "Michael, what are you doing?"
*What? Who was that?*
A sudden realization washes over me, and I begin to panic. *Oh, no... not again!* My surroundings start to fade, almost into perfect darkness. Things are becoming warmer, and I'm starting to feel heavier. I am breathing just a little bit easier, and that's when it happened.
"Michael, get out of bed! You're going to be late for school!"
*Ah, man... It's like she waits until I'm getting to the good part.*
"Yeah, yeah, I'm awake," I yell back, as I fall out of my bed. I scramble to get dressed and grab my copy of *The Magic School Bus Lost In The Solar System* off of my nightstand hardly able to contain my excitement towards showing it to James, and everyone else at show and tell today. They'll love it!
|
"It's not fair," Said Kizmet and he kicked the dust, which flowed and dissipated along the Martian surface past a pile of explosives and bodies set under an ancient sign.
After all of the struggle of mankind working in the dark from the very beginning. All of the arguments about whether He was real, all of the people that died in His name. After the religious turmoil of the past had been all but eradicated from society on earth, God had given them a sign: "Level 2 - God". The cosmic joke had been taken too far.
Kizmet was tired and slowly bleeding to death, but he continued his work feverishly, like a man possessed. Although he was an excellent shot, his first in command had been quicker on the trigger and had left a good sized hole in his abdomen before Kizmet had blown his face off.
As he finished placing the remainder of his research crew's bodies in position and collapsed onto the pile he swore under his breath: "We will not play your game, but humanity will beat you one day, if I don't get there first," and he held down the button on his detonator.
|
Based off of a comment I saw.
|
[WP] A sign on Mars is found that reads: "Level 2" and is signed by God.
|
I stared in shock at the sign for longer than I would care to admit, unable or perhaps unwilling to comprehend its true meaning. It was a small, simple thing -- made of wood with the message upon it written in what I would, otherwise, think to be black sharpie.
"Level 2. -- God."
I spent minutes there, maybe a quarter of an hour, before I finally tapped the communications switch inside my suit. "Um, base, I am moved to report that I have discovered evidence of extraterrestrial life."
There were only eleven of us on the mission, and it being nighttime, only two of us were awake. Jim, the other night owl, answered. "What? Mike, what are you talking about?"
"There's a sign here. Like, a sign with something written at it. I'm looking at a sign that says...I just, you wouldn't believe it. It says..."
Jim cut me off. "Level 2, God?"
I paused. "Yes, how did you..." Comprehension dawned on me as I heard him guffawing. "Goddamnit, Jim, how did you even make that thing up here?"
"It was my personal item. I figured it'd be a good one once we got here."
"*This* was your personal item?" I asked the question incredulously because most people brought a picture or a moment, not a...practical joke. "Does this even fit the size requirements?"
Jim was still laughing. "Yeah, man. It folds out. It's actually got a camera in it, too. The look on your face when you saw it -- dude, you should've seen it. You can, I got screenshots. It was great. We have to get the Colonel tomorrow, she will absolutely flip. But God, I don't think anything will be better than 'I am moved to report.' Real 'one step for man' moment there. Good thing we didn't let you step out of the ship first."
I found myself laughing as well. Six months traveling here, three months here -- it had all been work, work, work. Sure, we'd stopped to appreciate from time to time, but I'd not really laughed like this since we'd landed. Heck, probably since we'd taken off. Some might have been disappointed -- such a great discovery turning into a tiny joke -- but for me, that joke meant everything.
My giddiness only rose as I considered how the Colonel would react in the morning. Looking around, I saw some easily moveable rocks. I touched the transmitter again. "Jim, let me tell you, if we're really going to get her, we should build up these rocks like a shrine..."
|
We stared at it for a few hours. We'd already gone through the process of taking pictures and sending it back to Earth. By now they'd be causing a shitstorm, if they were released to the public. But we weren't on Earth, so we just stood there looking at it.
There it stood, carved out of a Martian rock long since gone. Sitting in the middle of the Tharsis nothing. A sign-looking thing with the words
Level 2
with a flowing, but clearly legible signature underneath.
-God
None of us could think of anything to say, much less any way we could fit this into our worldview. Level 2?
Jameson raised his hands in triumph. "All right, level 2!" he proclaimed, his victorious voice breaking the ice that formed across the radio.
Maddie kicked him for me, since I was on the other side of the line. "Shut up. You're gonna ruin the moment."
"I thought we already had the moment."
"Yeah, we already did." I kind of hated taking Jameson's side on something, but he was right. I reached forward and knocked a chip off the side of the sign, picking it up and putting it in an airtight container for later examination. "It's probably just aliens screwing with us anyway. Let's get back to the lander and throw this in the machine. My air's running low."
"You and your goddamn aliens again." Her voice would've echoed across the plains if her radio wasn't the only thing that heard it.
|
Based off of a comment I saw.
|
[WP] A sign on Mars is found that reads: "Level 2" and is signed by God.
|
Level 2
-God
I just stood there, staring at this wooden plank, for longer than I'd care to admit, searching for anything that would lead me to believe it was just another one of Jim's pranks. The silence surrounding me is absolutely terrifying, when a loud *click* sounded off in my helmet. The startle almost causes me to fall over.
"Mick, what do you see?"
*What do I see? How am I supposed to answer that when even I don't know what I'm seeing right now? Can you even imagine the wars that this would start if it were to become public knowledge? I mean, which god signed this? No. I can't say anything about this.*
*click* "There's nothing here. Just more dust." I radioed back, as I started to dig. *No one can know about this.*
Pulling the sign out of the dirt was harder than I thought it would be, but once I managed to break it free I tossed it into its shallow grave, and covered it as quickly as I could with the red dirt. *They would thank me for this if they knew. I just saved humanity.*
*click* "Michael, what are you doing?"
*What? Who was that?*
A sudden realization washes over me, and I begin to panic. *Oh, no... not again!* My surroundings start to fade, almost into perfect darkness. Things are becoming warmer, and I'm starting to feel heavier. I am breathing just a little bit easier, and that's when it happened.
"Michael, get out of bed! You're going to be late for school!"
*Ah, man... It's like she waits until I'm getting to the good part.*
"Yeah, yeah, I'm awake," I yell back, as I fall out of my bed. I scramble to get dressed and grab my copy of *The Magic School Bus Lost In The Solar System* off of my nightstand hardly able to contain my excitement towards showing it to James, and everyone else at show and tell today. They'll love it!
|
We stared at it for a few hours. We'd already gone through the process of taking pictures and sending it back to Earth. By now they'd be causing a shitstorm, if they were released to the public. But we weren't on Earth, so we just stood there looking at it.
There it stood, carved out of a Martian rock long since gone. Sitting in the middle of the Tharsis nothing. A sign-looking thing with the words
Level 2
with a flowing, but clearly legible signature underneath.
-God
None of us could think of anything to say, much less any way we could fit this into our worldview. Level 2?
Jameson raised his hands in triumph. "All right, level 2!" he proclaimed, his victorious voice breaking the ice that formed across the radio.
Maddie kicked him for me, since I was on the other side of the line. "Shut up. You're gonna ruin the moment."
"I thought we already had the moment."
"Yeah, we already did." I kind of hated taking Jameson's side on something, but he was right. I reached forward and knocked a chip off the side of the sign, picking it up and putting it in an airtight container for later examination. "It's probably just aliens screwing with us anyway. Let's get back to the lander and throw this in the machine. My air's running low."
"You and your goddamn aliens again." Her voice would've echoed across the plains if her radio wasn't the only thing that heard it.
|
Based off of a comment I saw.
|
[WP] A sign on Mars is found that reads: "Level 2" and is signed by God.
|
Level 2
-God
I just stood there, staring at this wooden plank, for longer than I'd care to admit, searching for anything that would lead me to believe it was just another one of Jim's pranks. The silence surrounding me is absolutely terrifying, when a loud *click* sounded off in my helmet. The startle almost causes me to fall over.
"Mick, what do you see?"
*What do I see? How am I supposed to answer that when even I don't know what I'm seeing right now? Can you even imagine the wars that this would start if it were to become public knowledge? I mean, which god signed this? No. I can't say anything about this.*
*click* "There's nothing here. Just more dust." I radioed back, as I started to dig. *No one can know about this.*
Pulling the sign out of the dirt was harder than I thought it would be, but once I managed to break it free I tossed it into its shallow grave, and covered it as quickly as I could with the red dirt. *They would thank me for this if they knew. I just saved humanity.*
*click* "Michael, what are you doing?"
*What? Who was that?*
A sudden realization washes over me, and I begin to panic. *Oh, no... not again!* My surroundings start to fade, almost into perfect darkness. Things are becoming warmer, and I'm starting to feel heavier. I am breathing just a little bit easier, and that's when it happened.
"Michael, get out of bed! You're going to be late for school!"
*Ah, man... It's like she waits until I'm getting to the good part.*
"Yeah, yeah, I'm awake," I yell back, as I fall out of my bed. I scramble to get dressed and grab my copy of *The Magic School Bus Lost In The Solar System* off of my nightstand hardly able to contain my excitement towards showing it to James, and everyone else at show and tell today. They'll love it!
|
"An elevator shaft!?"
He remained cautious and decided to go left of the elevator through the narrow dark corridor. His sneaking suit was beginning to chaff. The nanomachines in his head were starting to fizzle and crack, and he had lost all communication with the base of operations.
Checking his inventory, he realized he was all out of cigs. This mission to mars was beyond anything he ever encountered on the battlefield. Even though the situation here so far had been bleak and deserted. It reminded him of his days in Zanzibar.
As the corridor extended, he noticed the glowing metallic idols that were wedged into the carved walls. The designs looked futuristic. Before he knew it.. he was looking at what seemed like the same elevator he had passed to come through this area.
"What the hell..!"
He twisted his head and shrugged to himself before pressing the call button.
As the doors parted open he tossed a stun grenade into the elevator and dove quickly out of the way.
Boom! The grenade popped with a loud flash. He moved back into the elevator and felt around to ensure he was the only one inside it. The elevator was unlike anything he had ever seen. There were only two buttons. A faint hum was eminiating from it. As he looked at the control panel he noticed a strange sign above it.
'LEVEL 2 - GOD'
http://imgur.com/dNwjhv9
He looked at the sign blankly for what seemed like hours. And then, unwitting that this was his mission, he pressed the button that corresponded to the second level.
The machine whirred and shook gently before it began its ascent. Voices in his head began to call out to him.
The elevator doors parted open to another long corridor that led to an open doorway. He equipped his silenced Socom not knowing what to expect. Snakes don't belong on Mars he thought to himself.
As he entered the new room, he looked up immediately to a giant mechanized machine. The letters G.O.D. were etched into the right chest plate. A giant spherical screen was fitted in place of the head, and it began to turn on like an LCD.
"Metal Gear?!" Snake said to himself in shock and horror.
The AI had gone active, a face appeared on the screen...
To be continued...
|
Based off of a comment I saw.
|
[WP] A sign on Mars is found that reads: "Level 2" and is signed by God.
|
"No, just no, were done here, we are going back to earth." Bill said as he turned around and started back towards the lander.
"B-But Bill! This is Insane! And it's defying everything we have ever known! How can you just want to turn back?" Jeb said as he flailed his arms about in distress.
"Look, After seeing this i know how it all ends, and it's not really worth it. Let's just go back." Bill sighed.
Jeb dropped his arms in astonishment.
"You know how this ends? What the fuck does that mean?" Jeb shouted.
"Well, Have you been up to date about all the new systems they are looking at? that they have found a new habitable system? What is that systems name?" Bill asked.
"What? I don't know, Quigular or something? How is that relevant?" Jeb asked desperately.
Bill inhaled and then spoke reverently "And finally The Message to His Creation, written in letters of fire on the side of the Quentulus Quazgar Mountains will be found.. From the third book, The system name was Quentulus, that is the name of the system we found."
Jeb just sat there with a look of shock on his face.
Bill stood there and looked at Jeb, awkwardly not knowing what to do.
"So, that kinda ruins it all doesn't it?" Jeb says under his breath.
Bill just sighs "Yep".
"So we can just go home now?"
"Yep"
So you don't think we should be going and checking for our.."
"Nope"
Jeb just stood there.
Bill just stood there.
"We are sorry for the inconvenience." Jeb said under his breath.
"yep"
|
"An elevator shaft!?"
He remained cautious and decided to go left of the elevator through the narrow dark corridor. His sneaking suit was beginning to chaff. The nanomachines in his head were starting to fizzle and crack, and he had lost all communication with the base of operations.
Checking his inventory, he realized he was all out of cigs. This mission to mars was beyond anything he ever encountered on the battlefield. Even though the situation here so far had been bleak and deserted. It reminded him of his days in Zanzibar.
As the corridor extended, he noticed the glowing metallic idols that were wedged into the carved walls. The designs looked futuristic. Before he knew it.. he was looking at what seemed like the same elevator he had passed to come through this area.
"What the hell..!"
He twisted his head and shrugged to himself before pressing the call button.
As the doors parted open he tossed a stun grenade into the elevator and dove quickly out of the way.
Boom! The grenade popped with a loud flash. He moved back into the elevator and felt around to ensure he was the only one inside it. The elevator was unlike anything he had ever seen. There were only two buttons. A faint hum was eminiating from it. As he looked at the control panel he noticed a strange sign above it.
'LEVEL 2 - GOD'
http://imgur.com/dNwjhv9
He looked at the sign blankly for what seemed like hours. And then, unwitting that this was his mission, he pressed the button that corresponded to the second level.
The machine whirred and shook gently before it began its ascent. Voices in his head began to call out to him.
The elevator doors parted open to another long corridor that led to an open doorway. He equipped his silenced Socom not knowing what to expect. Snakes don't belong on Mars he thought to himself.
As he entered the new room, he looked up immediately to a giant mechanized machine. The letters G.O.D. were etched into the right chest plate. A giant spherical screen was fitted in place of the head, and it began to turn on like an LCD.
"Metal Gear?!" Snake said to himself in shock and horror.
The AI had gone active, a face appeared on the screen...
To be continued...
|
Based off of a comment I saw.
|
[WP] A sign on Mars is found that reads: "Level 2" and is signed by God.
|
He lay there in silence. The room was finally empty after what seemed to be hours of goodbyes from teary family members, but not as many as he liked there to be.
These were his final moments. A full 84 years of trials in a game called life and his failures over shadowed his accomplishments. Tears would be streaming down his face if he had the energy to make them.
He thought long and hard in his silent state. He was a bad man in the eyes of those he loved for they did not know the hardships he endured. His guidance during his infant years were that of a lashing hand from an alcoholic pig of a man. Fear consuming him through his adolescence until all that was left was anger and hate. He vowed that he would never touch a drink and ruin the life of any man woman or child. That Was until he had to fight for his country.
The horrors of his childhood were replaced with the horrors of war and this took a toll on him. His family. His sanity. Until all that was left were mistakes, heartache and a family who shunned a man they couldn't love, for his mistakes were too many.
He was grateful for ones that showed, and that was his last thought as he slowly slipped into an eternal bliss.
He suddenly awoke amongst a dark starry sky and he gazed in awe. He surely believed this was his last day on earth, and it was. He left behind a life full of mistakes and failures to a blissful to a noiseless beautiful landscape of red. He walked and suddenly saw a sign.
Level 2
- God
He smiled and realised there was time to make up for his mistakes and try again. His second chance
|
Jelenka is an image evaluator at NASA. In other word's, she's one of the four people to see any photo that comes from curiosity. First is the preparer, who edits the images for quality concerns, and then there's two more evaluators, each controlling each other in different rooms. They switch every day whether they are the first, second or third evaluator. It's a usual day, some giant flat mountains and rocks. Today she's first, not that it matters at her job. She expected a lot more from this, but in some way it's cool to be part. When something pops up on her screen, she picks up her phone...
*"Boss, have a look on this."*
*"Have a look on what? Describe it to me, my time is short."*
*"Looks like we found a sign."*
*"A sign for what?"*
*"A sign."*
*"What, like, a traffic sign?"*
*"Yeah, it says level 2."*
*"Next to the elevator? Some jerk must have fooled around. I'll forward to the janitor, thanks for calling."*
*"No, I'm doing my job right now. It's on mars. There's a metal sign written "Level 2" on it. Come down."*
*"What? Be there in three minutes."*
Jelenka writes down the number of the image, marks it and continues. There's two more picture with a worse angle on the sign. The camera is turning. Rocks. Rocks. Rocks. This is a rocky area, which actually makes up good pictures because every picture that's not whole lotta dust is interesting and get's a mark. Curiosity drives on, and is now pretty near next to the sign. Looks like some of the bigger rocks around the sign are all at the same distance to the sign, like a circle. Boss walks in.
*"Hey girl, show me the picture!"*
Jelenka presses escape and scrolls up to select the image.
*"That's a sign", says the boss, "that's really a sign. I'm not disappointed, as I expected."*
*"Yeah, it looks just really man-made to me. Possibly the chinese?"*
*"Impossible, they have recently been on the moon."*
*"We don't know everything the Chinese do."*
*"We know everything the Chinese achieve. Jelenka, this is none of your business."*
Boss kicks her chair to the side. As he forwards the photo to his own and deletes it from Jalenkas storage, a feature only to be used for black and diffuse images, the second picture of the sign pops up. As he deletes this and the next one, he asks:
*"More pictures of the sign?"*
*"Yeah, there is one from the side a little later, but you can't read what's written on it."*
*"Go there and delete."*, he steps aside.
*"But boss, don't you want that, too?"*, she rolls back to her desk.
*"Don't need it. Go on or I will."*
Just as she did, he quickly leaves the room. He's always a little strange, but he will take care of that and so, she can go on, doing her mindless job. In the next position of curiosity, she discovers something way more interesting. She startles. There's "God" written on the backside. Jelenka is religious. She's faithful. She knows God didn't do this. She deletes the photograph and quietly goes on.
Edit: Fixed italique.
|
Based off of a comment I saw.
|
[WP] A sign on Mars is found that reads: "Level 2" and is signed by God.
|
Level 2
-God
I just stood there, staring at this wooden plank, for longer than I'd care to admit, searching for anything that would lead me to believe it was just another one of Jim's pranks. The silence surrounding me is absolutely terrifying, when a loud *click* sounded off in my helmet. The startle almost causes me to fall over.
"Mick, what do you see?"
*What do I see? How am I supposed to answer that when even I don't know what I'm seeing right now? Can you even imagine the wars that this would start if it were to become public knowledge? I mean, which god signed this? No. I can't say anything about this.*
*click* "There's nothing here. Just more dust." I radioed back, as I started to dig. *No one can know about this.*
Pulling the sign out of the dirt was harder than I thought it would be, but once I managed to break it free I tossed it into its shallow grave, and covered it as quickly as I could with the red dirt. *They would thank me for this if they knew. I just saved humanity.*
*click* "Michael, what are you doing?"
*What? Who was that?*
A sudden realization washes over me, and I begin to panic. *Oh, no... not again!* My surroundings start to fade, almost into perfect darkness. Things are becoming warmer, and I'm starting to feel heavier. I am breathing just a little bit easier, and that's when it happened.
"Michael, get out of bed! You're going to be late for school!"
*Ah, man... It's like she waits until I'm getting to the good part.*
"Yeah, yeah, I'm awake," I yell back, as I fall out of my bed. I scramble to get dressed and grab my copy of *The Magic School Bus Lost In The Solar System* off of my nightstand hardly able to contain my excitement towards showing it to James, and everyone else at show and tell today. They'll love it!
|
Jelenka is an image evaluator at NASA. In other word's, she's one of the four people to see any photo that comes from curiosity. First is the preparer, who edits the images for quality concerns, and then there's two more evaluators, each controlling each other in different rooms. They switch every day whether they are the first, second or third evaluator. It's a usual day, some giant flat mountains and rocks. Today she's first, not that it matters at her job. She expected a lot more from this, but in some way it's cool to be part. When something pops up on her screen, she picks up her phone...
*"Boss, have a look on this."*
*"Have a look on what? Describe it to me, my time is short."*
*"Looks like we found a sign."*
*"A sign for what?"*
*"A sign."*
*"What, like, a traffic sign?"*
*"Yeah, it says level 2."*
*"Next to the elevator? Some jerk must have fooled around. I'll forward to the janitor, thanks for calling."*
*"No, I'm doing my job right now. It's on mars. There's a metal sign written "Level 2" on it. Come down."*
*"What? Be there in three minutes."*
Jelenka writes down the number of the image, marks it and continues. There's two more picture with a worse angle on the sign. The camera is turning. Rocks. Rocks. Rocks. This is a rocky area, which actually makes up good pictures because every picture that's not whole lotta dust is interesting and get's a mark. Curiosity drives on, and is now pretty near next to the sign. Looks like some of the bigger rocks around the sign are all at the same distance to the sign, like a circle. Boss walks in.
*"Hey girl, show me the picture!"*
Jelenka presses escape and scrolls up to select the image.
*"That's a sign", says the boss, "that's really a sign. I'm not disappointed, as I expected."*
*"Yeah, it looks just really man-made to me. Possibly the chinese?"*
*"Impossible, they have recently been on the moon."*
*"We don't know everything the Chinese do."*
*"We know everything the Chinese achieve. Jelenka, this is none of your business."*
Boss kicks her chair to the side. As he forwards the photo to his own and deletes it from Jalenkas storage, a feature only to be used for black and diffuse images, the second picture of the sign pops up. As he deletes this and the next one, he asks:
*"More pictures of the sign?"*
*"Yeah, there is one from the side a little later, but you can't read what's written on it."*
*"Go there and delete."*, he steps aside.
*"But boss, don't you want that, too?"*, she rolls back to her desk.
*"Don't need it. Go on or I will."*
Just as she did, he quickly leaves the room. He's always a little strange, but he will take care of that and so, she can go on, doing her mindless job. In the next position of curiosity, she discovers something way more interesting. She startles. There's "God" written on the backside. Jelenka is religious. She's faithful. She knows God didn't do this. She deletes the photograph and quietly goes on.
Edit: Fixed italique.
|
Based off of a comment I saw.
|
[WP] A sign on Mars is found that reads: "Level 2" and is signed by God.
|
"No, just no, were done here, we are going back to earth." Bill said as he turned around and started back towards the lander.
"B-But Bill! This is Insane! And it's defying everything we have ever known! How can you just want to turn back?" Jeb said as he flailed his arms about in distress.
"Look, After seeing this i know how it all ends, and it's not really worth it. Let's just go back." Bill sighed.
Jeb dropped his arms in astonishment.
"You know how this ends? What the fuck does that mean?" Jeb shouted.
"Well, Have you been up to date about all the new systems they are looking at? that they have found a new habitable system? What is that systems name?" Bill asked.
"What? I don't know, Quigular or something? How is that relevant?" Jeb asked desperately.
Bill inhaled and then spoke reverently "And finally The Message to His Creation, written in letters of fire on the side of the Quentulus Quazgar Mountains will be found.. From the third book, The system name was Quentulus, that is the name of the system we found."
Jeb just sat there with a look of shock on his face.
Bill stood there and looked at Jeb, awkwardly not knowing what to do.
"So, that kinda ruins it all doesn't it?" Jeb says under his breath.
Bill just sighs "Yep".
"So we can just go home now?"
"Yep"
So you don't think we should be going and checking for our.."
"Nope"
Jeb just stood there.
Bill just stood there.
"We are sorry for the inconvenience." Jeb said under his breath.
"yep"
|
Jelenka is an image evaluator at NASA. In other word's, she's one of the four people to see any photo that comes from curiosity. First is the preparer, who edits the images for quality concerns, and then there's two more evaluators, each controlling each other in different rooms. They switch every day whether they are the first, second or third evaluator. It's a usual day, some giant flat mountains and rocks. Today she's first, not that it matters at her job. She expected a lot more from this, but in some way it's cool to be part. When something pops up on her screen, she picks up her phone...
*"Boss, have a look on this."*
*"Have a look on what? Describe it to me, my time is short."*
*"Looks like we found a sign."*
*"A sign for what?"*
*"A sign."*
*"What, like, a traffic sign?"*
*"Yeah, it says level 2."*
*"Next to the elevator? Some jerk must have fooled around. I'll forward to the janitor, thanks for calling."*
*"No, I'm doing my job right now. It's on mars. There's a metal sign written "Level 2" on it. Come down."*
*"What? Be there in three minutes."*
Jelenka writes down the number of the image, marks it and continues. There's two more picture with a worse angle on the sign. The camera is turning. Rocks. Rocks. Rocks. This is a rocky area, which actually makes up good pictures because every picture that's not whole lotta dust is interesting and get's a mark. Curiosity drives on, and is now pretty near next to the sign. Looks like some of the bigger rocks around the sign are all at the same distance to the sign, like a circle. Boss walks in.
*"Hey girl, show me the picture!"*
Jelenka presses escape and scrolls up to select the image.
*"That's a sign", says the boss, "that's really a sign. I'm not disappointed, as I expected."*
*"Yeah, it looks just really man-made to me. Possibly the chinese?"*
*"Impossible, they have recently been on the moon."*
*"We don't know everything the Chinese do."*
*"We know everything the Chinese achieve. Jelenka, this is none of your business."*
Boss kicks her chair to the side. As he forwards the photo to his own and deletes it from Jalenkas storage, a feature only to be used for black and diffuse images, the second picture of the sign pops up. As he deletes this and the next one, he asks:
*"More pictures of the sign?"*
*"Yeah, there is one from the side a little later, but you can't read what's written on it."*
*"Go there and delete."*, he steps aside.
*"But boss, don't you want that, too?"*, she rolls back to her desk.
*"Don't need it. Go on or I will."*
Just as she did, he quickly leaves the room. He's always a little strange, but he will take care of that and so, she can go on, doing her mindless job. In the next position of curiosity, she discovers something way more interesting. She startles. There's "God" written on the backside. Jelenka is religious. She's faithful. She knows God didn't do this. She deletes the photograph and quietly goes on.
Edit: Fixed italique.
|
Based off of a comment I saw.
|
[WP] A sign on Mars is found that reads: "Level 2" and is signed by God.
|
I crack my radio to life. "Houston"
"Roger Glen. Houston here." The reply comes after 30 seconds of dead air.
I try to form the words that will be written for all the ages.
Words that will be repeated for eons to come.
Words that will inspire generations.
"Ding Houston. We have level up."
Shit. I am not a clever man.
|
Jelenka is an image evaluator at NASA. In other word's, she's one of the four people to see any photo that comes from curiosity. First is the preparer, who edits the images for quality concerns, and then there's two more evaluators, each controlling each other in different rooms. They switch every day whether they are the first, second or third evaluator. It's a usual day, some giant flat mountains and rocks. Today she's first, not that it matters at her job. She expected a lot more from this, but in some way it's cool to be part. When something pops up on her screen, she picks up her phone...
*"Boss, have a look on this."*
*"Have a look on what? Describe it to me, my time is short."*
*"Looks like we found a sign."*
*"A sign for what?"*
*"A sign."*
*"What, like, a traffic sign?"*
*"Yeah, it says level 2."*
*"Next to the elevator? Some jerk must have fooled around. I'll forward to the janitor, thanks for calling."*
*"No, I'm doing my job right now. It's on mars. There's a metal sign written "Level 2" on it. Come down."*
*"What? Be there in three minutes."*
Jelenka writes down the number of the image, marks it and continues. There's two more picture with a worse angle on the sign. The camera is turning. Rocks. Rocks. Rocks. This is a rocky area, which actually makes up good pictures because every picture that's not whole lotta dust is interesting and get's a mark. Curiosity drives on, and is now pretty near next to the sign. Looks like some of the bigger rocks around the sign are all at the same distance to the sign, like a circle. Boss walks in.
*"Hey girl, show me the picture!"*
Jelenka presses escape and scrolls up to select the image.
*"That's a sign", says the boss, "that's really a sign. I'm not disappointed, as I expected."*
*"Yeah, it looks just really man-made to me. Possibly the chinese?"*
*"Impossible, they have recently been on the moon."*
*"We don't know everything the Chinese do."*
*"We know everything the Chinese achieve. Jelenka, this is none of your business."*
Boss kicks her chair to the side. As he forwards the photo to his own and deletes it from Jalenkas storage, a feature only to be used for black and diffuse images, the second picture of the sign pops up. As he deletes this and the next one, he asks:
*"More pictures of the sign?"*
*"Yeah, there is one from the side a little later, but you can't read what's written on it."*
*"Go there and delete."*, he steps aside.
*"But boss, don't you want that, too?"*, she rolls back to her desk.
*"Don't need it. Go on or I will."*
Just as she did, he quickly leaves the room. He's always a little strange, but he will take care of that and so, she can go on, doing her mindless job. In the next position of curiosity, she discovers something way more interesting. She startles. There's "God" written on the backside. Jelenka is religious. She's faithful. She knows God didn't do this. She deletes the photograph and quietly goes on.
Edit: Fixed italique.
|
Based off of a comment I saw.
|
[WP] A sign on Mars is found that reads: "Level 2" and is signed by God.
|
Complete radio silence.
That, more than anything, made the hairs stand up on the back of Commander Mitchell's neck. Months of intense training for the Ares V mission, on top of years of preparations and a total of 367 days in orbit, had made him so confident and focused that not even finding a sign reading "Level 2" on the surface of Mars knocked him off balance. But the total, deafening silence from Houston? That just didn't happen.
They always had the answers, no matter what -- and if they didn't, they told you to stay put until they figured out what to do. When Mitchell was preparing for re-entry on his way home from his first stint on the ISS, one of the fuel tanks split off minutes before it was supposed to, leaving him with less than half the fuel he needed to make it safely back down to Earth. He had almost panicked then, but the voice in his ear was calm as a cucumber. "Alright, Nick", it said, "we're gonna have to do this manually. What's the read on your T2 levels?" In the end, Mitchell made the descent as if nothing had gone wrong. Since then, he knew that whatever happened, there were people back home who knew what to do. That knowledge was a big part of why he accepted the Ares V - a solo mission to Mars. So when he stood on the surface of the red planet, surrounded with red desert as far as he could see in all directions, and the voice in his ear had gone silent, Commander Mitchell suddenly felt very, very alone.
He picked up the sign and turned it in his hands, looking for... something, anything, when he saw something flicker at the edge of his vision. He turned toward it, but it had come from where the sun was, and he couldn't see much in that direction. Adjusting his visor slightly, he squinted and held up his hand to shield his eyes, but there was only red desert. He was about to turn his attention back to the sign when something flickered again. Closer. He spun on his heels trying to catch it, but again, there was nothing there. He felt a bit embarrassed at his reaction -- what would Houston think? Mitchell had survived failed shuttle launches and zero-g fires, and now he jumped like a little girl at a flicker of light? He laughed at himself and felt the tension start to seep out of his body.
Then he saw it.
A figure, standing on the edge of the horizon. A black dot against the massive body of the sun. The shape of it was blurred by the sunlight, but it looked vaguely human; Mitchell was reminded of a disaster movie where the hero emerged from a burning building with a coughing child in his arms. Mitchell looked closer and saw the outlines of arms, legs... was that a head? Yes, it had to be. Wait... he couldn't make out any of those shapes a second ago -- shit.
It was getting closer.
As the shape grew in size and its silhouette became clearer and clearer, Mitchell's heart started beating furiously in his chest. Every muscle in his body screamed at him to move, to run, but he was frozen in place. His legs burned with the tension and drove themselves hard into the soft sand, but still he remained where he was. The shape started bobbing slowly up and down, rising and falling like a pendulum. Mitchell struggled to make sense of it, but he realized he was seeing something inhuman, something incomprehensible. Something no human being had ever seen before. The realization enabled his curiosity to take control of his body. He found himself watching the shape approach him with a sudden detached calmness, like a scientist studying an animal in the wild.
It was close enough now that he could make out all four separate limbs. He also noticed it carried something in its arms, or maybe something was attached to its torso. Whatever it was, it didn't seem to be part of its body, because it didn't move in sync with the body as the shape moved up and down. Then, suddenly, Mitchell saw what it was: a gun. It looked like no weapon he had ever seen on Earth, but it was a gun, no doubt about that. A long, slim barrel. A strap running over the shoulder. And a finger on the trigger.
Just as Mitchell realized what he was looking at, the weapon flashed once. He felt a sharp pain in his chest and tumbled to the ground before he even knew what had happened. But as he lay in the soft sands of Mars, looking up at a black sky peppered with thousands of stars, he knew exactly what was happening. He had been shot once before -- in the supermarket, of all places. He recognized the pain, the shock... The only difference was, he was pretty sure he wasn't going to make it this time. There were no hospitals on Mars.
Something came into his field of vision. The shape. It bent over him, looking him over. Mitchell tried to see its face, but it was covered behind a silvery mask. The thing swung one leg over Mitchell's chest, standing over him, Mitchell completely at its mercy. It crouched low, bringing its crotch area down on his visor. Mitchell's vision went black, but he heard the soft *thump* against the glass. Once. Twice. Three times. The shape stood up again and turned away from him. Before it hopped away, two faint words somehow reached Mitchell's ears through the vacuum of space, echoing in his mind as he waited for the end.
*"Fucking casuals."*
|
Jelenka is an image evaluator at NASA. In other word's, she's one of the four people to see any photo that comes from curiosity. First is the preparer, who edits the images for quality concerns, and then there's two more evaluators, each controlling each other in different rooms. They switch every day whether they are the first, second or third evaluator. It's a usual day, some giant flat mountains and rocks. Today she's first, not that it matters at her job. She expected a lot more from this, but in some way it's cool to be part. When something pops up on her screen, she picks up her phone...
*"Boss, have a look on this."*
*"Have a look on what? Describe it to me, my time is short."*
*"Looks like we found a sign."*
*"A sign for what?"*
*"A sign."*
*"What, like, a traffic sign?"*
*"Yeah, it says level 2."*
*"Next to the elevator? Some jerk must have fooled around. I'll forward to the janitor, thanks for calling."*
*"No, I'm doing my job right now. It's on mars. There's a metal sign written "Level 2" on it. Come down."*
*"What? Be there in three minutes."*
Jelenka writes down the number of the image, marks it and continues. There's two more picture with a worse angle on the sign. The camera is turning. Rocks. Rocks. Rocks. This is a rocky area, which actually makes up good pictures because every picture that's not whole lotta dust is interesting and get's a mark. Curiosity drives on, and is now pretty near next to the sign. Looks like some of the bigger rocks around the sign are all at the same distance to the sign, like a circle. Boss walks in.
*"Hey girl, show me the picture!"*
Jelenka presses escape and scrolls up to select the image.
*"That's a sign", says the boss, "that's really a sign. I'm not disappointed, as I expected."*
*"Yeah, it looks just really man-made to me. Possibly the chinese?"*
*"Impossible, they have recently been on the moon."*
*"We don't know everything the Chinese do."*
*"We know everything the Chinese achieve. Jelenka, this is none of your business."*
Boss kicks her chair to the side. As he forwards the photo to his own and deletes it from Jalenkas storage, a feature only to be used for black and diffuse images, the second picture of the sign pops up. As he deletes this and the next one, he asks:
*"More pictures of the sign?"*
*"Yeah, there is one from the side a little later, but you can't read what's written on it."*
*"Go there and delete."*, he steps aside.
*"But boss, don't you want that, too?"*, she rolls back to her desk.
*"Don't need it. Go on or I will."*
Just as she did, he quickly leaves the room. He's always a little strange, but he will take care of that and so, she can go on, doing her mindless job. In the next position of curiosity, she discovers something way more interesting. She startles. There's "God" written on the backside. Jelenka is religious. She's faithful. She knows God didn't do this. She deletes the photograph and quietly goes on.
Edit: Fixed italique.
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Based off of a comment I saw.
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[WP] A sign on Mars is found that reads: "Level 2" and is signed by God.
|
Level 2
-God
I just stood there, staring at this wooden plank, for longer than I'd care to admit, searching for anything that would lead me to believe it was just another one of Jim's pranks. The silence surrounding me is absolutely terrifying, when a loud *click* sounded off in my helmet. The startle almost causes me to fall over.
"Mick, what do you see?"
*What do I see? How am I supposed to answer that when even I don't know what I'm seeing right now? Can you even imagine the wars that this would start if it were to become public knowledge? I mean, which god signed this? No. I can't say anything about this.*
*click* "There's nothing here. Just more dust." I radioed back, as I started to dig. *No one can know about this.*
Pulling the sign out of the dirt was harder than I thought it would be, but once I managed to break it free I tossed it into its shallow grave, and covered it as quickly as I could with the red dirt. *They would thank me for this if they knew. I just saved humanity.*
*click* "Michael, what are you doing?"
*What? Who was that?*
A sudden realization washes over me, and I begin to panic. *Oh, no... not again!* My surroundings start to fade, almost into perfect darkness. Things are becoming warmer, and I'm starting to feel heavier. I am breathing just a little bit easier, and that's when it happened.
"Michael, get out of bed! You're going to be late for school!"
*Ah, man... It's like she waits until I'm getting to the good part.*
"Yeah, yeah, I'm awake," I yell back, as I fall out of my bed. I scramble to get dressed and grab my copy of *The Magic School Bus Lost In The Solar System* off of my nightstand hardly able to contain my excitement towards showing it to James, and everyone else at show and tell today. They'll love it!
|
He lay there in silence. The room was finally empty after what seemed to be hours of goodbyes from teary family members, but not as many as he liked there to be.
These were his final moments. A full 84 years of trials in a game called life and his failures over shadowed his accomplishments. Tears would be streaming down his face if he had the energy to make them.
He thought long and hard in his silent state. He was a bad man in the eyes of those he loved for they did not know the hardships he endured. His guidance during his infant years were that of a lashing hand from an alcoholic pig of a man. Fear consuming him through his adolescence until all that was left was anger and hate. He vowed that he would never touch a drink and ruin the life of any man woman or child. That Was until he had to fight for his country.
The horrors of his childhood were replaced with the horrors of war and this took a toll on him. His family. His sanity. Until all that was left were mistakes, heartache and a family who shunned a man they couldn't love, for his mistakes were too many.
He was grateful for ones that showed, and that was his last thought as he slowly slipped into an eternal bliss.
He suddenly awoke amongst a dark starry sky and he gazed in awe. He surely believed this was his last day on earth, and it was. He left behind a life full of mistakes and failures to a blissful to a noiseless beautiful landscape of red. He walked and suddenly saw a sign.
Level 2
- God
He smiled and realised there was time to make up for his mistakes and try again. His second chance
|
Based off of a comment I saw.
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[WP] A sign on Mars is found that reads: "Level 2" and is signed by God.
|
"No, just no, were done here, we are going back to earth." Bill said as he turned around and started back towards the lander.
"B-But Bill! This is Insane! And it's defying everything we have ever known! How can you just want to turn back?" Jeb said as he flailed his arms about in distress.
"Look, After seeing this i know how it all ends, and it's not really worth it. Let's just go back." Bill sighed.
Jeb dropped his arms in astonishment.
"You know how this ends? What the fuck does that mean?" Jeb shouted.
"Well, Have you been up to date about all the new systems they are looking at? that they have found a new habitable system? What is that systems name?" Bill asked.
"What? I don't know, Quigular or something? How is that relevant?" Jeb asked desperately.
Bill inhaled and then spoke reverently "And finally The Message to His Creation, written in letters of fire on the side of the Quentulus Quazgar Mountains will be found.. From the third book, The system name was Quentulus, that is the name of the system we found."
Jeb just sat there with a look of shock on his face.
Bill stood there and looked at Jeb, awkwardly not knowing what to do.
"So, that kinda ruins it all doesn't it?" Jeb says under his breath.
Bill just sighs "Yep".
"So we can just go home now?"
"Yep"
So you don't think we should be going and checking for our.."
"Nope"
Jeb just stood there.
Bill just stood there.
"We are sorry for the inconvenience." Jeb said under his breath.
"yep"
|
He lay there in silence. The room was finally empty after what seemed to be hours of goodbyes from teary family members, but not as many as he liked there to be.
These were his final moments. A full 84 years of trials in a game called life and his failures over shadowed his accomplishments. Tears would be streaming down his face if he had the energy to make them.
He thought long and hard in his silent state. He was a bad man in the eyes of those he loved for they did not know the hardships he endured. His guidance during his infant years were that of a lashing hand from an alcoholic pig of a man. Fear consuming him through his adolescence until all that was left was anger and hate. He vowed that he would never touch a drink and ruin the life of any man woman or child. That Was until he had to fight for his country.
The horrors of his childhood were replaced with the horrors of war and this took a toll on him. His family. His sanity. Until all that was left were mistakes, heartache and a family who shunned a man they couldn't love, for his mistakes were too many.
He was grateful for ones that showed, and that was his last thought as he slowly slipped into an eternal bliss.
He suddenly awoke amongst a dark starry sky and he gazed in awe. He surely believed this was his last day on earth, and it was. He left behind a life full of mistakes and failures to a blissful to a noiseless beautiful landscape of red. He walked and suddenly saw a sign.
Level 2
- God
He smiled and realised there was time to make up for his mistakes and try again. His second chance
|
Based off of a comment I saw.
|
[WP] A sign on Mars is found that reads: "Level 2" and is signed by God.
|
I crack my radio to life. "Houston"
"Roger Glen. Houston here." The reply comes after 30 seconds of dead air.
I try to form the words that will be written for all the ages.
Words that will be repeated for eons to come.
Words that will inspire generations.
"Ding Houston. We have level up."
Shit. I am not a clever man.
|
He lay there in silence. The room was finally empty after what seemed to be hours of goodbyes from teary family members, but not as many as he liked there to be.
These were his final moments. A full 84 years of trials in a game called life and his failures over shadowed his accomplishments. Tears would be streaming down his face if he had the energy to make them.
He thought long and hard in his silent state. He was a bad man in the eyes of those he loved for they did not know the hardships he endured. His guidance during his infant years were that of a lashing hand from an alcoholic pig of a man. Fear consuming him through his adolescence until all that was left was anger and hate. He vowed that he would never touch a drink and ruin the life of any man woman or child. That Was until he had to fight for his country.
The horrors of his childhood were replaced with the horrors of war and this took a toll on him. His family. His sanity. Until all that was left were mistakes, heartache and a family who shunned a man they couldn't love, for his mistakes were too many.
He was grateful for ones that showed, and that was his last thought as he slowly slipped into an eternal bliss.
He suddenly awoke amongst a dark starry sky and he gazed in awe. He surely believed this was his last day on earth, and it was. He left behind a life full of mistakes and failures to a blissful to a noiseless beautiful landscape of red. He walked and suddenly saw a sign.
Level 2
- God
He smiled and realised there was time to make up for his mistakes and try again. His second chance
|
Based off of a comment I saw.
|
[WP] A sign on Mars is found that reads: "Level 2" and is signed by God.
|
Complete radio silence.
That, more than anything, made the hairs stand up on the back of Commander Mitchell's neck. Months of intense training for the Ares V mission, on top of years of preparations and a total of 367 days in orbit, had made him so confident and focused that not even finding a sign reading "Level 2" on the surface of Mars knocked him off balance. But the total, deafening silence from Houston? That just didn't happen.
They always had the answers, no matter what -- and if they didn't, they told you to stay put until they figured out what to do. When Mitchell was preparing for re-entry on his way home from his first stint on the ISS, one of the fuel tanks split off minutes before it was supposed to, leaving him with less than half the fuel he needed to make it safely back down to Earth. He had almost panicked then, but the voice in his ear was calm as a cucumber. "Alright, Nick", it said, "we're gonna have to do this manually. What's the read on your T2 levels?" In the end, Mitchell made the descent as if nothing had gone wrong. Since then, he knew that whatever happened, there were people back home who knew what to do. That knowledge was a big part of why he accepted the Ares V - a solo mission to Mars. So when he stood on the surface of the red planet, surrounded with red desert as far as he could see in all directions, and the voice in his ear had gone silent, Commander Mitchell suddenly felt very, very alone.
He picked up the sign and turned it in his hands, looking for... something, anything, when he saw something flicker at the edge of his vision. He turned toward it, but it had come from where the sun was, and he couldn't see much in that direction. Adjusting his visor slightly, he squinted and held up his hand to shield his eyes, but there was only red desert. He was about to turn his attention back to the sign when something flickered again. Closer. He spun on his heels trying to catch it, but again, there was nothing there. He felt a bit embarrassed at his reaction -- what would Houston think? Mitchell had survived failed shuttle launches and zero-g fires, and now he jumped like a little girl at a flicker of light? He laughed at himself and felt the tension start to seep out of his body.
Then he saw it.
A figure, standing on the edge of the horizon. A black dot against the massive body of the sun. The shape of it was blurred by the sunlight, but it looked vaguely human; Mitchell was reminded of a disaster movie where the hero emerged from a burning building with a coughing child in his arms. Mitchell looked closer and saw the outlines of arms, legs... was that a head? Yes, it had to be. Wait... he couldn't make out any of those shapes a second ago -- shit.
It was getting closer.
As the shape grew in size and its silhouette became clearer and clearer, Mitchell's heart started beating furiously in his chest. Every muscle in his body screamed at him to move, to run, but he was frozen in place. His legs burned with the tension and drove themselves hard into the soft sand, but still he remained where he was. The shape started bobbing slowly up and down, rising and falling like a pendulum. Mitchell struggled to make sense of it, but he realized he was seeing something inhuman, something incomprehensible. Something no human being had ever seen before. The realization enabled his curiosity to take control of his body. He found himself watching the shape approach him with a sudden detached calmness, like a scientist studying an animal in the wild.
It was close enough now that he could make out all four separate limbs. He also noticed it carried something in its arms, or maybe something was attached to its torso. Whatever it was, it didn't seem to be part of its body, because it didn't move in sync with the body as the shape moved up and down. Then, suddenly, Mitchell saw what it was: a gun. It looked like no weapon he had ever seen on Earth, but it was a gun, no doubt about that. A long, slim barrel. A strap running over the shoulder. And a finger on the trigger.
Just as Mitchell realized what he was looking at, the weapon flashed once. He felt a sharp pain in his chest and tumbled to the ground before he even knew what had happened. But as he lay in the soft sands of Mars, looking up at a black sky peppered with thousands of stars, he knew exactly what was happening. He had been shot once before -- in the supermarket, of all places. He recognized the pain, the shock... The only difference was, he was pretty sure he wasn't going to make it this time. There were no hospitals on Mars.
Something came into his field of vision. The shape. It bent over him, looking him over. Mitchell tried to see its face, but it was covered behind a silvery mask. The thing swung one leg over Mitchell's chest, standing over him, Mitchell completely at its mercy. It crouched low, bringing its crotch area down on his visor. Mitchell's vision went black, but he heard the soft *thump* against the glass. Once. Twice. Three times. The shape stood up again and turned away from him. Before it hopped away, two faint words somehow reached Mitchell's ears through the vacuum of space, echoing in his mind as he waited for the end.
*"Fucking casuals."*
|
Joe goes down first and I follow. We tossed a coin for it, up in Ares VI and waited for a minute or two for it to fall before we remembered it didn't. So we played rock paper, scissors and I lost. Apparently I always play scissors, which is definitely a lie 'cause I've played paper twice before and I lost those times too. All the same, Joe goes down first and I follow with the camera and a small silver box of the things we've decided we'll need.
It's difficult to explain to someone who has never walked on a different planet before what it's really like. You're suited and booted, kept at some artificial temperature inside a space suit which looks exactly like the one Sandra Bullock wore in Gravity, except not so flattering. There's the gravity, which is lighter than earth's, but heavier than the moon's, so you sort of feel a little *bouncy* when you're walking, but you can't take huge leaps and go flying across yards and yards of red dust. They don't call it the red planet for nothing. It's just unimpeded vastness, stretching as far as the eye can see until you meet the red-black horizon of the unknown and your heart stops for a minute in your chest because it's *there.*
Joe swears over the radio and I almost want to say *fuck* or *shit* or something which will kind of encapsulate how it feels to stand so far away from anyone you've ever known. It's like the loneliness has ripped a hole in your chest. How many nights had I lain, looking up at the stars, hoping - no *wishing* that I could be up there? Eight years of training, eight months of travel in a tiny cube. I've eaten food out of silver packets and I've done three hours of exercise a day for years to maintain the muscle mass I need here. But words aren't going to sum that up. Words aren't going to tell you that I can see one tiny dot in the sky and that's earth. That's all I am.
My mother had cried when I told her I wasn't going to church any more. See, I'd grown up in rural Ohio. Church was something we *did,* no questions asked, every Sunday from 10 till 11.30 am.
"Why, James? Is it all the science stuff?" She reached for a tissue.
"It's not *science stuff,* it's astrophysics. And it's not just that-"
"I don't understand why you wouldn't want to go any more, I just-" She gave this great heaving sigh. "Did I do something wrong?"
"It's not you! I just - I don't feel like there's anything out there any more."
"How-"
"I can't like - I can't rationalise it with all the other stuff I know." I'd spread my hands wide, but she wouldn't look at me.
"Your dad would have wanted you to keep going."
"I'm sorry, I really am."
"James! You want to take a look at this!" Joe's calling me over, his suit blocking something on the horizon.
"What is it?"
He draws back and there's a short message, written in English.
"That's so weird," I say, craning my neck. "What's that made of?"
"I don't know. Funny it should be in German, though, huh?" His words barely register. It's like there's a loud buzzing in my ears that I can't shake.
"It's tiny sea shells! Look, it's made of shells. Jesus Christ..." I bend down and touch a finger to them. "Level 2. Level 2? What does that even mean?"
Joe pulls me up by the elbow and I stand with him, side by side. Black openness yawns before us, broken only by the pinpoints of a thousand myriad stars. They shine bright for a second and the quietness is killing me. There, in the sky that humans have been looking at for aeons; trying to work out what's out there, is a face, made from the pinpoints of stars.
I see my Father. Joe is crying, I can hear him over the radio.
"Dear God," he murmurs and I have no choice but to say the same words.
|
Based off of a comment I saw.
|
[WP] A sign on Mars is found that reads: "Level 2" and is signed by God.
|
Complete radio silence.
That, more than anything, made the hairs stand up on the back of Commander Mitchell's neck. Months of intense training for the Ares V mission, on top of years of preparations and a total of 367 days in orbit, had made him so confident and focused that not even finding a sign reading "Level 2" on the surface of Mars knocked him off balance. But the total, deafening silence from Houston? That just didn't happen.
They always had the answers, no matter what -- and if they didn't, they told you to stay put until they figured out what to do. When Mitchell was preparing for re-entry on his way home from his first stint on the ISS, one of the fuel tanks split off minutes before it was supposed to, leaving him with less than half the fuel he needed to make it safely back down to Earth. He had almost panicked then, but the voice in his ear was calm as a cucumber. "Alright, Nick", it said, "we're gonna have to do this manually. What's the read on your T2 levels?" In the end, Mitchell made the descent as if nothing had gone wrong. Since then, he knew that whatever happened, there were people back home who knew what to do. That knowledge was a big part of why he accepted the Ares V - a solo mission to Mars. So when he stood on the surface of the red planet, surrounded with red desert as far as he could see in all directions, and the voice in his ear had gone silent, Commander Mitchell suddenly felt very, very alone.
He picked up the sign and turned it in his hands, looking for... something, anything, when he saw something flicker at the edge of his vision. He turned toward it, but it had come from where the sun was, and he couldn't see much in that direction. Adjusting his visor slightly, he squinted and held up his hand to shield his eyes, but there was only red desert. He was about to turn his attention back to the sign when something flickered again. Closer. He spun on his heels trying to catch it, but again, there was nothing there. He felt a bit embarrassed at his reaction -- what would Houston think? Mitchell had survived failed shuttle launches and zero-g fires, and now he jumped like a little girl at a flicker of light? He laughed at himself and felt the tension start to seep out of his body.
Then he saw it.
A figure, standing on the edge of the horizon. A black dot against the massive body of the sun. The shape of it was blurred by the sunlight, but it looked vaguely human; Mitchell was reminded of a disaster movie where the hero emerged from a burning building with a coughing child in his arms. Mitchell looked closer and saw the outlines of arms, legs... was that a head? Yes, it had to be. Wait... he couldn't make out any of those shapes a second ago -- shit.
It was getting closer.
As the shape grew in size and its silhouette became clearer and clearer, Mitchell's heart started beating furiously in his chest. Every muscle in his body screamed at him to move, to run, but he was frozen in place. His legs burned with the tension and drove themselves hard into the soft sand, but still he remained where he was. The shape started bobbing slowly up and down, rising and falling like a pendulum. Mitchell struggled to make sense of it, but he realized he was seeing something inhuman, something incomprehensible. Something no human being had ever seen before. The realization enabled his curiosity to take control of his body. He found himself watching the shape approach him with a sudden detached calmness, like a scientist studying an animal in the wild.
It was close enough now that he could make out all four separate limbs. He also noticed it carried something in its arms, or maybe something was attached to its torso. Whatever it was, it didn't seem to be part of its body, because it didn't move in sync with the body as the shape moved up and down. Then, suddenly, Mitchell saw what it was: a gun. It looked like no weapon he had ever seen on Earth, but it was a gun, no doubt about that. A long, slim barrel. A strap running over the shoulder. And a finger on the trigger.
Just as Mitchell realized what he was looking at, the weapon flashed once. He felt a sharp pain in his chest and tumbled to the ground before he even knew what had happened. But as he lay in the soft sands of Mars, looking up at a black sky peppered with thousands of stars, he knew exactly what was happening. He had been shot once before -- in the supermarket, of all places. He recognized the pain, the shock... The only difference was, he was pretty sure he wasn't going to make it this time. There were no hospitals on Mars.
Something came into his field of vision. The shape. It bent over him, looking him over. Mitchell tried to see its face, but it was covered behind a silvery mask. The thing swung one leg over Mitchell's chest, standing over him, Mitchell completely at its mercy. It crouched low, bringing its crotch area down on his visor. Mitchell's vision went black, but he heard the soft *thump* against the glass. Once. Twice. Three times. The shape stood up again and turned away from him. Before it hopped away, two faint words somehow reached Mitchell's ears through the vacuum of space, echoing in his mind as he waited for the end.
*"Fucking casuals."*
|
As an Atheist, it had never occurred to me to look for any kind of sign from God. Not when my wife left me, not when I was selected from thousands of qualified applicants to come to Mars. Not even when I narrowly escaped death moments before when a leak in my suit threatened to end me, shortly after having the distinction of humanity's first physical presence on the Red Planet.
And that's why, when I found it, I began to doubt. At first I thought it was a prank, secretly etched in rock by Curiosity years before during the fledging expeditions to probe and seek out life in this desolate wasteland. I remembered a smile slowly spreading across my lips, shortly before the indignant anger that flared as I thought of how many millions of dollars this prank would have cost, and how many millions of close-minded people would jump on this as a sign that the space program should be scrapped. Houston certainly didn't laugh when I asked them. In fact, that's when the anger quickly changed to fear.
Never, during this year long mission, had Houston been silent for so long after transmission. I thought my radio had gone dark, lost power, been destroyed by solar interference. But then they came crackling back in my ear
"RedMan, this is Houston. Repeat what you've found for Brass, over."
I relayed the prank again in a sweat that was growing colder and colder. And again, silence.
"Redman, Curiosity has never explored that section of mars. Repeat, negative on Curiosity, over"
Primal, reptilian-brained fear began to consume me. My logical brain scrambled to come up with other culprits of the cruel prank. *Ashley!* I thought. She'd pulled tons of pranks on the way to Mars. Surely she did this, knowing this was my trajectory today. Of course she did this! *She's just waiting back at Base, smile on her lips, ready to indulge herself in my misery and fear.*
That thought comforted me for a moment, made me laugh at the small rock with its perfectly lettered script. That is, until I saw the rock a few meters past it. The rock with the arrow pointing towards today's mission, towards The Face. The rock that, mockingly, invited me to try Level 3.
"Our Father, who art in Heaven..."
|
Go!
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[WP] Not having spoken since their falling out, God and Satan grab a coffee.
|
"$3.29 for a small coffee." His voice was rougher than he remembered. He hadn't been on the Middle Plane for thousands of years. "I guess we know where these guys are going."
God took a sip from his cup before nodding wordlessly.
"Have you seen how your humans treat those that rebel against injustice?" His voice was getting smoother as he spoke, the chords adjusting to the almost foreign body. "They idolize Martin Luther, Ghandi, Bolotnikov."
God put his coffee down, but said nothing.
"Nothing to say?" Lucifer kept eye contact, a feat that not even the highest seraphim would dare to do. "I rebel against an injustice and get branded as the worst creature to walk the land."
God kept quiet. Lucifer couldn't remember him ever listening so attentively.
"You think you weren't doing an injustice, is that it?" He finally picked up his coffee cup and took a sip before continuing. "You created the angels with no free will. We had to do what you said, always. We couldn't even think our own thoughts. Uriel killed thousands because you commanded it. I decide to fight for free will, the same that Martin Luther King fought for, but he lives in your Heaven and I rule my Hell."
God smiled. The arrogant bastard smiled. "Why do you hate them so much?"
"Who?" Lucifer asked.
"Men." God said. "Women, children..."
"They were born with that which I never had. Free will. And they don't even care. They take it for granted." Lucifer looked down at his coffee cup. The lid had come off and some of the liquid spilled out from his squeezing. "You created a mortal and then ordered me to bow to it. Do you truly think a man would bow to an insect? Yet you say I have too much pride when I deny."
God took another sip of his cup and rested it down. He stood up. "I was wrong, you aren't ready."
Lucifer stayed seated as God walked off. He took the guise of a business man, while Lucifer himself had chosen a homeless one. The humans were greedy and arrogant, but they had one thing right. Never should full power go into the hands of one being. Especially not God.
|
Satan waves at God from the booth in the corner, already sipping his black coffee and eating a pomegranate muffin. God gives a smile and a wave and points to the line and mimes drinking a coffee. Starting to stand, God puts up a hand for him to not trouble himself and remain seated until after he orders. After a few short minutes, God walks over with his soy latte and a biscotti. Satan stands as God approaches and they hug. The black of Satans silk shirt clings to Gods white cotton suit as if by static electricity. Both sitting, they stare at each other at a loss for words for a minute or two. Each smiling contentedly but neither knowing how to say whats pressing on their tongues.
"Hah" Satan laughs, pointing at Gods cup. The barista has spelled Gods name phonetically *Ghod*. "There is a special place in Hell for those who can't even spell your name" Satan chuckles, earning him a wry smile from God.
Over the next hour Satan spoke with glee of sinners, his new twice sharpened pitchforks, and EDM music. While God spoke of new age altruists, the new Pope and Jim Carrey whom he wanted to make the patron saint of acting after his part in Bruce Allmightly. Satan sighed, Gods film preferences were tolerable at best.
As the banter drew to a natural close Satan picked up both empty cold cups and brought them to the dish tray. He turned and God seeing the question on his lips asked him to speak.
"Your are still Ominscient, yes?" Satan said.
"Indeed" God replied.
"So you knew all those millennia ago that this day would come and you would forgive me?" satan continued.
"Yes" God said wearily.
"And you made me wait until now to hear those words? Wait in agony as great as those who dwell in my domain? You are an asshole!" Satan said as evenly as possible.
"I am God. I am of all things... asshole included."
Satan spat at his feet "See you in a few millennia dick." Satan strode from the table and slammed a gold coin on the counter. The barista looked at it in bewilderment and looked up at Satan "Your coffee tasted like shit. See you in 18 years." With that he crop dusted the cafe with the most horrid sulfur fart and left.
|
Go!
|
[WP] Not having spoken since their falling out, God and Satan grab a coffee.
|
God thought he at least owed Satan a coffee after taking away his dream job and landing him in literally the worst job in the universe...perhaps he could buy him a muffin too. God took on his favourite human form; a short man in his 70s with a long white beard and a suit. His stumpy legs only made to look shorter by wearing long pointy brogue shoes. He popped on a long coat and teleported to a friends themed coffee shop known as 'central perk'.
Satan on the other hand, hated humans, but the only thing he hated more than humans, was dressing as a human. What was wrong with walking into a coffee shop in his normal fiery red skin and his glorious hooves? He just had them polished.
He decided to play gods game and choose an outfit. He looked around hell to see what he could wear .."hmmmm where is my meat suit?" He pondered, twisting his goatee with his long fingers. "Stalin? Oh god I hope not" he switched his gaze to another crowd of burning souls, amidst them he saw an old woman "get fucked Thatcher im not wearing you" he was ready to cancel on god when he settled on something that made him laugh with deep bellowing intent. The whole fiery chasm of hell heard his rich Satan banter.
As god sat there on an orange sofa watching the one with the jam on TV, he checked his old watch to see where Satan was up to. Just then the shop sent silent. He was here. It had been so long, almost too long, what did he even look like? What did he sound like. He wanted to hug his first angel. After all it had been long enough for maybe someone else to take over hell, perhaps Michael could run hell for a bit; god was sick of his pokes on gracebook. Yes. God had decided, Satan was ready to confess his sins and come back to heaven. He stood up smiling ready to turn to embrace Beelzebub in a loving hug. He turned excitedly ,closed his eyes and shouted up "OLD FRIEND! YOU'VE BEEN GONE SO LONG, I HOPE YOU NEVER LEAVE ME AGAIN!". Satan..was dressed as Hitler. He stood there in the doorway giggling. No, Satan was going back to hell. Fucking dick.
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Satan waves at God from the booth in the corner, already sipping his black coffee and eating a pomegranate muffin. God gives a smile and a wave and points to the line and mimes drinking a coffee. Starting to stand, God puts up a hand for him to not trouble himself and remain seated until after he orders. After a few short minutes, God walks over with his soy latte and a biscotti. Satan stands as God approaches and they hug. The black of Satans silk shirt clings to Gods white cotton suit as if by static electricity. Both sitting, they stare at each other at a loss for words for a minute or two. Each smiling contentedly but neither knowing how to say whats pressing on their tongues.
"Hah" Satan laughs, pointing at Gods cup. The barista has spelled Gods name phonetically *Ghod*. "There is a special place in Hell for those who can't even spell your name" Satan chuckles, earning him a wry smile from God.
Over the next hour Satan spoke with glee of sinners, his new twice sharpened pitchforks, and EDM music. While God spoke of new age altruists, the new Pope and Jim Carrey whom he wanted to make the patron saint of acting after his part in Bruce Allmightly. Satan sighed, Gods film preferences were tolerable at best.
As the banter drew to a natural close Satan picked up both empty cold cups and brought them to the dish tray. He turned and God seeing the question on his lips asked him to speak.
"Your are still Ominscient, yes?" Satan said.
"Indeed" God replied.
"So you knew all those millennia ago that this day would come and you would forgive me?" satan continued.
"Yes" God said wearily.
"And you made me wait until now to hear those words? Wait in agony as great as those who dwell in my domain? You are an asshole!" Satan said as evenly as possible.
"I am God. I am of all things... asshole included."
Satan spat at his feet "See you in a few millennia dick." Satan strode from the table and slammed a gold coin on the counter. The barista looked at it in bewilderment and looked up at Satan "Your coffee tasted like shit. See you in 18 years." With that he crop dusted the cafe with the most horrid sulfur fart and left.
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Go!
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[WP] Not having spoken since their falling out, God and Satan grab a coffee.
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God thought he at least owed Satan a coffee after taking away his dream job and landing him in literally the worst job in the universe...perhaps he could buy him a muffin too. God took on his favourite human form; a short man in his 70s with a long white beard and a suit. His stumpy legs only made to look shorter by wearing long pointy brogue shoes. He popped on a long coat and teleported to a friends themed coffee shop known as 'central perk'.
Satan on the other hand, hated humans, but the only thing he hated more than humans, was dressing as a human. What was wrong with walking into a coffee shop in his normal fiery red skin and his glorious hooves? He just had them polished.
He decided to play gods game and choose an outfit. He looked around hell to see what he could wear .."hmmmm where is my meat suit?" He pondered, twisting his goatee with his long fingers. "Stalin? Oh god I hope not" he switched his gaze to another crowd of burning souls, amidst them he saw an old woman "get fucked Thatcher im not wearing you" he was ready to cancel on god when he settled on something that made him laugh with deep bellowing intent. The whole fiery chasm of hell heard his rich Satan banter.
As god sat there on an orange sofa watching the one with the jam on TV, he checked his old watch to see where Satan was up to. Just then the shop sent silent. He was here. It had been so long, almost too long, what did he even look like? What did he sound like. He wanted to hug his first angel. After all it had been long enough for maybe someone else to take over hell, perhaps Michael could run hell for a bit; god was sick of his pokes on gracebook. Yes. God had decided, Satan was ready to confess his sins and come back to heaven. He stood up smiling ready to turn to embrace Beelzebub in a loving hug. He turned excitedly ,closed his eyes and shouted up "OLD FRIEND! YOU'VE BEEN GONE SO LONG, I HOPE YOU NEVER LEAVE ME AGAIN!". Satan..was dressed as Hitler. He stood there in the doorway giggling. No, Satan was going back to hell. Fucking dick.
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"$3.29 for a small coffee." His voice was rougher than he remembered. He hadn't been on the Middle Plane for thousands of years. "I guess we know where these guys are going."
God took a sip from his cup before nodding wordlessly.
"Have you seen how your humans treat those that rebel against injustice?" His voice was getting smoother as he spoke, the chords adjusting to the almost foreign body. "They idolize Martin Luther, Ghandi, Bolotnikov."
God put his coffee down, but said nothing.
"Nothing to say?" Lucifer kept eye contact, a feat that not even the highest seraphim would dare to do. "I rebel against an injustice and get branded as the worst creature to walk the land."
God kept quiet. Lucifer couldn't remember him ever listening so attentively.
"You think you weren't doing an injustice, is that it?" He finally picked up his coffee cup and took a sip before continuing. "You created the angels with no free will. We had to do what you said, always. We couldn't even think our own thoughts. Uriel killed thousands because you commanded it. I decide to fight for free will, the same that Martin Luther King fought for, but he lives in your Heaven and I rule my Hell."
God smiled. The arrogant bastard smiled. "Why do you hate them so much?"
"Who?" Lucifer asked.
"Men." God said. "Women, children..."
"They were born with that which I never had. Free will. And they don't even care. They take it for granted." Lucifer looked down at his coffee cup. The lid had come off and some of the liquid spilled out from his squeezing. "You created a mortal and then ordered me to bow to it. Do you truly think a man would bow to an insect? Yet you say I have too much pride when I deny."
God took another sip of his cup and rested it down. He stood up. "I was wrong, you aren't ready."
Lucifer stayed seated as God walked off. He took the guise of a business man, while Lucifer himself had chosen a homeless one. The humans were greedy and arrogant, but they had one thing right. Never should full power go into the hands of one being. Especially not God.
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[WP] You are at the Pearly Gates. You find out the only reason you get to go to Heaven is because a previously deceased loved one took your spot in Hell.
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Fitz was disturbed by a breeze. He opened his eyes, and sat up, looking around with a puzzled look on his face. He sat in what looked to be a park in a middle class area. A hue oak tree hung above him, its leaves a gentle canopy against the warm sun, though leaving enough to filter through to stay just warm enough for it to be pleasant. The grass was neat and trimmed, and there were no dirt patches in sight. Birds whistled somewhere in the distance. It was the perfect day. But there was nobody around. Such a beautiful day and nobody was here but him. He lay back in the grass.
"Enjoying it?"
He snapped up and his gaze met with another man. His brows furrowed, and he looked from left to right. The other man chuckled.
"I came here when you got used to your surroundings. You can call me Michael."
Fitz lay back in the grass.
"Don't wanna call you anything, mate. I just want to enjoy this while it lasts."
"Well then we'll be here for a while." Michael answered.
"Good weather forecast or something?"
"You could say that."
Fitz took the time then to look up at Michael. His strawberry blonde hair was long and wavy, he wore a white tunic with light blue jeans and no shoes, and he had a look of content on his face. Fitz looked at him incredulously.
"Are you one of those hippies or something?" he asked.
"You could say so."
"And why do you keep talking like that? Like you don't want to answer me proper?"
"I will *answer you proper* when you start *asking the right questions.* Horribly cliché, I know, but that's how these things work."
"What are you on about?" Fitz asked. He rose to his feet.
"Do you not wonder how you got here, or even where you are for that matter?" Michael asked. The man squared up to Fitz with a scowl now on his beautiful face.
"I..." Fitz stopped.
"You're dead." Michael said.
"I'm not. I'm here and so are you." Fitz instantly denied.
"I was always here. You just got here. And why here? Let's see." Micheal clicked his tongue, reached behind his back and took out a notepad.
Fitz looked like he had just been hit by something.
"Fitzwilliam Hague. What a name!"
"How do you-"
"Oh and the things you've done." Michael interrupted. "Identity theft, petty theft, major theft, adultery, gambling, and what's this here? Murder! How delightful!"
"Where am I?"
"Not to mention the reason for all of this. A crippling addiction to methamphetamines!"
"I..how..." Fitz stuttered.
"I am an angel, Fitzwilliam, and you are in heaven."
The breeze went by. The birds tweeted. The park was silent. And then Fitz started to laugh.
"Right, yeah, and I'm the fucking pope! Jesus, after all the things you just said how could I possibly be in heaven? Who put you up to this, Alex? Was it Carl? Who was it? How did you even get me here?"
"You got here by your own accord, your own doing, your own needle! You are dead and the reason you are here is not your doing!" Michael roared.
Thunder clapped in the distance before he composed himself.
"Look at yourself. Your arms. Your fingernails. Touch your hair. Breathe, smell."
Fitz paused, and looked. His skin looked rosier. The track marks were one from the insides of his arm. The tattoo of his drug dealer's initials was gone from his shoulder. His hair felt fuller and thicker. And then he took a breath ad smelt properly for the first time in seven years.
Pollen, and grass. And air.
"Air shouldn't have a smell. It's just air." He said in wonder.
Michael looked at him then, and Fitz saw pity in the man's eyes. Pity, but also disgust.
"Fitz, you aren't good enough for this place. You did't get here on your own."
"Well how did I get here then?"
Michael took Fitz's arm then, and steered him to walk with him. The scenery changed nearly instantly to a small living room. A fire roared in a large fireplace, and two worn yet comfortable armchairs were at either side. A christmas tree was to the left, ad looking through the window to the right, you could see it was snowing outside. Where outside was though was a mystery. There was only an old streetlamp and the faint light of another house across the road.
"Heaven adjusts itself to what each person needs. When you woke up, you needed peace."
"What do we need now?"
"A comfortable place to sit." Michael said. He sank into the right armchair, and gestured for Fitz to take the other.
"Are you going to tell me how I got here now? If I...died, shouldn't I be in hell if I'm so shit?"
"Fitz you weren't just shit. You were deplorable. We understand that there were reasons for the way you behaved, but you had a chance to get out and you turned it down. You could have been saved and you chose to keep on how you were."
"I...I don't know what to say. You're right. I had a chance."
"So for all accounts, you should ot be allowed here."
"But why am I?" Fitz asked.
The angel sighed slightly, and leant back in his armchair, his brow furrowed.
"Nina. She grew up with you. before you spent your trust fund and your father disowned you. She always loved you. And when you disappeared she looked for you everywhere she could. When you showed up at her doorstep, curled over with withdrawals, she went out into the city and bought you meth because it was the only way she knew to make you stop screaming out in pain."
"Stop." Fitz said, weakly. His head was in his hands now, in his knees. He rocked back and forth.
"And she tried to help you. She offered to put you in rehab and you kept putting it off."
"Stop!" Fitz said louder.
"You used her to keep on buying your meth when you had no money to! When you were dried up you used her!"
"I SAID STOP!" Fitz screamed. He launched himself up and punched the wall furiously.
In a fake house on fake Christmas Day in a corner of heaven, an angel looked on as a saved drug addict cried.
"Fitz, you went missing and shortly afterwards she was in an accident. It was nothing to do with you, before you ask. It was a car crash. Drunk driver. She died instantly. That was three years ago."
"Where is she?" Fitz demanded.
Michael got that pity/disgust look on his face again.
"She took your place."
"What?"
"In hell. She took your place."
"That's...that's not...that's not possible is it?"
"It is."
"This is a joke."
"It's not."
"It is!"
"It's not!"
Michael stood.
"She heard you were dead and she dragged herself up to an archangel and she begged. And the archangel looked into her heart and saw the hatred and the pity and the suffering that was in her heart that was because of you. But more than that, more than anything was love."
Silence hung in the air like a knife.
"She loved you in many ways. She tried to protect you. But she could not in life. She chose to in death." Michael finished.
"I...I..."
"The irony of this whole situation is that you will both be in hell. Her physically, and you...well, every day you will have to think about her down there. You are saved, Fitz. In paradise. All because of her."
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Light. Glorious light. Full, bright, shining light.
It was faint, but in the otherwise complete darkness of the tunnel, the light was as obvious as blood under a black-light. There were no memories of how I'd arrived in the tunnel, only the sound of my own thoughts slicing through the silence.
No memory, no urge, no Harry. Just me and my thoughts.
"How'd you get here?" Scratch that. Harry was here.
"I don't know."
"Think, Dexter."
How *did* I get here? The last thing I remembered was the clown. Carl the clown, entertainment for all, life of the party, rapist and murderer of the children. Child, rather, but it would have been children. I had him, but he'd spotted me... Did he knock me out and leave me in here?
"Carl."
"A clown, Dexter?" Harry didn't seem convinced. No way would I make such a big mistake, especially with such an easy target.
"Let me think." I had him backed into a fence, he pulled out a gun, shot me twice. Where then, was I?
"Well fuck me in both ears." Debra.
I turned around, but I couldn't see her in the blackness. "Deb?"
My subconscious hadn't used Debra before.
"Dex, who did you in? I imagine it was someone pretty high up there."
"A clown." Harry's voice cut in.
"Where am I?" I asked Deb. She had to have come up for a reason, some part of me understood where I was.
"Purgatory, you dumb fuck." She said.
"Dexter," Harry's voice again, "you don't seem surprised to see Debra. You seem to be accepting the idea that you're in purgatory rather well."
"I've run out of shock." The situation felt so surreal. So... fake.
"Well," Deb again, "you have a choice to make Dex. you can go down into the darkness or up into the light."
"Bit of an easy choice." I replied. I felt, more than saw, Deb frown.
Harry stepped forward. "What she isn't telling you is that she went to the dark side for you Dexter. In doing it, she allowed you to have the choice of going to the light, if you want."
"So Deb is that way?" I pointed to the dark end. I felt Harry nod. "That way it is."
Deb laughed and walked up to me, putting an arm around my shoulder. "You wouldn't believe the stories Arthur Mitchell has."
---
I woke up in a cold sweat on the floor of a log cabin.
What the Hell was that? My subconscious is telling me that Deb went down the dark path for me, but I continued down it anyway. Dead, because of me.
The sound of bulldozers and chainsaws came from outside, reminding me where I was. I looked down, two patches were on my stomach. So I was shot. Apparently I'd managed to stop the bleeding before I passed out.
Shit, how long ago was that? I stood up against the pain and reached under my bed. I pulled out the m99 syringe case and got back upright.
I had a clown to kill.
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[WP] Write a funny story in a serious setting or a serious story in a funny setting.
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The slave looked up at the king, Marceus his name; he has the appearance of a person who constantly needs to sneeze, yet never does; always promising, never delivering.
“More wine sire” he spluttered.
“This isn’t how I imagined I would be killed, in my own castle, surrounded by all the Kings and Queens who pledged their loyalty to me”. The soon to be High King told the young slave without breaking the false smile forced on to his face for all his guests. The guests return the gesture while strategically positioning themselves around the vast, yet packed hall. Music plays, subjects dance, royals gorge themselves. To the untrained eye it may look like St Luke’s old people’s home for the disabled, but it’s almost definitely a castle that just happens to have wheelchairs and a coffee machine.
“Then why would you invite them here my lord?” Marceus replied.
“Which one of them do you think it’ll be? Maybe Lord Garris?” The King proclaimed while waving to the short, but intimidating Lord across the hall.
“Garris doesn’t fail; he’s past perfection, only fighting his past perfections”.
Garris sits at his table slicing up his steak into perfect slices, never eating. One eye on the knife in his hand, the other on the King. This isn’t foreshadowing, Lord Garris is just crossed eyed.
Marceus wonders why Lord Garris still stays in the kingdom despite his wealth, if Marceus were him he would leave this shithole faster than Mexican food.
“Is it safe for me- I mean us to be here sire?” Marceus whispered, his hands trembling as he pours the King more wine.
“Or maybe Lady Visoff?"
“Your daughter?"
“I suppose not, stupid girl, the type to eat her cutlery with her food".
With a steely glare the king reminisced about his few years with his daughter. "She may be the foulest woman I have ever met; I remember looking after her, back when I lived in the village. I’d change her garments and my eyes would burn from the stench she dared to liberate from her posterior.
I didn’t change those garments, those garments changed me.” He mumbled in his gravelly Batman-like tone.
Lady Visoff sits far away from the King, neglecting her food, which isn’t difficult for her since neglect runs in her family, but it is strange, because she is a mammoth of a mammal.
The King stares downs at the huge wedge of ham in front of him, bigger than his daughter before he abandoned her, which sounds like he left her when she was a teenager, but in reality she was a really fat baby. Kinda like a baby whale, if it was obese and depressed. Did she get fat because she was depressed or was she depressed because she was fat? Which came first: the chicken or the egg? Both of which are probably things she'd eaten today.
“I suppose I wouldn’t want to leave this world on an empty stomach. Fetch me that knife boy”
The knife, if you can call it that, was probably sharper than the weapon used to kill the boar, hell most men were not given such a sword on the battlefield.
The same knife was once used on the Marceus’s brother; he had dropped the knife on the king’s toes, the king stabbed him repeatedly so quickly it looked like he was bringing a horse to climax.
Marceus gazed at the knife. He carefully clutched it feeling its weight, wondering if he had what it takes to relieve a horse.
“You don’t want me to starve to death, do you?” the king bellowed.
He stared daggers into the king, slowly moving towards him. The knife felt heavier in his hands, too heavy; it clatters to the ground.
“For god’s sakes bastard, how I have not been killed by your incompetence in the past is something only gods know.”
Marceus snapped out of his trance, grabbed the sword and stumbled to the king.
The king snatched it out of his hands, waving it around with ease. The pig is about to thrust it into the ham when a giant, ugly brute of a man interrupts, and I mean giant. Like you know the saying faith can move mountains? This guy’s name was probably faith.
“I hope you’re not planning on finishing that” he boomed. “This kingdom is tired of you”.
The music stops.
The giant has a gun to the king’s head, one of those ones that are always used in westerns, which is peculiar because they won’t be invented for another few thousand years.
Perhaps he was a time travelling giant, I don’t know. Point is he has one.
“What is the purpose of this piece of plastic you hold?” the king whispered.
The giant man aims through a window and pulls the trigger.
“This”
The bullet decapitates a nearby falcon.
“Heavens”.
The king jumps out of his seat and pulls the knife out of the boar.
He raises the knife to the giant man’s throat.
“If I’m going to be killed, you’re coming with me”.
He grabs a gourd of pepper and smashes it on the ground for emphasis. Marceus starts to sniffle. Several guards poise their swords at the giant.
“You thought you could hurt me, in my own castle” the king gloated.
The king tosses the knife behind him, Marceus catches it, still trying to stifle his sneeze.
“Let this be an example to all those who want to kill me”
“I WILL NOT DIE TONIGHT”
Marceus can’t hold in his sneeze any longer.
He lets rip and the sheer force of this decade long charged sneeze surges him forward, stabbing the king through his back.
The king is dead.
Marceus is the Ghandi of this century, sacrificing everything to give freedom to the whole kingdom. There will be films based on his life such as “MARCEUS: LONG SNEEZE TO FREEDOM”, starring Ian Mckellen as Marceus, a 12 year old black child.
But before anyone can react, a voice screeches and reverberates around the hall.
“GODDAMN IT KYLE WHAT HAVE I TOLD YOU ABOUT SEVERING THE PENSIONERS”.
It is a young woman with an apron that says “St Luke’s Retirement Home”
Okay this may be a home for the old and disabled-
Fuck.
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I looked across the battlefield at my enemy. He stood, his eyes fixed on me with malicious intent. I reached for my weapon and drew it up in a fighting stance. He drew his sword and we ran at each other full speed. Halfway across the field, I tripped over one of the small plastic balls and fell in to an oblivion of rainbow plastic spheres. I looked up and met eyes with my enemy. I knew I was done for. He plunged his sword through my esophagus and I choked on my own blood.
Twas a bad day for me in the McDonald's ball-pit.
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[WP] Write a funny story in a serious setting or a serious story in a funny setting.
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“I don’t think this was an accident,” Detective Greene said, staring down at the body, its torso half-covered in a blue tarp. It had clearly been laying there for a while, its visible skin already showing signs of decomposition.
“Why’s that?” Chuck said, kneeling down closer to the body. It smelled like foul play, and also like fish that had been left out in the sun for significantly longer than it should have been. Chuck tilted his head. Why would anyone leave fish out in the sun? It didn’t make any sense.
“Look,” Greene said, pointing to the corpse, “it has no head.”
He was right. The shoulders connected to the neck, and then simply stopped. That was not how the song he’d learned in elementary school went at all. The neck bone connected to the head bone. He was sure of it.
“My god,” Chuck said, gently waving his hand back and forth through the empty space where the head should have been, “you’re right. There’s nothing here.”
"See?" Greene said, contorting his face into an "I told you so" expression.
"Still," Chuck said, "isn't it possible he did this to himself?" He’d once read somewhere that people can live for up to ten minutes without their heads. Or perhaps that was chickens. Regardless, Chuck was fairly confident that chickens and humans shared a lot of similar characteristics. It didn’t really matter which type of animal the fact had originally been about, it likely applied to both.
"Completely cut off his own head and moved it several feet away?" Greene said, nodding toward the beaten and disembodied head laying upright on the table almost ten feet away.
"Yes," Chuck said. He thought his question had been pretty clear.
“Maybe,” Greene said, nodding slowly, “but, check this out.” He stood up and took a few steps forward, his navy blue NYPD blazer hanging over his shoulder, then stopped beside the table holding the head. He picked something up off of it, twisting his long, thin arms as he reached, and wandered back.
“What is it?” Chuck said, leaning closer to Greene. He smelled significantly less like sunburnt fish.
“I think it’s a weapon,” he said, thrusting his palm toward Chuck. A large, black pistol lay in it, blood speckled across its barrel like a Jackson Pollock.
“Are you sure?” Chuck said, grabbing the pistol and caressing the handle with his fingers and palm. It felt nice to the touch, surprisingly heavy yet well balanced. He lifted it up and peered through its sites, pointing the blood-splattered barrel right at Greene’s face.
“Yeah,” Greene said, staring into the barrel of the gun. “I'm pretty sure it’s a firearm.”
“Wait a moment,” Chuck said, lowering the gun back down and instead pointing it at his own head, studying it carefully with his eyes. “I think this might be mine.” His service pistol was black, just like this one; it wasn’t unlikely that he’d accidentally left it next to a severed head. He reached down to his duty belt and felt for his holster, his hands wrapping around the outline of his Glock. He unlatched it and pulled the gun out, placing it in his hand next to the pistol Greene had found.
“Well?” Detective Greene said. “Is it yours?”
“No,” Chuck said. “False alarm. Looks like I still have mine.” He returned the blood-splattered pistol to his holster, tossing the clean, police-issue Glock into a pool of blood beside the body.
“I think we’re dealing with a murder here,” Greene said, leaning toward the corpse and appearing to examine the neck-gash that once connected to a head.
“I’m still not convinced it wasn’t an accident.”
Greene straightened his back and stared up at Chuck, still knelt down beside the body. It was strange having Greene looking up at him for once, it was usually the other way around. Chuck was almost six inches shorter than Greene’s impressive six-foot-six height. He desperately hoped Greene was about to ask him “how the weather was up there,” but knew it wasn’t likely.
“Just to confirm,” Greene said, while inadvertently crushing Chuck’s hope and spirit, “you think that this man cut off his own head, then propped it up on a table several feet away, before falling on the ground and dying?”
“Yes,” Chuck said. “I’ve seen almost this exact thing once before.” Technically, what he’d seen was a man accidentally cut off his own arm and leave it lying on the ground, but it was pretty much the same thing.
Greene shrugged. “You might be right,” he said. “Still, it is slightly more likely that we’re dealing with a murder.”
“I guess,” Chuck nodded. “So how do you think it went down?”
“Pretty obvious,” Greene said. “Clearly, someone found this poor guy and shot him in the neck until his head fell off. Then they put his head on a table and called it a day. They probably went to get some pizza or something afterwards.”
“Honestly,” Chuck said, tilting his head to the side, “that does make sense now that I think about it. This might not be an accident after all.”
He knelt down and stared at the corpse, its expression motionless and empty. It was staring off to the right slightly, eyes locked on a similar blue tarp. A pool of burgundy liquid was puddled beneath, several small, bullet-like holes punctured into it. A rusted, blood-covered saw lay beside it, a stream of partially dry blood leading back to the beheaded corpse. Chuck knew it was probably nothing, there were a ton of tarps in this abandoned basement. It was likely some sort of tarp storage room.
“So we’re going with murder?”
“Yeah, I think so,” Chuck said. Sure, it was still possible the man had beheaded himself, but it was more likely that someone had shot off his head and then gone to get pizza. The simplest solution was usually the right one.
“Great, case close. We'll radio for teams to hit every single pizza restaurant in New York," Greene said. He paused and glanced over at the exit. "Last one back to the car has to do the paperwork,” he shouted, turning and running toward the door.
“Not fair,” Chuck shouted, standing up and chasing after Greene. “Wait for me!” He pulled out his pistol and began blindly firing in a futile attempt to convince Greene to slow down.
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I looked across the battlefield at my enemy. He stood, his eyes fixed on me with malicious intent. I reached for my weapon and drew it up in a fighting stance. He drew his sword and we ran at each other full speed. Halfway across the field, I tripped over one of the small plastic balls and fell in to an oblivion of rainbow plastic spheres. I looked up and met eyes with my enemy. I knew I was done for. He plunged his sword through my esophagus and I choked on my own blood.
Twas a bad day for me in the McDonald's ball-pit.
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[WP] John is a depressed man in his 20's. He is under the illusion the entire world is against him, he finds out it's not an illusion.
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John believes the world is out to get him. However one day he realizes his fear is an illusion by discovering that it is, in fact, not an illusion. John's head begins to move from left to right at increasing speed while smoke starts to seep out of his pours. "But... if... then..." He pleads incoherently to some absent authority as his eyes dart back and forth and his body begins to shake. John explodes in an eruption of fire, destroyed by OP's erroneous and poorly thought out logical paradox. John was a robot.
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John sat in his empty apartment entertaining ideas of being a wandering salesmen throughout Asia and parts of Europe, while admiring the 15 story view. The people moved below frantically, as if to say we are here for you John, but you sadly have already proclaimed your separation from us. John felt isolated and excluded from the community at large and furthermore, the world.
"Can a universe really control an entire species to act against one single man? What the hell have I done that's so offensive?" John pondered.
It seemed the trouble that besought him 3 months prior had only increased from then. Sleeping aids only served as a reminder the the sleep had finished; alcohol only drowned the weakest emotions he hardly ever felt to begin with; and to dabble with any stronger would be a sign that someone was actually wrong with his life. But was it so?
"I told her I wanted to pay with debit. Who the fuck really thinks it would be appropriate to grimace like a baffoon expecting conversation?" John's ruminating only intensified the rapid puzzling together of the insane pieces, which lead to only one conclusion -- the entire world was against him.
Wasn't it clear to the Jews that the concentration camps were for them at one point? Does not abused not fear for it's own safety up until the point of contact? It had reached that point for John and his mind, while wildly racing, seemed to continuously end up and one peculiar thought, that this world was not peace loving, it was not humane; the rights of a fellow global citizen was being stripped and conformity was but one of his choices, the other...a global avoidance.
"Run!" John uttered. "But to where?" He paused a moment staring at the television remote. As he turned the news station on, he flipped to the national news channel (NNC).
"And in other news" a chipper anchor read eagerly, "John Doe has 16 hours left before world officials begin an official washing search. Mr. Doe, who resides in New York city has had several chances throughout the past weeks and past decades to co-operate and he has still remained to himself, instead of simply saying hi. Just say hi, Mr. Doe. Say Hi. All he needs to do is...say..."
John abruptly shut the television off and threw his remote hammering the screen of his 58" flat screen.
He decided to sit and wait. At this point all he had left was sitting and waiting.
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[WP] John is a depressed man in his 20's. He is under the illusion the entire world is against him, he finds out it's not an illusion.
|
John was sitting in front of his computer, reditting his life away, trying to forget about the world that has pushed him into this lonely existence. Suddenly, he comes across a writing prompt that describes him perfectly, and let's him know that the world is against him. Was someone trying to send him a message? John, with a smirk on his face, gets up, grabs a bat from his closet, and walks to his door. He looks back at his cramped room, with a mattress on the floor, and trash everywhere, and says, "Message received". John then left his old life with his bat in hand, and a new sense of motivation.
|
John sat in his empty apartment entertaining ideas of being a wandering salesmen throughout Asia and parts of Europe, while admiring the 15 story view. The people moved below frantically, as if to say we are here for you John, but you sadly have already proclaimed your separation from us. John felt isolated and excluded from the community at large and furthermore, the world.
"Can a universe really control an entire species to act against one single man? What the hell have I done that's so offensive?" John pondered.
It seemed the trouble that besought him 3 months prior had only increased from then. Sleeping aids only served as a reminder the the sleep had finished; alcohol only drowned the weakest emotions he hardly ever felt to begin with; and to dabble with any stronger would be a sign that someone was actually wrong with his life. But was it so?
"I told her I wanted to pay with debit. Who the fuck really thinks it would be appropriate to grimace like a baffoon expecting conversation?" John's ruminating only intensified the rapid puzzling together of the insane pieces, which lead to only one conclusion -- the entire world was against him.
Wasn't it clear to the Jews that the concentration camps were for them at one point? Does not abused not fear for it's own safety up until the point of contact? It had reached that point for John and his mind, while wildly racing, seemed to continuously end up and one peculiar thought, that this world was not peace loving, it was not humane; the rights of a fellow global citizen was being stripped and conformity was but one of his choices, the other...a global avoidance.
"Run!" John uttered. "But to where?" He paused a moment staring at the television remote. As he turned the news station on, he flipped to the national news channel (NNC).
"And in other news" a chipper anchor read eagerly, "John Doe has 16 hours left before world officials begin an official washing search. Mr. Doe, who resides in New York city has had several chances throughout the past weeks and past decades to co-operate and he has still remained to himself, instead of simply saying hi. Just say hi, Mr. Doe. Say Hi. All he needs to do is...say..."
John abruptly shut the television off and threw his remote hammering the screen of his 58" flat screen.
He decided to sit and wait. At this point all he had left was sitting and waiting.
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[WP] John is a depressed man in his 20's. He is under the illusion the entire world is against him, he finds out it's not an illusion.
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John believes the world is out to get him. However one day he realizes his fear is an illusion by discovering that it is, in fact, not an illusion. John's head begins to move from left to right at increasing speed while smoke starts to seep out of his pours. "But... if... then..." He pleads incoherently to some absent authority as his eyes dart back and forth and his body begins to shake. John explodes in an eruption of fire, destroyed by OP's erroneous and poorly thought out logical paradox. John was a robot.
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This is the second halfish of the story. Prior to this John has had a terrible day, and an even more terrible week. Not only does he think the world is against him, he is also starting to question his sanity. He has noticed several of the same people are always around during his misfortunes, including a little boy and a cop.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
As he waited for the tow truck, he noticed a McFunky's restaurant across the street. Maybe the world isn't against me, John thought. His favorite snack, a McFunky's chocolate pastry, would bring him just the relief he needed from this hectic morning.
He rushed over to the restaurant. No line. He stepped up to the counter, “I’d like an chocolate pastry.”
“I am sorry sir we are out of chocolate pastries” replied the young women behind the counter in a friendly voice.
He couldn't believe it. “You were out of chocolate pastries yesterday!” Anger and paranoia were starting to take over. He tightened his fists and clenched his teeth, trying not to explode. He looked to his left and saw a cop standing by the door, eating a chocolate pastry. Chewing with his mouth open the cop still managed to have an ear to ear grin. Chocolate oozed from the corner of the cops mouth and stuck to his lips and teeth. It was disgusting and mouth-watering at the same time. The cop was taunting him. “I suppose he got the last one?” John pounded on the counter.
“Was there something else I can get you?”
John looked to his right. A table with four kids, all of them grasping chocolate pastries with their little hands. Their fingers and face were smeared with chocolate. One of the kids tried to stuff a whole pastry in his mouth. The other kids started laughing. Then the pastry-mouthed kid started laughing as well and slowly turned towards John. His mouth filled with chocolate filling and pastry flakes. It was the same kid whose street hockey net he had almost ran over 45 minutes ago. The other kids turned towards him. All of them were staring at him and cackling. He began to feel dizzy . He surveyed the restaurant. There were about 10 other patrons. The strange thing was; all of them were eating chocolate pastries. Just chocolate pastries. Nothing else.
“ENOUGH!” John blurted. The kids stopped laughing and the cop stopped chewing. Everyone was silent. “Give me a fucking a chocolate pastry!”
“Sir we are out of chocolate pastries. “
“Out, huh?” John started climbing over the counter.
“Sir..” The startled cashier stammered as she step backwards out of John’s way.
“SHUT UP!” John demanded, now behind the counter. The back of the counter was
lined with stainless steel cabinets. He pulled one of the cabinets open. It was full, top-to-bottom, of chocolate pastries. He threw open the next cabinet and the next. Both were full of chocolate pastries.
“Sir we are out of chocolate pastries.” The cashier repeated, her voice didn't reflect her startled appearance.
“You’re out of chocolate pastries?” John yelled, as he ran his arms through the cabinets, flinging boxes of pastries on the floor.
By this time, the cop had approached the counter.
“We are out of chocolate pastries.” The cashier repeated.
John looked at the cop. “They are out of chocolate pastries!” He fell to his knees, squishing pastries beneath them and began to laugh maniacally.
-------
Inside a state correctional facility, two officers sit in a small room. The room is lit by dozens of monitors that fill the walls. Some of the monitors scroll through video feeds of inmates lying in hospital beds with tubes and electrodes connected to their bodies. Other monitors seem to show random security cameras throughout the city, and even first person videos of people going through their daily lives. A few of the monitors show medical diagnostics. A loud buzz emits from speakers built into the desk and a red light flashes.
“We have a problem” One of the officers exclaims as she presses a series of buttons. The alarm silences. “It’s inmate number 937, John McTrope. His program is glitching.” Two video feeds stretch across all the monitors. One is a video of an inmate in his hospital bed, the other is the same inmate dressed in a suit rolling around in a pile of chocolate pastries. “I think he is starting to suspect.”
The other officer picked up a phone and dialed a number. After a few seconds he commanded, “Terminate the program on 937 and began memory reassignment for the past twelve hours.”
Outside of the office a plaque was glued to the door. In large letters it read “C.A.R.M.A” underneath them it read “Correctional Alternate Reality Monitoring Agency.”
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|
[WP] John is a depressed man in his 20's. He is under the illusion the entire world is against him, he finds out it's not an illusion.
|
John was sitting in front of his computer, reditting his life away, trying to forget about the world that has pushed him into this lonely existence. Suddenly, he comes across a writing prompt that describes him perfectly, and let's him know that the world is against him. Was someone trying to send him a message? John, with a smirk on his face, gets up, grabs a bat from his closet, and walks to his door. He looks back at his cramped room, with a mattress on the floor, and trash everywhere, and says, "Message received". John then left his old life with his bat in hand, and a new sense of motivation.
|
This is the second halfish of the story. Prior to this John has had a terrible day, and an even more terrible week. Not only does he think the world is against him, he is also starting to question his sanity. He has noticed several of the same people are always around during his misfortunes, including a little boy and a cop.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
As he waited for the tow truck, he noticed a McFunky's restaurant across the street. Maybe the world isn't against me, John thought. His favorite snack, a McFunky's chocolate pastry, would bring him just the relief he needed from this hectic morning.
He rushed over to the restaurant. No line. He stepped up to the counter, “I’d like an chocolate pastry.”
“I am sorry sir we are out of chocolate pastries” replied the young women behind the counter in a friendly voice.
He couldn't believe it. “You were out of chocolate pastries yesterday!” Anger and paranoia were starting to take over. He tightened his fists and clenched his teeth, trying not to explode. He looked to his left and saw a cop standing by the door, eating a chocolate pastry. Chewing with his mouth open the cop still managed to have an ear to ear grin. Chocolate oozed from the corner of the cops mouth and stuck to his lips and teeth. It was disgusting and mouth-watering at the same time. The cop was taunting him. “I suppose he got the last one?” John pounded on the counter.
“Was there something else I can get you?”
John looked to his right. A table with four kids, all of them grasping chocolate pastries with their little hands. Their fingers and face were smeared with chocolate. One of the kids tried to stuff a whole pastry in his mouth. The other kids started laughing. Then the pastry-mouthed kid started laughing as well and slowly turned towards John. His mouth filled with chocolate filling and pastry flakes. It was the same kid whose street hockey net he had almost ran over 45 minutes ago. The other kids turned towards him. All of them were staring at him and cackling. He began to feel dizzy . He surveyed the restaurant. There were about 10 other patrons. The strange thing was; all of them were eating chocolate pastries. Just chocolate pastries. Nothing else.
“ENOUGH!” John blurted. The kids stopped laughing and the cop stopped chewing. Everyone was silent. “Give me a fucking a chocolate pastry!”
“Sir we are out of chocolate pastries. “
“Out, huh?” John started climbing over the counter.
“Sir..” The startled cashier stammered as she step backwards out of John’s way.
“SHUT UP!” John demanded, now behind the counter. The back of the counter was
lined with stainless steel cabinets. He pulled one of the cabinets open. It was full, top-to-bottom, of chocolate pastries. He threw open the next cabinet and the next. Both were full of chocolate pastries.
“Sir we are out of chocolate pastries.” The cashier repeated, her voice didn't reflect her startled appearance.
“You’re out of chocolate pastries?” John yelled, as he ran his arms through the cabinets, flinging boxes of pastries on the floor.
By this time, the cop had approached the counter.
“We are out of chocolate pastries.” The cashier repeated.
John looked at the cop. “They are out of chocolate pastries!” He fell to his knees, squishing pastries beneath them and began to laugh maniacally.
-------
Inside a state correctional facility, two officers sit in a small room. The room is lit by dozens of monitors that fill the walls. Some of the monitors scroll through video feeds of inmates lying in hospital beds with tubes and electrodes connected to their bodies. Other monitors seem to show random security cameras throughout the city, and even first person videos of people going through their daily lives. A few of the monitors show medical diagnostics. A loud buzz emits from speakers built into the desk and a red light flashes.
“We have a problem” One of the officers exclaims as she presses a series of buttons. The alarm silences. “It’s inmate number 937, John McTrope. His program is glitching.” Two video feeds stretch across all the monitors. One is a video of an inmate in his hospital bed, the other is the same inmate dressed in a suit rolling around in a pile of chocolate pastries. “I think he is starting to suspect.”
The other officer picked up a phone and dialed a number. After a few seconds he commanded, “Terminate the program on 937 and began memory reassignment for the past twelve hours.”
Outside of the office a plaque was glued to the door. In large letters it read “C.A.R.M.A” underneath them it read “Correctional Alternate Reality Monitoring Agency.”
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|
[WP] John is a depressed man in his 20's. He is under the illusion the entire world is against him, he finds out it's not an illusion.
|
John was sitting in front of his computer, reditting his life away, trying to forget about the world that has pushed him into this lonely existence. Suddenly, he comes across a writing prompt that describes him perfectly, and let's him know that the world is against him. Was someone trying to send him a message? John, with a smirk on his face, gets up, grabs a bat from his closet, and walks to his door. He looks back at his cramped room, with a mattress on the floor, and trash everywhere, and says, "Message received". John then left his old life with his bat in hand, and a new sense of motivation.
|
This had been the most stress-filled, complicated and unyielding week of John's entire life. His girlfriend, Allison, had broken off their engagement, his parents were expressing disapproval that he didn't want to return to college, and he had to deplete his savings to fund a new set of tires after picking up four nails - one in each sidewall. To top things off, his construction job - the only escape that he had - was beginning to take a toll on his body. He had to get away from it all, away from the concrete rattling jackhammers, and endless rage honking, and drive by rap that engulfed his day to day existence.
John had spoken to his foreman about taking the week off and since he hadn't missed any days in over a year, got permission and began packing his bags for the Appalachian Trail. *Chattahoochee National Forest, here I come.* he said to himself as he loaded the tent into the back of his jeep.
___
John left his vehicle in the secure parking area at the foothills of the trail. He made one last check to ensure that he had everything he needed in his backpack before tossing the straps over his shoulders and heading out for the week.
He spotted another group of hikers about a hundred yards or so ahead of him, but he made sure to keep his distance. It's not that he was antisocial, but this was *me* time. He needed to be alone, he needed time to unpack the mess of thoughts that had entangled his mind for the past week - hell, the past year for that matter. He hoped that the peaceful continuity of nature would offer a much needed sensory dump. As the hikers disappeared over the hill up ahead, John looked out at the pine trees to his right and saw two blue jays playing in the sky. They seemed to actually *notice* him there in the woods. One of the birds took an abrupt turn and made his way toward John. With one swift, concentric motion one of the birds pooped directly onto John's wide-brimmed hiking hat. He took it off his head and looked down to see a thick milky white smear of warm bird fecal plopped right in the center. At that exact moment, while his hat was off, the other blue jay dropped a putrid payload into his sweaty matted hair.
"What the fuck!" John said as he reached up to knock the birdshit out of his hair. "Fucking asshole birds." He gave them a middle finger as they flew away.
*Pffffft*
"Who was that?" said John.
It was the sound of contained laughter being released because it couldn't be held back any more. The dominos kept falling.
"Pfffttt... Ha, ha ha. Haaaa, haaa haa! He gave two birds a bird!" came some voice, seemingly out of no where.
"Who is that? Who's there? You think that's funny?" said John.
"What?" the voice said. "You mean you can actually hear me?"
"Hear you? Of course I can hear you. I'm not deaf." said John, becoming less and less patient. "Show yourself, where are you?"
"Finally." said the voice.
"Are you going to show yourself or what?" John went stomping around the trail looking behind trees and under bushes while other hikers veered to the other side in order to avoid the crazy man who was talking to himself.
"You can look all you want," said the voice. "You're not going to find anything, because you've already found it."
"Found it?" John said looking up at the sky and the trees to the other side. "Found what?"
"I'm everywhere Johnny boy. You ready for this?" said the voice, "Drum roll please..."
Some obviously unrehearsed faux drum roll sound, probably the blubbering lips of some odd invisible entity, resounded across the Appalachian Trail.
"Hereeeeeeeeee's Earth, Johnny!" the voice, claiming to be Earth, began to singsong a horribly out of tune version of the Tonight Show theme.
"Are there cameras around here somewhere?" said John. "This is a setup right?"
"John boy," said Earth, "your girlfriend broke up with you, she doesn't know you're here. Your parents don't know you're here. And I'm pretty sure you didn't tell anybody who works with you where you were going. It's not a setup Johnny, it's for real."
"Oh yeah?" said John, "Ok, if you're Earth, than make it rain. Make it rain, right now and I'll believe you."
"That's it?" said Earth, "So you're saying all it takes is for me to splash a little water on your head and suddenly you'll be convinced beyond the shadow of a doubt that you're talking to a planet?"
John started to say something, then thought for a bit and hesitated.
"I just dropped bird fecal all over your head, and you still don't believe me." said Earth, "Now you're asking me to wash out the poodongle that you don't even believe that I put there?"
"Wait just a minute now..." said John.
Earth interrupted him.
"How about a burning bush instead?" said Earth, "That seems to get people's attention. Or maybe I can split a river for you, or how's about a nice earthquake my lord? Would that pleaseth thou?"
"Listen, don't get all snotty with me now!" said John, "I was just out here minding my own business and all of a sudden you come along and shit all over my head."
John became more and more indignant by the moment.
"You know what? You know what?" he said, pointing and shaking a finger feverishly into the sky and then again toward the ground as another group of hikers walked by as quickly and inconspicuously as they could, "Wherever you are, I want an apology. Right now. Say you're sorry, or else."
"You want an apology? From me?" said Earth, "Ok, how's this?"
A thick fog of condensation suddenly manifested itself over John's head, and then to his absolute astonishment, it began to rain. Buckets and buckets of cold rain began to pour down upon John's head washing away the greasy day-old sweat and stinky excrement left by his two friends earlier.
John shielded his face as best he could as he tried to open dumbfounded eyes into the piercing needles of icy rain.
"All right, all right!" John proclaimed, "I believe you now, I believe you... just make it fucking stop!"
"Such language." said Earth, "Ask me nice."
"Make it... stop..." John was soaked and cold on the outside, but seething with rage as he spat the words, "Pretty... please... with sugar... and f..."
"Nuh, uh, uh...", said Earth, "I wouldn't say that if I were you."
"With... sugar... and cream on top!" John screamed.
In an instant the rain ceased and the cloud dissipated into nothingness.
"See?" said Earth, "That wasn't so hard now was it?"
"Am I going mad?" John yelled toward the trunk of a pine tree as a small boy wearing a scouts vest complete with badges looked over at him curiously. His parents grabbed his arm and quickly pulled him toward the other side of the trail and over the hill away from John.
"Well, John, you are talking to a tree." said Earth, "I'm no expert in the field of psychiatry but I can show you some ink blot tests if you like?"
"Inkblot tests?" said John, slightly distracted for a moment, "They all look like fallopian tubes anyway."
"That's more info than I needed from you there Johnny boy." said Earth, with a cringing, mildly disgusted voice.
"Why are you doing this?" said John, "I mean, why me? Why do you choose to torture me? I haven't done anything wrong."
"You haven't exactly been a saint either, Johnny." said Earth, "You dropped out of the philosophy program at school - after your parents had already footed the bill, mind you - and decided to work a construction job because you thought it made you *anti-hipster* cool."
"I dropped out of philosophy because I learned I'm a nihilist." said John. "What's the fuc... I mean, what's the freaking point anymore?"
Earth gave forth a disappointed sigh.
"I'm pretty sure that six weeks into philosophy 101 doesn't exactly qualify you to be an expert on nihilism," said Earth, "but hey, what do I know? I'm not a human right? Maybe you want to talk about how you neglected your girlfriend Allison and then cheated on her with another woman?"
"Hey!" said John, "You leave Allison out of this."
"How can I?" said Earth, "She's all you ever think about."
"I was stupid," said John, "she was in my philosophy class and we went out for drinks one night and one thing led to another..." John stopped. "What do you mean *all I ever think about*".
"Well it's true, isn't it?" said Earth.
"Are you trying to tell me that you can read my mind?" asked John.
Earth tried to ignore it.
"... and out of all the bad things you've ever done, do you know what really irks me the most?" said Earth, "Littering! One time, I saw you sitting in the passenger seat of a car while your friend slowed down, then you threw a mcdonalds soda cup at a road sign... you missed and both of you actually went back, picked up the cup and tried throwing it from the car window over and over again until you finally hit it."
"What the bloody hell..." said John, "I was sixteen when we did that! How long have you been watching and/or listening to my life?"
Earth said nothing for a moment.
"And..." said John, "You didn't answer my question before. Can you read my mind?"
"Yes." Earth said reluctantly, "Well... sort of. That was an accident. I didn't mean for that to slip out."
"An accident?" a set of cogs that had not previously existed began to turn in John's head.
"So you mean to say, that..." John began, "this *whole thing* was an accident. You never meant for me to know... that's why you were so surprised that I could hear you earlier."
Earth began humming some sort of tune and pretending not to hear John.
"Well, am I right..." said John, "Oh... and I bet..." John was shaking his finger again at the trees and ground, "I'll bet a sack of bourbon that *I'm the only one that can hear you.*
Some muffled thud came from Earth, as if he'd put his index finger into each ear and began singing, *La, la, la, la, la, la*.
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Werewolves, vampires, Bigfoot etc...
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[WP] On the verge of losing a war against a superior alien race, Mythical creatures show themselves and fight for our planet.
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"FLANK!" I shouted through cupped hands towards 1st Sergeant Cortez.
It was too late, the damn jumpers were already upon us. The four legged hoppers had really changed the tides of war; we hadn't been surprised, we knew that the bastards would adapt their military into whatever form it needed to be.
The synthetically skinned jumpers dove in from both sides. In one leap they could clear over 300 yards with an angle of departure less than 10 degree's. This batch in particular closed the distance completely before we got even a single shot off. We were fucked.
Slashing and thrashing randomly with their long metallic claws, provoking further chaos. Their reflex's were astounding, they would be out of your rifles line of sight before you could pull the damn trigger.
"RETREAT!! ALL UNITS RETREAT!!" I screamed to my men, waving them backwards and making sure to stay at the forefront of the action. "DON'T TRY TO BE A HERO!!" It was true, the time for being a hero was over, we were past that. We needed martyrs.
**Giant furry bunny dives in from stage left, roundhouse kicks jumper fiend in the fucking facial region**
**Santa Claws flies in from stage right, his reindeer are all armed with a horn made outa the same shit wolverines bones is (adamantium?**
**A dazed hippy and his dog wander into the picture**
"SCoooby Smoke'n Dubbiess!!!" The dog slobbered with an incredibly personified and humanized personalty.
"Zoinks scoobs!" the hippy friend responded to his dog like a complete schizophrenic, "I've got the munchies like a motherfucker scoob! Lets find some grub!"
A jumper pounces upon the dog, Scooby returns fire as he begins snapping at his foe as they roll around in an increasingly blood-filled spectacle. Another jumper slams into shaggy and knocks him to the ground, quickly decapitating him with a long metal claw. Prancer assaulted shaggies assassin with it's adamantium horn and then tossed the lifeless corpse to the said.
The scene had grown to complete madness. Hundreds more had appeared to do battle in the name of the spirit of mankind.
Dexter reopened his abandoned laboratory and was producing a whole array of ingénues war machines. Spiderman swung through the city battling fierce melee's against stray jumpers (the version of spider man that doesn't make his own string that is). Tommy Pickles and his infant allies used Tommie's trusty screwdriver to escape their playpen and participate in the battle royal. The little Asian rug-rat girl used killer kung-fo to dismantle her foes and Goku showed Phil and Lil had to fuse into their true form, "Phillillian." Ash Ketchum led every single pokemon ever to be made into the heart of the battle, all 151 of them.
It was heinous, everywhere blood spilled from both factions. Earth had lost thousands of it's heroes, and as the fantastical avatars fell so did all memory of them from the minds of man. Immortality was being sacrificed in the name of protecting their creators, the ones who had imagined them.
After weeks of grueling battle the planet was torn to pieces. During the elapsed time every creature mankind had ever imagined participated as soldier. Legions of imaginary friends were used as cannon fodder as the aliens adapted to their foe, using methods such as mass area annihilation. They were destroying the planet they came to harvest, but they didn't care. It was personal now.
Finally, victory was on the horizon. it had been a month now since the fantasies had first started fighting for us, and it seemed that they had succeeded at pushing back our foe. What was left of them anyway. There were less than 100 survivors, just the overpowered power players. Zues, Superman, Thor, Goku; you know the type. Mewtwo cried as he held the broken corpse of his predecessor in his sharpened hands.
The war was over. The collection of power dormant in the psyche of mankind had prevailed, though the cost had been great. Billions of memories vanished from the minds of mankind, countless fantasies erased. Mankind quickly relearned to regrew crops on the scorched land, domesticated the necessary game. It was the beginning of a peaceful era, it was a time to rebuild. It was a time to remember.
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It took us time to realize we were even under assault. Their actions looked like normal environmental change and it was hard for a long time to tell what was humanity causing damage and what was enemy action.
But when we finally started reacting and nothing we could do slowed the slide, that was when we realized we were on the verge of being conquered.
Then the Fae came. They marched out of the mists of history, clad in leathers and leaves wielding blades of bronze and bone. And they purged our society of the corruption that had taken root and nearly driven us to ruin.
When it was done, humanity was much diminished. For a long time trust was a rare commodity, for none could be sure agents of the enemy did not remain hidden.
As for the Fae, they remain. They have taken it upon themselves to guide what remains of humanity. They show us the ways of the world, how to heal the damages done to it over centuries and set the natural world back in balance.
No one knows how many humans died in the Faerie Purges. We do know we will never ascend to the former heights we once achieved. Humanity will never be a shining beacon of technology and progress. The Fae will not allow it.
They fought not for us, but for the planet, after all.
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Werewolves, vampires, Bigfoot etc...
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[WP] On the verge of losing a war against a superior alien race, Mythical creatures show themselves and fight for our planet.
|
Blood mixed with sweat rolled down Jason's temple as he stared at the alien. Tall, dominant, beastly, and other words not created by the human tongue were apt words to describe the monster who was going to kill him.
"Is that all you got..." Jason murmured, the green rookie of the UWC (United World Coalition) staring down the hunter. Despite all the countries of the planet coming together, mankind stood no chance against the physically and mentally superior race that invaded their world like locust. No warning was given. They just attacked. Jason stood there, his legs weakened by the loss off blood. Of course, that was the least of his worries. With his commanders and brothers in arms dead, he was just one of the lucky few left standing.
'If only if I could reach my gun,' he thought, attempting to reach a gun that was in his right pocket. Unfortunately, he had no right hand to retrieve it.
The alien charged at Jason with one of it's 4 arms, with all 4 evolved for combat. Collapsing on his knees, the young man sighed as he crossed his chest with both of his arms; the only defense he could muster. "I'm too weak...I...I'm worthless."
***"Alone, perhaps...but together, we're so much more.."***
As the monster was about to pierce through Jason's abdomen, the man grabbed his foe's arm almost instinctively. It made no sense to him. These aliens were *fast*. A sudden thrust of their claws was the speed of a baseball going 98 mph. Jason's eyes widened. He stopped the attack despite it's momentum.
A fire fanned within the young man. No longer did his weaknesses ail him. In fact, it was like they dissipated. Like a coil, the young man erupted from his knees; delivering a left hook to the shocked alien, enough to knock him off his feet. Within mere seconds, Jason's attacker was at his feet, dead.
Pleasantly surprised, the soldier looked at his body. It felt different. And now, it was beginning to look different. A faint, ethereal glow surrounded Jason's body. "What the in God's name..." he said as if he wasn't shocked enough by the reality of aliens attacking out of the sky.
"I wouldn't call myself a God..." A voice echoed through Jason's conscious.
"Uhhh, Jesus?" said Jason as he voiced his second guess.
"No Jason, I'm not a deity of your world...I'm a creature of sorts...just like you."
"How the hell do you know my name?" Jason yelled aloud as he began to look around. As if it were a dream, balls of light the size of baseballs fell down like feathers from the sky. It was like snow, but with a light that emitted a radiance like no other. As they fell, they attached to remaining fighters and severely wounded.
"Ahh, I see that the others finally caught up..." said the light attached to Jason. "To answer your question, the moment I attached to you, I became one with you; I came to know everything you know. Your tongue. Your culture. And, you." This was all too sudden for anyone to take in, but Jason had no choice.
"But, what I just did...how..." the green soldier said, his head turning to the alien reinforcements that appeared before him.
"Well, you humans are sorta weak. You have..*ehh* minds, but horrible bodies. But, I have ***AMAZING*** power, if I say so myself, but no body...so it's sorta worthless. But when you put one and one together..."
"...We're so much more." Jason said, raising his right wrist to his face; his face being hit with the steam billowing off where his hand once was, and where a new one is emerging.
"How cute, we're already finishing each others sentences." The young man scrounged his newly regenerated right fist as he gazed at the incoming forces. "Let's show the world what the first union can do..."
"It'll be my pleasure," Jason said grinning as a new resolve manifested within the warrior. He charged.
Edit: Grammar and stuff.
Edit 2: Since a couple people liked it, I fixed more grammar and added a bit of detail.
Edit 3: [I made a Part 2.](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2l0yby/wp_on_the_verge_of_losing_a_war_against_a/clr3li4)
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It took us time to realize we were even under assault. Their actions looked like normal environmental change and it was hard for a long time to tell what was humanity causing damage and what was enemy action.
But when we finally started reacting and nothing we could do slowed the slide, that was when we realized we were on the verge of being conquered.
Then the Fae came. They marched out of the mists of history, clad in leathers and leaves wielding blades of bronze and bone. And they purged our society of the corruption that had taken root and nearly driven us to ruin.
When it was done, humanity was much diminished. For a long time trust was a rare commodity, for none could be sure agents of the enemy did not remain hidden.
As for the Fae, they remain. They have taken it upon themselves to guide what remains of humanity. They show us the ways of the world, how to heal the damages done to it over centuries and set the natural world back in balance.
No one knows how many humans died in the Faerie Purges. We do know we will never ascend to the former heights we once achieved. Humanity will never be a shining beacon of technology and progress. The Fae will not allow it.
They fought not for us, but for the planet, after all.
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Werewolves, vampires, Bigfoot etc...
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[WP] On the verge of losing a war against a superior alien race, Mythical creatures show themselves and fight for our planet.
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Blood mixed with sweat rolled down Jason's temple as he stared at the alien. Tall, dominant, beastly, and other words not created by the human tongue were apt words to describe the monster who was going to kill him.
"Is that all you got..." Jason murmured, the green rookie of the UWC (United World Coalition) staring down the hunter. Despite all the countries of the planet coming together, mankind stood no chance against the physically and mentally superior race that invaded their world like locust. No warning was given. They just attacked. Jason stood there, his legs weakened by the loss off blood. Of course, that was the least of his worries. With his commanders and brothers in arms dead, he was just one of the lucky few left standing.
'If only if I could reach my gun,' he thought, attempting to reach a gun that was in his right pocket. Unfortunately, he had no right hand to retrieve it.
The alien charged at Jason with one of it's 4 arms, with all 4 evolved for combat. Collapsing on his knees, the young man sighed as he crossed his chest with both of his arms; the only defense he could muster. "I'm too weak...I...I'm worthless."
***"Alone, perhaps...but together, we're so much more.."***
As the monster was about to pierce through Jason's abdomen, the man grabbed his foe's arm almost instinctively. It made no sense to him. These aliens were *fast*. A sudden thrust of their claws was the speed of a baseball going 98 mph. Jason's eyes widened. He stopped the attack despite it's momentum.
A fire fanned within the young man. No longer did his weaknesses ail him. In fact, it was like they dissipated. Like a coil, the young man erupted from his knees; delivering a left hook to the shocked alien, enough to knock him off his feet. Within mere seconds, Jason's attacker was at his feet, dead.
Pleasantly surprised, the soldier looked at his body. It felt different. And now, it was beginning to look different. A faint, ethereal glow surrounded Jason's body. "What the in God's name..." he said as if he wasn't shocked enough by the reality of aliens attacking out of the sky.
"I wouldn't call myself a God..." A voice echoed through Jason's conscious.
"Uhhh, Jesus?" said Jason as he voiced his second guess.
"No Jason, I'm not a deity of your world...I'm a creature of sorts...just like you."
"How the hell do you know my name?" Jason yelled aloud as he began to look around. As if it were a dream, balls of light the size of baseballs fell down like feathers from the sky. It was like snow, but with a light that emitted a radiance like no other. As they fell, they attached to remaining fighters and severely wounded.
"Ahh, I see that the others finally caught up..." said the light attached to Jason. "To answer your question, the moment I attached to you, I became one with you; I came to know everything you know. Your tongue. Your culture. And, you." This was all too sudden for anyone to take in, but Jason had no choice.
"But, what I just did...how..." the green soldier said, his head turning to the alien reinforcements that appeared before him.
"Well, you humans are sorta weak. You have..*ehh* minds, but horrible bodies. But, I have ***AMAZING*** power, if I say so myself, but no body...so it's sorta worthless. But when you put one and one together..."
"...We're so much more." Jason said, raising his right wrist to his face; his face being hit with the steam billowing off where his hand once was, and where a new one is emerging.
"How cute, we're already finishing each others sentences." The young man scrounged his newly regenerated right fist as he gazed at the incoming forces. "Let's show the world what the first union can do..."
"It'll be my pleasure," Jason said grinning as a new resolve manifested within the warrior. He charged.
Edit: Grammar and stuff.
Edit 2: Since a couple people liked it, I fixed more grammar and added a bit of detail.
Edit 3: [I made a Part 2.](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2l0yby/wp_on_the_verge_of_losing_a_war_against_a/clr3li4)
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"FLANK!" I shouted through cupped hands towards 1st Sergeant Cortez.
It was too late, the damn jumpers were already upon us. The four legged hoppers had really changed the tides of war; we hadn't been surprised, we knew that the bastards would adapt their military into whatever form it needed to be.
The synthetically skinned jumpers dove in from both sides. In one leap they could clear over 300 yards with an angle of departure less than 10 degree's. This batch in particular closed the distance completely before we got even a single shot off. We were fucked.
Slashing and thrashing randomly with their long metallic claws, provoking further chaos. Their reflex's were astounding, they would be out of your rifles line of sight before you could pull the damn trigger.
"RETREAT!! ALL UNITS RETREAT!!" I screamed to my men, waving them backwards and making sure to stay at the forefront of the action. "DON'T TRY TO BE A HERO!!" It was true, the time for being a hero was over, we were past that. We needed martyrs.
**Giant furry bunny dives in from stage left, roundhouse kicks jumper fiend in the fucking facial region**
**Santa Claws flies in from stage right, his reindeer are all armed with a horn made outa the same shit wolverines bones is (adamantium?**
**A dazed hippy and his dog wander into the picture**
"SCoooby Smoke'n Dubbiess!!!" The dog slobbered with an incredibly personified and humanized personalty.
"Zoinks scoobs!" the hippy friend responded to his dog like a complete schizophrenic, "I've got the munchies like a motherfucker scoob! Lets find some grub!"
A jumper pounces upon the dog, Scooby returns fire as he begins snapping at his foe as they roll around in an increasingly blood-filled spectacle. Another jumper slams into shaggy and knocks him to the ground, quickly decapitating him with a long metal claw. Prancer assaulted shaggies assassin with it's adamantium horn and then tossed the lifeless corpse to the said.
The scene had grown to complete madness. Hundreds more had appeared to do battle in the name of the spirit of mankind.
Dexter reopened his abandoned laboratory and was producing a whole array of ingénues war machines. Spiderman swung through the city battling fierce melee's against stray jumpers (the version of spider man that doesn't make his own string that is). Tommy Pickles and his infant allies used Tommie's trusty screwdriver to escape their playpen and participate in the battle royal. The little Asian rug-rat girl used killer kung-fo to dismantle her foes and Goku showed Phil and Lil had to fuse into their true form, "Phillillian." Ash Ketchum led every single pokemon ever to be made into the heart of the battle, all 151 of them.
It was heinous, everywhere blood spilled from both factions. Earth had lost thousands of it's heroes, and as the fantastical avatars fell so did all memory of them from the minds of man. Immortality was being sacrificed in the name of protecting their creators, the ones who had imagined them.
After weeks of grueling battle the planet was torn to pieces. During the elapsed time every creature mankind had ever imagined participated as soldier. Legions of imaginary friends were used as cannon fodder as the aliens adapted to their foe, using methods such as mass area annihilation. They were destroying the planet they came to harvest, but they didn't care. It was personal now.
Finally, victory was on the horizon. it had been a month now since the fantasies had first started fighting for us, and it seemed that they had succeeded at pushing back our foe. What was left of them anyway. There were less than 100 survivors, just the overpowered power players. Zues, Superman, Thor, Goku; you know the type. Mewtwo cried as he held the broken corpse of his predecessor in his sharpened hands.
The war was over. The collection of power dormant in the psyche of mankind had prevailed, though the cost had been great. Billions of memories vanished from the minds of mankind, countless fantasies erased. Mankind quickly relearned to regrew crops on the scorched land, domesticated the necessary game. It was the beginning of a peaceful era, it was a time to rebuild. It was a time to remember.
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[WP]: "I think they used to be people."
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It seems to be the fate of all myths to have the people that once believed so firmly in them turn to laughing away their plausibility. Of course some are passed down as novel oddities, or others as children’s stories like those of the Saint of the North or the Men of the Forest. In my town we had the Mists. Every child was taught about the Mists, the fogs that plagued our town every night and that lingered on well into the mornings. Of course with the advent of street-lights anyone over the age of ten began to laugh away these stories, of course the mists didn’t *actually* whisk people off to faraway lands, or eat them, or other nonsense. It had just been people getting lost in the heavy fog. Turns out we shouldn’t have laughed so much at such stories.
It had started ‘innocently’ enough. A group of us had gathered around an abandoned lot near the school, illegally obtained booze being passed around while good times where being had. Of course it had been Ryan that had brought up the stories of the Mists, in a tone that was more suited for campside ghost stories he proposed that the stories might not be as frivolous as thought and that he knew of someone that knew someone who had vanished into the Mists. Of course anyone with a computer and a half way decent net connection knew where this was going. It was a rather common ruse. Bring up a scary story, usually the Men of the Forest, with some ‘new’ corroborating anecdote and then dare someone to go out alone to the place it supposedly took place at. Once alone either the group scared the poor victim or it was also used to get a girl alone so a guy could try to get in her pants.
Going by the smirks worn by some of the guys gathered around I figured it was the latter. So when Ryan turned towards me with that stupid grin of his I already knew what was coming. And right on cue came the dare. All I could do was roll my eyes, it was obvious that Ryan had a crush on me but that he’d stoop to such silly antics to get me alone? It came off as pathetic really. I got up and took a moment to dust off the seat of my jeans, it wasn’t until Susan had jeered that I must be frightened to go out into the mists alone that I had turned and walked off without a word. I knew where I was going, a grass field that stretched out behind the school that ended at the tree line of a small wooded area. Or so I thought. I had been walking for much longer than it’d normally take to reach the woods when I heard him coming up behind me.
Ryan had apparently jogged at a good pace to catch up to me, panting pretty heavy. At the time I had shook my head, believing that he must have been out of shape and that I must have been walking slower than usual that’s why I hadn’t reached the woods yet. I had spun on him glaring as I tore into him for playing this stupid prank, making it clear nothing would happen. This answer wasn’t good enough for him though, he argued that he would make a good boyfriend and that I would be lucky to have a catch like him and so on. All the while I continued to make it clear I had no interest in him, and the fact he was ‘on the football team’ did nothing to sway me. We went back and forth for what felt like only minutes but must have been longer than that for the fog around us brightened slowly as the sun came up.
It was this that convinced Ryan to finally give it up, morning was coming and we had to be getting back to the others and heading home. It was the walk back that told me something had to be wrong, it was taking way too long. We had been walking for what felt like hours and yet wet grass still clung to our feet as we walked, on and on in a seemingly endless field. It had been when I stopped to rest that we saw them. Shapes in the fog, people shaped shapes except that the way they were moving was...wrong. Thinking they were our friends trying to pull something on us Ryan jogged forward calling out to them before I could stop him. I really wish I could have. They were on him in a blink of an eye, and I’m glad that they were far enough that I couldn’t see what was happening. After all the screams coming from Ryan and the wet sounds of skin and flesh being ripped and shredded was bad enough that I still have nightmares.
Those things are still out there in the fog, I see them in the distance from time to time. I think they used to be people. Once. The Mists have changed them...and I think I know how. It’s been what feels like months now and I’ve been so hungry and thirsty, yet neither death nor any sign of fresh water or even animals has come. It’s beginning to be all I can think of lately, the hunger. The never ending hunger in the never lifting fog. And with no way home I can never warn my friends, or family, or any others. Warn them about the Mists, warn them that our ancestors were right to fear them...
(First time writing in almost a year. And first time here. Any tips, criticism, etc are welcome)
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All we ever knew was the night. The rest remained wandering somewhere in the vast realm of our memory, which we prefered to see as just a forgetful dream, some kind of other dimension where light still adorned our children's faces. For why should I believe that the innocent and distant life I used to live is my life if everything that made that life mine is now gone? Why should I grasp to an excuse to resist this poisonous sorrow that pulls me down wrinkle by wrinkle when it will all be better if I just surrender my life to it?
Our reality, on the other hand, was him. We slept under the starless night of his eyes. We swam in the waterless rivers of his veins. We ate from the rotten fruit of his heart. And so our dream was ill, our baths were scarce and our hunger increased. All of our thinking was limited to interpretation of his command and so the creation of any idea was not something we conceived.
We all uses to have lives. We all used to have names.
He took me a night very long ago. I had left my family at home for work. And in the dim light of a moonless night he lurked. It was not him who kidnapped me but it was in him that we lived. It was by him that we lived. We all felt forsaken at first, but we all embraced him as hope started escaping our souls. He turned us this way.
Some were sold quickly, but some of us helped him orient newcomers. Some of us helped him be embraced by them. Eventually he kept me. I was glad I wasn't being sold because that could easily mean death by organ trafficants. So my will was done and I remained with him.
And so you would imagine how I felt the day they got him. I don't know what his flaw was, but it was a fulminating one. My desolation was too much. I felt anger in every nerve, every bone, every muscle left. The two cops found me curled on the floor sobbing in rage. I swear I heard one say: "I think he used to be human".
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[WP]: "I think they used to be people."
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"I think they used to be people."
"I doubt it, they look nothin' human."
"No, really, watch them! Watch the way they carry themselves, how they act."
There wasn't much to watch, the creatures were humanoid, that was for sure, but they trotted on four spindly legs unevenly. Giant pillars for hind legs, their front legs twisted like dislocated arms. Their heads were human, the sharp incisors would lead you to believe differently as they twisted around the head with the intent to pierce the skull, but the cranium held the same basic shape and brilliant red eyes showed some human origin.
As the two men sat, they located a smaller one, about fourteen feet in height. It snagged a piece of fruit, a large apple like fruit, one the color of theater curtains. The large hind legs lifted as the front 'hands', claws sharp extending from finger like digits, gripped the sphere and bit in, juice dripping down it's body. Chewing and swallowing, it ate the food quickly, then rejoined a group of larger creatures, lifting it's 'hand' once again.
It waved.
Like a human would upon greeting an old friend for a beer. A small gesture of recognition.
The man who was tall and lean, glared, mouth hanging in an almost comic gesture.
"We tell no one of what we saw here."
"What? Why! We came here for information, we came here to see what our future was! We have to make this public!" The shorter man berated, his anger drawing the attention of the beasts.
"Get into the machine, David. We will tell the officials when we return. The public does not need to know this is how we will evolve."
"Is that even evolution?"
"Like you said, they used to be people."
I am new to writing, I would appreciate harsh criticism.
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All we ever knew was the night. The rest remained wandering somewhere in the vast realm of our memory, which we prefered to see as just a forgetful dream, some kind of other dimension where light still adorned our children's faces. For why should I believe that the innocent and distant life I used to live is my life if everything that made that life mine is now gone? Why should I grasp to an excuse to resist this poisonous sorrow that pulls me down wrinkle by wrinkle when it will all be better if I just surrender my life to it?
Our reality, on the other hand, was him. We slept under the starless night of his eyes. We swam in the waterless rivers of his veins. We ate from the rotten fruit of his heart. And so our dream was ill, our baths were scarce and our hunger increased. All of our thinking was limited to interpretation of his command and so the creation of any idea was not something we conceived.
We all uses to have lives. We all used to have names.
He took me a night very long ago. I had left my family at home for work. And in the dim light of a moonless night he lurked. It was not him who kidnapped me but it was in him that we lived. It was by him that we lived. We all felt forsaken at first, but we all embraced him as hope started escaping our souls. He turned us this way.
Some were sold quickly, but some of us helped him orient newcomers. Some of us helped him be embraced by them. Eventually he kept me. I was glad I wasn't being sold because that could easily mean death by organ trafficants. So my will was done and I remained with him.
And so you would imagine how I felt the day they got him. I don't know what his flaw was, but it was a fulminating one. My desolation was too much. I felt anger in every nerve, every bone, every muscle left. The two cops found me curled on the floor sobbing in rage. I swear I heard one say: "I think he used to be human".
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[WP] Scientists discover an algorithm to match each person to the job that best suits them. This is the sole way in which careers are now allocated in society. Today is your first day working as a...
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I gripped the small slip of paper in my hands, trembling visibly. The official who handed it to me looked down at me with glossy, dead eyes: "Sure hope you get what you want, kiddo," he sighed, "I sure as hell didn't." He nodded his head and turned to a little girl, the next in line, and silently placed another slip of paper into her trembling hand. I watched her slowly unfold the paper, and saw her face drain of color. She put her hand back down and walked out like a zombie, as many others did. I looked back down at my own slip: a tiny piece of paper that would decide my whole future. I tried to think of all of my dreams and ambitions; I wanted to be an astronaut, a test pilot, an explorer. Ever since I was little I wanted to test boundaries and explore new things, so of course, I reassured myself, I had to get *something* interesting. I wiped the sweat out of my eyes with my free hand. I remembered the dead eyes adults always had, how I had watched a tiny piece of paper drain all of the love and joy out of my brother, how it drained the humanity out of everyone it touched.
The politicians claimed The Algorithm created efficiency, order, and peace, how it gave everyone the perfect job, the perfect live. Parades cheered it on, "The Algorithm is utopia!" they would chant. "Efficiency, Order, Peace!" They claimed that The Algorithm was the only way to save the world, but how wrong they were. Instead of a happy world of perfection, we inherited a grey world of silence. Trains moved, cars drove, and people worked, but nevermore would they laugh and smile. Music was never made and movies never directed, for they were a waste of efficiency. People never traveled, chatted, nor fell in love for it was The Algorithm that married. Never again would people explore the oceans or reach for the stars. All of these wasted precious efficiency.
As I, too, opened my slip of paper, I felt myself die inside. *'Financial Specialist'*, it read. I rebelled initially, like most do, but the system was prepared for that; it wasn't long before I sat down and worked like I was told. After just a few months I was a zombie like everyone else. Work, eat, sleep. Work, eat, sleep. Work, eat sleep. I was a mature adult by then and dreams are for children, or so they say.
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nothing. That is what the computer said. It was the first time it happened in, well, ever. There had to be something wrong. How can I not be good at anything. I excelled at all my subjects in my primary school. I thought I was going to be a scientist, maybe even a teacher. But how is THIS possible! There has to be an error, I've lived all my life being the best at everything I did. Head of most sports teams, leader in my class, even class president. How am i not worth anything. Maybe the computer is wrong. I can be anything I want to be. If one thing can't suit me perfectly maybe they all do. So that means for the first time since humanity created this algorithm i have the right to choose.
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[WP] Scientists discover an algorithm to match each person to the job that best suits them. This is the sole way in which careers are now allocated in society. Today is your first day working as a...
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I hate getting physicals.
First came the tongue compressors, then the ear syringes, the reflex hammers, eye tests, all serving to give them more data on me, and resulting in less knowledge about them for myself.
I didn't mind, though. Today was my eighteenth! Today, I got my job. A machine that combines all your aptitudes, attitudes, and preferences together to create the perfect suggestion for you was, quite frankly, the best thing since sliced bread.
As a bachelor that's tried to make many a grilled cheese sandwich with cheap french bread, this accolade ranked you slightly higher than the pope in my regard.
I strolled down the aisle, the overly smiley male nurse from the cough test waving happily at me as I left. A small slip of paper slid out with a pleasant ding, and the operator grinned as I opened the sheet of paper, folded in half out of respect for those who might not have been truly happy with their results (although those were truly few and far between).
There it was. The 100% success rate slip of paper that would determine my future, and my worth as a person. I'd always given school my all, between my holding the top mark in two classes and keeping up a very impressive 94 average, I was really expecting a highly academically oriented career. Then again, I'd been captain of the football team two years ago, and I was still playing today. No matter, this machine had surprised people before, but they'd always turned out masters in their fields in the end, so I decided to put my faith in it. As I unfurled this tiny smooth scrap of paper, I heard a scream behind me. The smiley nurse's face was contorted to an expression of pain, and the male nurse was writhing on the ground, bleeding from his eyes. What the fuck is going on? I glanced quickly at the paper, then glanced intensely again after immediately forgetting what I read.
"Satan-in-training"
The blood drained from their corpses and pooled on the ground, creating a massive eye shape underneath me. It opened, and in the literal blink of an eye, I tumbled downwards through the gates of hell to start my new apprenticeship.
Then I woke up after my harshest acid trip in the world and went back to my day job as customer service rep for comcast.
NinjaE: Is the spoiler tag disabled on the subreddit or something?
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nothing. That is what the computer said. It was the first time it happened in, well, ever. There had to be something wrong. How can I not be good at anything. I excelled at all my subjects in my primary school. I thought I was going to be a scientist, maybe even a teacher. But how is THIS possible! There has to be an error, I've lived all my life being the best at everything I did. Head of most sports teams, leader in my class, even class president. How am i not worth anything. Maybe the computer is wrong. I can be anything I want to be. If one thing can't suit me perfectly maybe they all do. So that means for the first time since humanity created this algorithm i have the right to choose.
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[WP] Scientists discover an algorithm to match each person to the job that best suits them. This is the sole way in which careers are now allocated in society. Today is your first day working as a...
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*Algorithm manservant*, reads the little slip of paper.
I glance at the little machine that had spit out the paper.
"What'd you get?", asks the woman who had picked before me, hesitantly. I show her. Her eyebrow raises.
"You?", she shows me hers. *Algorithm concubine*. We both look at the machine. It rattles a bit under the scrutiny.
It might be time for some percussive maintenance.
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nothing. That is what the computer said. It was the first time it happened in, well, ever. There had to be something wrong. How can I not be good at anything. I excelled at all my subjects in my primary school. I thought I was going to be a scientist, maybe even a teacher. But how is THIS possible! There has to be an error, I've lived all my life being the best at everything I did. Head of most sports teams, leader in my class, even class president. How am i not worth anything. Maybe the computer is wrong. I can be anything I want to be. If one thing can't suit me perfectly maybe they all do. So that means for the first time since humanity created this algorithm i have the right to choose.
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[WP] A short story with an extremely unsatisfying ending
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I still remember the day we met, Nicole and I. I was 15 and out for a walk to clear my head after an argument with my mom. I made it about ten minutes into the walk when I hear a voice call out, "Hey you! Come here!" There were two very pretty girls walking on the other side of the street I was approaching.
Gingerly, I walk over and introduce myself. I was always awkward around girls. The three of us walk around our small town getting to know each other ending up in a park. Eventually Nicole's friend Caroline has to go so Nicole and I stay in the park and talk for longer. As the day turns to night I offer to walk her home. We got to her doorstep and she gave me a kiss on the cheek. Three weeks later we were dating.
Years come and go and before you know it we're both twenty. We'd had a lot of great times together, Nicole and I. Like the time we were out walking on a trail and stopped to kiss and at that exact moment fireworks went off in the distance. It was like magic. Whenever Nicole and I would argue, all it took to diffuse the situation was to say "remember the fireworks." Or the time we were out hiking in the forest and got lost and caught in the rain. We hid from that old pine tree from the storm and kissed until the rain stopped, even though I didn't think I'd ever be dry again. I like to imagine those things happened anyway. I like to imagine that's how it would have gone down. We'd have our fireworks and our rain and our love. But that won't happen now, everything changed once the fire nation attacked.
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He ran. He ran faster. He ran even faster with the other men. His body was ready to give out, but he knew he must soldier on. This was his first time doing such a thing, and dammit it wouldn’t be a failure.
The man jumped out of the burning window as the trampoline came into sight, unable to take the flames licking his back any longer. The plummet to the ground was terrifying as he looked into one young firefighter’s face. The wind blew through the man’s hair.
Meanwhile, the young firefighter let out a yell and pushed on, trying to catch the man before he hit the ground. An explosion on the top floor of the building sent glass flying out everywhere as he watched the man plummet.
\3. \2. \1.
-310
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[WP] A short story with an extremely unsatisfying ending
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I still remember the day we met, Nicole and I. I was 15 and out for a walk to clear my head after an argument with my mom. I made it about ten minutes into the walk when I hear a voice call out, "Hey you! Come here!" There were two very pretty girls walking on the other side of the street I was approaching.
Gingerly, I walk over and introduce myself. I was always awkward around girls. The three of us walk around our small town getting to know each other ending up in a park. Eventually Nicole's friend Caroline has to go so Nicole and I stay in the park and talk for longer. As the day turns to night I offer to walk her home. We got to her doorstep and she gave me a kiss on the cheek. Three weeks later we were dating.
Years come and go and before you know it we're both twenty. We'd had a lot of great times together, Nicole and I. Like the time we were out walking on a trail and stopped to kiss and at that exact moment fireworks went off in the distance. It was like magic. Whenever Nicole and I would argue, all it took to diffuse the situation was to say "remember the fireworks." Or the time we were out hiking in the forest and got lost and caught in the rain. We hid from that old pine tree from the storm and kissed until the rain stopped, even though I didn't think I'd ever be dry again. I like to imagine those things happened anyway. I like to imagine that's how it would have gone down. We'd have our fireworks and our rain and our love. But that won't happen now, everything changed once the fire nation attacked.
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"HAAAAAAA AHHHHHH LLLPPP MEEEEEEEEE"
Phillip heard the cry, and started to run, run fast, faster, like every other citizen on the street of the sleepy Kentucky town. He saw the screaming kid, heard his planitive wail, and got into his car and revved it up. He burst off the worn, faded pavement, leaving the other would-be rescuers in the dust. The worn but sturdy wheels of the Ford Impala sped along the dusty road, kicking up clouds of dirt as it followed the kidnapper's Chevy. They drove on that narrow thin road of faded asphalt under the hot sun, neither willing to let up or surrender. Phillip saw the intersection fast approaching and steeled his resolve; no more children would be sold into the body trade, not if he could stop it. The two pathways to the highway were gaping pits of roads, asphalt caves driven into the hill. He readied himself, nerves tensed *as the car skid, rolled, and crashed into his.* The black comforted him.
He awoke to see a vision of damnation, twisted metal and the body of his automated friend trapping him in a last, burning embrace. He struggled out of the car and found another one of the traffickers lying spread-eagled on the ground, pistol in his hand. He grabbed it, and emptied a bullet in the man's head, just in case. He moved quickly, finding the kid crawling up to a nearby tree, scars and scrapes on his legs. Phillip moved quickly in, soothing the boy. He was well-known around town for being the only clean cop.
"Hey, you hurt?"
The boy sobbed, snot and tears mixing into a viscous substance of pain and despair under the tyrannical sun. He cried and sobbed over and over, only achieving coherence after some time.
"You okay, you okay? How'd they snatch you?"
More crying. Then;
"T-they kkilled Spot. And they hurted Mama."
More reassurances from Phillip, more soothing.
"Don't let em get me, please, please, please, they'll hurt me, please please, *he's behind you*!"
Phillip turned around pistol in his hand, gun aimed, trigger pulled, as the remaining trafficker did the same.
*Click!* went the misfire.
*Bang!* went the gun.
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[WP] Warriors killed in battle don't go to Heaven or Hell, they stand guard in between.
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Willem charged with his brethren, his army, his men. His horse had been shot, right through the eye, and his left arm still hurt from the impact of falling off the limp animal mid trot. He wore his Houses green and pearl armour, the Shark that was his Houses symbol indented on his whole chest. He held a great, thick claymore with both his hands, the weight emphasising the sting in his left arm. He felt the huge bellows from the men behind him, and the ones at his side. The cry came from him instinctively, the smell of metal and sweat, here and there the stench of blood or some craven letting their bowels loose.
He smashed into the enemies ranks with great force, his claymore pointed forward, slamming into the small visor of a soldier brought to his knees by his rush. An arrow whipped past his own helmet, so close he took a step back. The claymore hadn't fit into the visor, rather pushed it's way inside, letting the broken metal clamp onto the blade. Willem then realised it could've been the man's skull, but he didn't have enough time to linger on the thought, as a man's blade slashed and stabbed at his throat, bashing the helm from Willems helm. He fell, his arse bashing into the muddy ground, splashing up onto the legs of the man behind him. "Help! Help!" He screamed at the man, one of his own. Help the man did, pushing the spear into Willems' attackers chest. Willem let his eyes shut, only to feel a sudden sharp sensation end him.
(I'll continue this if someone wants.)
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Drip by drip....my brow kept it's continuous rhythm, the salty bitterness refreshes my parched lip.
"Why the fuck, how does that even make sense, I guess that's why I've always enjoyed savory over.."
...I looked upward as more salt laden liquids skip on my pupils, like flat rocks on a still lake. "I'm not in northern Virgnia anymore" I say it to myself like I give a fuck, knowing well that I'm not who I ever was.
"Remind yourself of who you are!! Get a hold and realize what you're doing now!!"....
His tone overwhelms my inner thoughts. I'm not sure if it's my emotions or consciousness who leads the way now. I tell myself I'll see it through, my innate morality yanks and pulls at each fiber, "WTF are you doing, get a F**KING GRIP." It's my time to go "It's time to go" I say to myself as I tear off the jacket they called "strait." Ironic how I considered my self so linear.
I look up once more, this time the cold steel that I taste is red. I look down at my lifeless body, I find myself straight without a jacket and yet my drops seem red with tastelessness.
Drip by drip....my brow kept it's continuous rhythm, the salty bitterness refreshes my parched lip.
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[WP] Warriors killed in battle don't go to Heaven or Hell, they stand guard in between.
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Billy woke up, gasping for air.
The first thing he did was worry. A lot of people do when they get here, but usually they're worrying for themselves; Billy was worrying for his Mother.
"Mam? Are you okay? I can breathe again, Mam. Where are you?" He hadn't opened his eyes yet, and when he did, he was a little shocked.
He was lying on the floor, which was cold and hard and white, around him there was only whiteness, with a giant golden gate behind him and a dark fiery gate some hundred feet ahead of him. Knelt over him was a large figure; Billy panicked at first, but the figure spoke in a calming voice which seemed concerned, worried, maybe a little confused.
"Never seen one so young before. You okay, little warrior? Welcome to the afterlife."
"The afterlife?" Billy asked, "did I die? Is Mam okay?"
The figure chuckled. "I don't know about your Mam, little warrior, but you did die, yes. Here, lend me your hand:" the figure pulled him up, "I'm Grevis. I was a barbarian in the year 300bc, and you're my new partner!" Billy looked at this Grevis. He was wearing leather straps and had a large axe in his other hand, but his face was kind and sympathetic.
"I'm your partner?" Billy queried.
"Aye, little warrior. You've died in battle, and now you're here in the afterlife, posted between the gates of Heaven and Hell. Only the bravest and most noble warriors are given this eternal glory. You must have done a great sacrifice! Every warrior here gets to decide the fate of his killer when they arrive, and yours is right here already. Here, I'll take you down."
Taking Billy's hand, Grevis led the young one into the white empty field towards another figure, which was slumped over and kneeling, a pool of blood around it.
"How old are you, Billy?" Grevis asked, "You look about, three?"
Billy looked into the eyes of his killer. He gets to choose if this man goes to Heaven or Hell. But first, he has a question.
"Is Mam okay, Daddy?"
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Drip by drip....my brow kept it's continuous rhythm, the salty bitterness refreshes my parched lip.
"Why the fuck, how does that even make sense, I guess that's why I've always enjoyed savory over.."
...I looked upward as more salt laden liquids skip on my pupils, like flat rocks on a still lake. "I'm not in northern Virgnia anymore" I say it to myself like I give a fuck, knowing well that I'm not who I ever was.
"Remind yourself of who you are!! Get a hold and realize what you're doing now!!"....
His tone overwhelms my inner thoughts. I'm not sure if it's my emotions or consciousness who leads the way now. I tell myself I'll see it through, my innate morality yanks and pulls at each fiber, "WTF are you doing, get a F**KING GRIP." It's my time to go "It's time to go" I say to myself as I tear off the jacket they called "strait." Ironic how I considered my self so linear.
I look up once more, this time the cold steel that I taste is red. I look down at my lifeless body, I find myself straight without a jacket and yet my drops seem red with tastelessness.
Drip by drip....my brow kept it's continuous rhythm, the salty bitterness refreshes my parched lip.
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[WP] Warriors killed in battle don't go to Heaven or Hell, they stand guard in between.
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'Alpha Team, you have your target.'
Almost immediately after the voice had finished speaking, eight figures came out of the shadows. The room was always dark.
Without a word, they approached the large table between them all and began to equip themselves. Arthur took his customary sword and shield from the table before turning to help his neighbour on the other side.
"Another day, another action. How long do you reckon we've been asleep for this time?" the man grunted as Arthur began to fasten his armour on. Arthur remained silent as always. He had heard that same phrase said every time he awoke from his sleep.
"Does it matter?" Another one of the figures opposite to them replied rhetorically, fingering his tomahawk.
"What are we after this time?" Another one of them asked as he grabbed a massive sword.
Arthur shook his head, "You heard It tell us what we were doing."
The man who had spoken up grinned and pointed at his head, or at least where his head should have been. Blood dripped from the missing chunk of his head, a constant dripping to accompany his every action. The meaning was clear enough.
"Our target is a paranormal entity, possibly angelic in nature. We go down, we banish it, we get back to sleep. Clear enough?"
The man grinned, "Crystal, at least for the next five minutes."
"Then lets move."
In a flash of light, the eight of them found themselves transported from the dark room into sudden and almost blinding light. Geronimo was the first to react, glancing around quickly and relaxing almost instantly.
"All clear."
Arthur nodded in slight satisfaction as he turned to the tomahawk-wielding man. "Geronimo, scout ahead and find the target."
"I can already sense it," Geronimo replied as he began to run ahead.
Arthur frowned slightly as he opened his senses. Geronimo was right, he could feel the spirit.
"Careful Alpha, this one seems powerful."
"Pas assez pour nous puissant," Joan murmured as she began to move forward. Her fellow female, Penthesilea, grinned darkly as she followed, her bow in her hand.
Alpha team moved forward slowly, following the trail left behind by Geronimo towards the paranormal trace.
It didn't take long before the tracks left by Geronimo suddenly stopped. Without a word, Alpha team began to spread out into a semi-circle, their eyes watching for any trace of the entity.
'Geronimo,' Arthur called out through the spiritual trace that bound Alpha team together. 'Report.'
**"He Will Not Reply, Arthur of the Britons."**
Immediately Alpha had their weapons out in their hands.
"Show yourself, spirit."
**"As You Wish."**
In a flash of light, a bright ball of light appeared in front of Alpha, its features indistinguishable to all of them. The Being was shielded already, Arthur noted. Where was Geronimo?
"Spirit," Arthur acknowledged the Being in front of them. "Under the Conventions of the Meetings of the Heavens and Hells, you are hereby ordered to withdraw your presence from this world and back to your original realm. Failure to comply will result in banishment."
The Being merely chuckled as it regarded the seven of them. **You Speak Boldly, Little Spirit, But I Am Above You In Every Way**
"Time's up. Time for you to go."
In an instant, Alpha was upon the Being. Joan was the first to approach the being as she screamed with hatred in her eyes as her body began to blaze with the fire that had consumed her. Her skin blackened and her hair blazed white hot as she swung her mace at the Being. An instant before it made contact, one of Penthesilea's arrows struck the being.
A boom echoed through the desert as both the arrow and mace made contact, and immediately bounced off the Being's shield.
**"My Turn."**
Arthur only had enough time to widen his eyes slightly before a suddenly blast of energy threw all of them back onto their backs. Before any of them could react, the Being was upon Penthesilea, darts of light piercing her flesh and almost instantly banishing her from the mortal realm.
"Rogue!" Arthur screamed as the remaining six members of Alpha Team began to react.
Pier Gerlofs Donia roared as he grabbed his famed two handed sword and began to swing at the Being. It dodged from left to right, making a mockery of the famed skill of Pier. Behind Pier, Lü Bu fired a constant stream of arrows, attempting to pierce through the Shield that protected the Being.
Arthur flanked the Being alongside Hannah Duston, her axe in her hand as she glared at the Being and waited for a potential striking point. "Fucking creature," she kept growling.
Flames suddenly enveloped the Being as Joan plunged past Pier, her entire body alight with flames. She threw blasts of fire from blackened fingers as the Being began to squeal.
Suddenly the shield that protected the being broke, and its features was revealed for the first time.
A shriveled corpse growled at them, the nubs of where wings had once been displayed humming in anxiety. For all of its ugliness, it was still fast enough to avoid Joan's blasts of fire. It skipped backwards, even as Alpha team began to move in on it.
"We will meet again," it hissed at them all. A sudden stench filled their nostrils, and the creature began to fade. "The Rapture will soon be upon us, and I will have my revenge then."
Arthur halted and watched the creature disappear. With a frown, he placed Excalibur back into its hilt.
'Three, two, one,' he mentally counted down before his thoughts were overtaken by a sudden voice.
"Report."
"Alpha team failed to accomplish mission, one member KIA, another possibly MIA. Target escaped with heavy injuries. Permission to pursue?"
"Negative. You are being redirected to Japan. We have word of Necromancers in Aokigahara Forest. Prepare for extraction."
Arthur grunted as Alpha team began to assemble around him. "Another day, another action."
Pier smirked as they began to disappear, "Never mind, only a few more million years to go."
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Drip by drip....my brow kept it's continuous rhythm, the salty bitterness refreshes my parched lip.
"Why the fuck, how does that even make sense, I guess that's why I've always enjoyed savory over.."
...I looked upward as more salt laden liquids skip on my pupils, like flat rocks on a still lake. "I'm not in northern Virgnia anymore" I say it to myself like I give a fuck, knowing well that I'm not who I ever was.
"Remind yourself of who you are!! Get a hold and realize what you're doing now!!"....
His tone overwhelms my inner thoughts. I'm not sure if it's my emotions or consciousness who leads the way now. I tell myself I'll see it through, my innate morality yanks and pulls at each fiber, "WTF are you doing, get a F**KING GRIP." It's my time to go "It's time to go" I say to myself as I tear off the jacket they called "strait." Ironic how I considered my self so linear.
I look up once more, this time the cold steel that I taste is red. I look down at my lifeless body, I find myself straight without a jacket and yet my drops seem red with tastelessness.
Drip by drip....my brow kept it's continuous rhythm, the salty bitterness refreshes my parched lip.
|
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[WP] Warriors killed in battle don't go to Heaven or Hell, they stand guard in between.
|
"This is fuckin' stupid, Sargent." Ramirez said, spitting dip on the cloud floor. "We fuckin' die, and we get stuck here? This is bullshit. I enlisted on the idea that it was four years or one death, ya know? 'Six feet under or out the front gate, either way your out of the Corps', ya know? Well I'm dead, and I want out. Some kinda heavenly GI Bill or some shit, go to college."
"Ramirez, what the fuck would you go to college for?" Nyugen asked, sitting down in the VC seat of the humvee.
"Uh, fuckin' eighteen year olds and smokin' pot? Who gives a shit, I ain't paying for it." He answered, leaning on the hood and resting his SAW on his knees.
"Well, its right there in the hymn, bro. 'Streets of heaven'." Nyguen answered, lighting a cigarette with another.
"Moto bullshit, man. That wasn't in my fuckin' contract. And we ain't even guarding the streets of heaven, heaven probably has some sick clubs. We're stuck between the two, making sure no one gets out. Who the fuck tries to break out of fuckin' heaven, man? Even dead we got dumb ass officers fuckin' us over."
"Well, we wouldn't have this problem if DIPSHIT over there didn't roll the fucking truck into the Helmand. YEAH YOU MOTHER FUCKER." Nyugen yelled at Hartagan, who was about fifty yards away and looked up. "AND DON'T STOP DIGGING TILL YOU HIT EARTH, OR HELL, OR FUCKING SOMETHING, BOOT!"
"Yo, maybe this *is* hell." Ramirez reflected. "Like, two deployments of standing post you know, I thought, 'Man, fuck this. Spending eight hours in a cold wooden box by your self, tired n hungry n shit. Nothing to but beat off and stare at goats through NVGs. I fuckin' hate goats, man. This how motherfuckers go insane man, it's fuckin' torture.' And here we the fuck are, dead and still doing it."
"Ramirez, Hell is two klicks that way, you can see it on the BFT. I'm pretty sure this ain't hell."
"I wish we got Hell duty, man. I got a boy from boot camp over there. They get to shoot demons with fifties n shit. It's fuckin' metal as hell. Oh, and fridays, on fridays, dog, they get to unload Marks into this like, pool of boiling blood and sinners and shit. He says Satan's a cool as shit BC. It's fuckin' skate, man." Ramirez said, pacing.
"Oh, and where you think all the whores go, player? Not fuckin' heaven. You get cut for the day and there's all types of big titty succubuses just lined the fuck up for ya. That's the fuckin' life."
"You really want to fuck a demon?" Nyguen asked.
"Oh, and you don't? Some big titty demon bitch, been fuckin' since Moses? Brother, tell me you wouldn't. I fuckin' would, in a heart beat, bro. Just grab on to her horns, lift the tail up and stick in right in her ass, man. This is like, supernatural pussy we're talkin' about. I'll slay that shit like a fuckin' exorcist." Ramirez said, holding his SAW in front of his crotch and making thrusting motions.
"I'd let you go first and wait a few days to see what the fuck happens to your dick." Nyugen relented. There was a moment of silence.
"Fuck, man. I got my self all worked up." Ramirez said. "I'm gonna go beat off behind the truck."
"Alright. Don't do on the heaven side though."
"I'm fuckin' gonna!" Ramirez called over his shoulder. "Let the heavenly cock suckers watch, I don't give a fuck!"
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Drip by drip....my brow kept it's continuous rhythm, the salty bitterness refreshes my parched lip.
"Why the fuck, how does that even make sense, I guess that's why I've always enjoyed savory over.."
...I looked upward as more salt laden liquids skip on my pupils, like flat rocks on a still lake. "I'm not in northern Virgnia anymore" I say it to myself like I give a fuck, knowing well that I'm not who I ever was.
"Remind yourself of who you are!! Get a hold and realize what you're doing now!!"....
His tone overwhelms my inner thoughts. I'm not sure if it's my emotions or consciousness who leads the way now. I tell myself I'll see it through, my innate morality yanks and pulls at each fiber, "WTF are you doing, get a F**KING GRIP." It's my time to go "It's time to go" I say to myself as I tear off the jacket they called "strait." Ironic how I considered my self so linear.
I look up once more, this time the cold steel that I taste is red. I look down at my lifeless body, I find myself straight without a jacket and yet my drops seem red with tastelessness.
Drip by drip....my brow kept it's continuous rhythm, the salty bitterness refreshes my parched lip.
|
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[WP] Warriors killed in battle don't go to Heaven or Hell, they stand guard in between.
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"AHH JESUS CHRIST."
Daniel lay on the ground gripping his chest, confused at the sudden absence of unbearable pain. The wound seemed to have healed within the span of a second. He noticed his clothes were no longer covered in mud and all the tears and holes were gone.
"I wouldn't be speaking like that here, my friend." A man across from him sat on top of a fresh carcass, a large axe embedded into the skull of his upholstery.
"Who... who are you?"
"That's a fine question, but it doesn't really matter here. The better question is, who is he." The man wiggled his axe, making the body below him twitch and squirm.
"You killed him."
"Aye, I did. If you're feeling uncomfortable about it, take a closer look."
That's when Daniel noticed the body on the floor looked like nothing he had seen before. The creature was much larger than he had realised, and had an impossible shape for a man. Horns protruding from its head and what looked like feathers covering its back.
"WHAT THE FUCK!"
The giant man burst into laughter, "Now you're waking up boy!"
"What the fuck is that thing?!"
"A demon, a fallen angel, one of Lucifer's own."
"But I've gone to church all my life. I... I've been baptised, I said my prayers in that ditch."
"Relax, you're not in hell."
"But-"
"But you ain't in heaven either. I'm afraid that you and I don't get that luxury." Daniel looked at him bewildered, still holding on to his chest that was a fountain of blood just minutes ago. "You fought in a battle yes? And that bit of flab you're clenching is where the wound was yes? Well all of us here went through the same thing. I'm afraid the oh so kind Lord has decided you are too precious a commodity for everlasting paradise."
"What does he want from me?"
"Oh he wants you to do what you do best! To fight, and not with that by the way," he said, pointing at the rifle still clenched in Daniel's spare hand, "I'm afraid those don't work here."
"To fight? What? Those things?" Daniel replied, still staring at the creature on the floor.
"That's right boy. Now get up. Good grace isn't given by the hour."
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Drip by drip....my brow kept it's continuous rhythm, the salty bitterness refreshes my parched lip.
"Why the fuck, how does that even make sense, I guess that's why I've always enjoyed savory over.."
...I looked upward as more salt laden liquids skip on my pupils, like flat rocks on a still lake. "I'm not in northern Virgnia anymore" I say it to myself like I give a fuck, knowing well that I'm not who I ever was.
"Remind yourself of who you are!! Get a hold and realize what you're doing now!!"....
His tone overwhelms my inner thoughts. I'm not sure if it's my emotions or consciousness who leads the way now. I tell myself I'll see it through, my innate morality yanks and pulls at each fiber, "WTF are you doing, get a F**KING GRIP." It's my time to go "It's time to go" I say to myself as I tear off the jacket they called "strait." Ironic how I considered my self so linear.
I look up once more, this time the cold steel that I taste is red. I look down at my lifeless body, I find myself straight without a jacket and yet my drops seem red with tastelessness.
Drip by drip....my brow kept it's continuous rhythm, the salty bitterness refreshes my parched lip.
|
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