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[WP] A superhero is fed up with how reliant his city has become on him for every little thing, so he takes a vacation. Upon his return, he discovers that the city is now completely free of crime... and that there's a $1,000,000 bounty on his head. | It would only take a second.
The snap of the Magician's fingers usually could fix all wrongs; it had been working for years. An old lady would scream for him in the street about her morning paper being late and, with a snap, it would suddenly appear in her grateful hands. The same would happen for the stock broker, late to his morning meeting. He would curse and cry to the Magician who was sympathetic; with a snap, the stock broker would be sailing away on a flying motorcycle to his meeting - simultaneously cool and efficient.
So the Magician had taken a vacation; we'd all agreed that it was a deserved one. But overnight crime had seemingly disappeared. People were able to do menial tasks again; things they hadn't been able to do in years. Arthritic fingers suddenly deflated and traffic even seemed to flow smoother during peak travel times. We all perplexedly scratched our heads. *Could this be the Magician?*
It would only take one second.
He sat before the judge, hands tied together as if in prayer. They were ziptied at the wrists and at the last knuckle of his fingers. His finely waxed moustache was wilted and clumpy with sweat. Without his extravagant purple costume, he looked like anyone. Someone small and meek; maybe a bank teller or jeweller. But this person had deceived us all for years. As the jury read their guilty verdict and a tall woman burst into tears, clutching through the air to the woeful Magician, the judge prepared his final words.
"Today we are witnesses to justice. For years, we became reliant on this man for our daily survival. His magics and overwhelming availability to us was a godsend. But the years went on and we atrophied. Children couldn't learn disappointment, so they grew into criminals. Adults who were completely dependant and tied to unhealthy ideas of what it meant to rely on someone. And so the Magician grew stronger than we needed him to be. We were weak.
"And then he left, but it was not abandonment. He was on the path to being a deity to us but we thankfully retained enough humanity to see he was tired. So tired. He left, we grew stronger, and we realized that we didn't need him. Today, we banish him from our lives and reclaim our society!"
A burst of cheering erupted and the Magician began to cry. I smugly watched him from the back of the room. Later today, we would run him out of town the way they did to thieves and liars in the old days.
My perfect little brother - the Magician - was a fraud and a villain. No one was gladder than I to be the first to throw a stone at him as he fled the town he'd nearly ruined.
It only took one second for the rock I threw to knock him out cold. | Captain walks into the front door of his old secluded farmhouse. Cabo had been so fun, he kind of cut loose with the alcohol and women for the last two weeks. It'd been decades since he had fun like that, the relaxation, the sun and just the lounging around not having to save people all day long. Before he left, the city's politicians were waging an all out war on him in the media. Call him a menace to society. He was just trying to do the right thing and help people. That's all he did, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, it was his full time job for which he received nothing. The city was a goddamn cesspool and it took all of his time. Now these "elected" officials are calling for his head. It was a perfect time for a vacation.
He dumps his Cabo clothes straight into the washer, hits the heavy soiled option and hits play! HELP HELP! He hears the first cry for help since he's been back. Back to action, he fly's to the scene, an old lady pointing up to a tree.
My cats stuck in the tree says the old lady! Captain turns to look, he doesn't see any animals in the tree. Ma'am, I don't see your cat, are you sure it's this tree? He immediately thinks dementia/Alzheimers. As Captain turns back, he see's the old lady pull a 44 magnum out of her purse. There's no fucking cat asshole, I'm here to collect the bounty! She unloads the clip into the Captain and he just stands there, shocked. Wth he's thinking as the last bullet ricochets off his chest and drills the old lady right between the eyes. She falls back dead. Three cops roll up immediately, they look angry. Captain starts explaining what happened and immediately the cops slap cuffs on him. Baffled by the recent events, the Captain asks them, what the hell is going on, this women said something about a bounty on me. The city has a bounty on your life, we voted that we are better off with out you says the tall cop. The city was virtually crime free in your absence says the short fat one. The muscular cop pulls out his 9mm followed by the other two, the unload there clips. All of them fall down from ricochets. Captains mouth is just hanging open, what the f just happened he thinks. He looks up to the crowd gathering, it looks more like an angry mob. People are pouring out of there houses with all sorts of weapons now. Is that an RPG? Pitchfork? That lady has a garden hoe! He flexes his forearms and the cuffs snap into pieces. Captain fly's up above the crowd as bullets start whizzing by him, he blasts out of there at the Mac 10 leaving shattered windows and buildings below. The people that are still conscious are holding there ears as blood pours out of them.
Back at the ranch, Captain pulls a bottle of Tequila from his last unpacked bag and downs it. They think I'm a menace, I'll f'ing show them a menace! He walks over to his well stocked bar and starts uncorking everything.
Early the next day, people are gathered outside city hall chanting stupid slogans for Captain's head. The mayor and other officials gather at the microphone to address them. Before a word is spoken a sonic boom startles everyone and the Captain appears, hovering hundreds of feet over them, a bottle in hand.
The Captain bellows out in his loudest voice, it shatters all the windows in the surrounding blocks. "You think I'm a menace and that your better off without a HERO! This city is a shit hole and you are all fucking horrible people. So the HERO is gone. But now you have a villian! Fuck every last one of you little pissants!" Lasers blast from both his eyes creating a 1 mile diameter circle around city hall. People are screaming and running in every direction as the mile wide section rises from the ground. It accelerates up and up at an alarming rate and then disappears into the sun in a small insignificant fireball. Captain returns to the giant hole in the ground and is surveying the damage he created, a smile on his face, bottle still in hand. He takes another chug, the smile disappears. Fuck, my favorite liquor store used to be in that hole! I really need to stop drinking!
| |
[WP] A superhero is fed up with how reliant his city has become on him for every little thing, so he takes a vacation. Upon his return, he discovers that the city is now completely free of crime... and that there's a $1,000,000 bounty on his head. | Life as a Superhero had it’s perks, that’s undeniable. I mean, you end up being revered, loved, respected and above all, idolized. It made my desire for heroics, and my determination to be a foundation for others to stand on all the more prominent.
Reinforced, to a degree. It made my life as a hero pretty amazing. But, all good things do come to an end, so I learned. It didn’t take long for my overzealous demeanour and behaviour to leave the city I patrolled complacent.
They grew needy, and although I loved to a be a hero, I definitely didn’t sign up to be a babysitter. It was only a matter of years before they’ve came to me for answers, for solutions. Results were the expectation, the demanded, not the miracle. My very presence became the very thing that brought my downfall. I went from revered to expected. From loved to expected. From respected and idolized to EXPECTED.
All of my effort, my ethics, my morals and determination were snuffed out by the flames of normalcy. I wasn’t a hero, I was a glorified traffic officer. My deeds and exploits reflected that. From taking on global threats, from destructive means of ending life to finding lost pets and actually REGULATING TRAFFIC.
I needed a break, I wasn’t being compensated accordingly, I wasn’t even being compensated to begin with! A vacation was in order, I simply couldn’t take it anymore. My talents, my power to manipulate light and shadows was for crime fighting, it wasn’t supposed to be used to entertain children at puppet shows!
It was with a relatively guilt-free heart that I left Water Way City. Their dependency on me needed to end. The police needed to do their job and I needed to catch up with some cute Californian girls.
~o~o~o~
My name, or rather, my secret identity is Vincent DeRomes. I like to think myself attractive and athletic, dashingly smart, and with wits unmatched. My hero name, is Eclipse. He's attractive and athletic, really smart, but above all else has mastered the facade of noble duty.
I’ll be the first to admit that my reasons for heroics are…. selfish, Completely and utterly for self-gain The moment I realized I could manipulate both light and shade, I had only one destined path for me.
To get chicks, respect and lots of money.
Granted, that kind of path resembled more of a drug lord’s or some freshman frat boy’s than a hero’s. So why heroics? Well, It was really all a freak accident.
I just happened to be at the right place at the right time. A mugging in which I was earshot from. I heard the pleas for help, the shrill tone of a young woman’s voice was more than enough to make me spring into action. Granted, by the time I even realized who I was slapping silly, I’ve already been given the label of some hero.
I suppose I should thank my hoodie for keeping it all a secret. Let me tell you, that I was pretty darn surprised to hear the woman’s interview later on tv. She described me as a knight in armor.
Or something like ‘frail skinny kid’, the details on that are a bit vague. I did get an urge to hit the gym more often. I’m sure it’s unrelated.
Anywho, that sums up my origin. My powers were given to me by someone, but those details are kept top secret. I became a hero accidentally, and ultimately did it as a hobby.
Hence the lack of compensation. Nevertheless, I did think the kindness and gratitude I received at first from the civilians as enough. It was until I wasn’t even receiving that that I decided it best to call it quits, or take a ‘break’ of sorts.
Let me tell you, the beaches in California are indeed as good as the commercials make them out to be. I didn’t know how to surf, but the board and my shades- not to mention, body sold the idea.
The ladies…. Well, the details are also top secret. Let me just say the commercials weren’t wrong about them either and leave it at that.
After a few months of straight relaxation. I figured it best to go back to Water Way. I mean, in my time patrolling there, I’ve managed to pick up a few nemesis’ who may or may not want to use the whole city and it’s people as leverage over me.
And despite myself, I still longed for the respect I used to get at first. The idolization that’s nothing more but a faded memory. How much I’ve wanted it to return. I guess, in a way, my origin is also deeply enrooted in that city.
Too much of me, as Vincent, as well as Eclipse are embedded in that place. So, for better or for worse, It didn’t take me much time to want to return.
It’s funny, really. Ever went somewhere, haven’t been for a while and return just to think to yourself: “Wow, everything’s different now?’
It’s funny, really, I mean everything, and when I say everything, I don’t actually mean everything, more like the general themes and vibes about the city are different. The once humble city, bustled with night life.
The police for once seemed competent, if the fourth time I’ve been stopped for ‘suspicious’ actions are anything to go by. And the people seem to have all but forgotten me. That didn’t sit too well with me, but I suppose it’s for the best.
That way, when I make my return, people won’t feel to jarred or expectant of me again. I mean, in the few months that I’ve been gone, Water Way has never looked so good. That… that also didn't sit too well with me either.
I mean, was I so easily replaced? Forgotten? I was their guardian, their puppet. I basically served their every whimsical desire like some loyal dog!? And this was my reward? It felt like a kick to the face. Then someone proceeded to gut me, then run me over with a car, then thrown in the river with cement shoes on.
It sucked, I promised I didn’t cry… a lot. Eclipse, the hero was no more. With his disappearance, his reputation, and remaining admiration left with him. Not gonna lie, it made my desire to become a hero again waver.
“Excuse me sir,” I asked, nudging the nearest pedestrian I could find.
“Hmm, yes boy?” The elderly man responded, folding his newspaper as he looked at me.
“Yeah, didn’t this place used to have a hero?” I asked, I wanted to feign ignorance, gain knowledge from an objective perspective.
I failed to notice how the man’s eyes hardened like concrete, his wrinkly jaw clenched shut, “No, he was nothing more than a tyrannical idiot,”
I did a spit take, which without anything to spit out made me look more like a normal idiot than tyrannical one.
‘W-what do you mean?”
“See for yourself,” The man said, handing me the newspaper.
My knuckles went white, and the sheets ripped before me, The main headline, the only headline I noticed, the only one that mattered, said: Eclipse, The Villain, Bounty $1,000,000 Dead or Alive.
“T-thanks,” I choked out, tossing the paper towards the man, he fumbled with the wrinkled form.
I marched away, I didn’t have a destination, I just wanted to leave, clear my head. The chilled air from an autumn night helped in that regard, at the very least it cooled me down. Slightly.
A villain? A villain? VILLAIN? Oh, how far have I fallen? I looked up to the sky. The shining stars looked so condescending from down here. I smirked, figured.
Give them an inch, they demand a mile. I saw it as pathetic, and unjust. But society needed a scapegoat, I supposed that meant me.
Sure, I could have rationalized it, I mean, for me to be labelled as a villain after doing nothing of villainous merit only could imply a set-up. It was the perfect foundation for a redemption story.
I hated those kind of stories. If they wanted me as a villain. Then.
Who.
Am.
I.
To.
Argue?
| Captain walks into the front door of his old secluded farmhouse. Cabo had been so fun, he kind of cut loose with the alcohol and women for the last two weeks. It'd been decades since he had fun like that, the relaxation, the sun and just the lounging around not having to save people all day long. Before he left, the city's politicians were waging an all out war on him in the media. Call him a menace to society. He was just trying to do the right thing and help people. That's all he did, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, it was his full time job for which he received nothing. The city was a goddamn cesspool and it took all of his time. Now these "elected" officials are calling for his head. It was a perfect time for a vacation.
He dumps his Cabo clothes straight into the washer, hits the heavy soiled option and hits play! HELP HELP! He hears the first cry for help since he's been back. Back to action, he fly's to the scene, an old lady pointing up to a tree.
My cats stuck in the tree says the old lady! Captain turns to look, he doesn't see any animals in the tree. Ma'am, I don't see your cat, are you sure it's this tree? He immediately thinks dementia/Alzheimers. As Captain turns back, he see's the old lady pull a 44 magnum out of her purse. There's no fucking cat asshole, I'm here to collect the bounty! She unloads the clip into the Captain and he just stands there, shocked. Wth he's thinking as the last bullet ricochets off his chest and drills the old lady right between the eyes. She falls back dead. Three cops roll up immediately, they look angry. Captain starts explaining what happened and immediately the cops slap cuffs on him. Baffled by the recent events, the Captain asks them, what the hell is going on, this women said something about a bounty on me. The city has a bounty on your life, we voted that we are better off with out you says the tall cop. The city was virtually crime free in your absence says the short fat one. The muscular cop pulls out his 9mm followed by the other two, the unload there clips. All of them fall down from ricochets. Captains mouth is just hanging open, what the f just happened he thinks. He looks up to the crowd gathering, it looks more like an angry mob. People are pouring out of there houses with all sorts of weapons now. Is that an RPG? Pitchfork? That lady has a garden hoe! He flexes his forearms and the cuffs snap into pieces. Captain fly's up above the crowd as bullets start whizzing by him, he blasts out of there at the Mac 10 leaving shattered windows and buildings below. The people that are still conscious are holding there ears as blood pours out of them.
Back at the ranch, Captain pulls a bottle of Tequila from his last unpacked bag and downs it. They think I'm a menace, I'll f'ing show them a menace! He walks over to his well stocked bar and starts uncorking everything.
Early the next day, people are gathered outside city hall chanting stupid slogans for Captain's head. The mayor and other officials gather at the microphone to address them. Before a word is spoken a sonic boom startles everyone and the Captain appears, hovering hundreds of feet over them, a bottle in hand.
The Captain bellows out in his loudest voice, it shatters all the windows in the surrounding blocks. "You think I'm a menace and that your better off without a HERO! This city is a shit hole and you are all fucking horrible people. So the HERO is gone. But now you have a villian! Fuck every last one of you little pissants!" Lasers blast from both his eyes creating a 1 mile diameter circle around city hall. People are screaming and running in every direction as the mile wide section rises from the ground. It accelerates up and up at an alarming rate and then disappears into the sun in a small insignificant fireball. Captain returns to the giant hole in the ground and is surveying the damage he created, a smile on his face, bottle still in hand. He takes another chug, the smile disappears. Fuck, my favorite liquor store used to be in that hole! I really need to stop drinking!
| |
[WP] A superhero is fed up with how reliant his city has become on him for every little thing, so he takes a vacation. Upon his return, he discovers that the city is now completely free of crime... and that there's a $1,000,000 bounty on his head. | Whenever Doug came back to the city, he always stopped at the brick filling station at the edge of the limits. He liked to eat a small bag of corn chips and drink a Diet Coke before he changed into his bear costume and lumbered back into crime fighting mode. He also liked to visit with Marty, the owner of the station, who despite being quite far removed from the city always seemed to have a heads up on the latest debauchery. Marty's wife made the best fried pies.
There was a small line at the counter. Doug took his place at the end and looked up at the security television that reflected him standing there. His beard had come in gray this time which made him realize how long he'd been gone.
"Please, go ahead," said the woman in front of him.
"It's all right," said Doug. "No hurry."
"I insist," she said as she moved behind him.
The little old man now ahead of him conceded his spot too, much to Doug's demurring. A bit baffled, he stood across the counter from Marty, who cocked his head and peered at him just beyond the boundary of recognition.
"Marty, it's me, Doug. Don't you recognize me?"
Marty's eyes widened and a smile came to his lips.
"It's been so long. I can hardly recognize you! Where have you been?" asked Marty.
"A vacation, I suppose. Maybe more like a retirement. I suppose I lost track of time."
Doug placed his chips and soda on the counter. With the automation of a long time clerk, Marty pecked the buttons on the register. Doug felt the urge to reach out and hug him, to turn this into a rightful homecoming.
"Five million dollars, even," said Marty.
Doug laughed, admitting that he didn't have that much on him. He took a five dollar bill out of his wallet and extended it across the counter.
"Will this cover it?" he asked playfully.
Marty took the bill and stared down at it as one might look at an old toy.
"I haven't seen one of these in a long, long time. Where'd you even get it?"
Doug, honestly confused, shrugged. He was about to speak when the front door chimed and a kid, probably fifteen, walked through the door and wove immediately to the back aisle. Marty raised his index finger to ask for a moment. He then reached under the counter and produced a mop handle, about four feet long, sharpened to a barbaric point at one end. With silent white sneakers, Marty sneaked around the counter and hid behind the magazine rack near the doors. The boy hurried back up the aisle, clutching a small box in his hand, and turned the corner to make his exit. Marty lunged, catching his shirt on the corner of the wire rack, causing it to come crashing down in clatter of metal and magazines. The boy then clutched the middle of the mop handle with both hands, right at the point where Marty had buried it in his chest.
"Marty! You've killed him!" cried Doug.
Marty dumped the boy on the ground, planted his foot, and pulled free his makeshift spear. Reaching down, he saved the little cardboard box from the pooling blood and held it up so Doug could see.
"He's been coming in here and stealing the headache powder. Finally caught the little bugger."
Doug, his muscled arms hanging limply at his sides, gaped as Marty returned the box to its place and came back behind the counter. He took the rag from the soapy bucket, wiped his hands clean, and it was suddenly business as usual.
"Marty," said Doug, "I'm going to have to take you in."
"Take me in?" asked Marty, taken aback. "To where? For what?"
"To jail! For murder!"
Marty shook his head softly as one might pitifully listen to the rather useless questions of an amnesiac. He then looked past Doug to the people waiting patiently behind him.
"Take it, friends. It's on the house today."
The other customers quietly returned the items to their places on the shelves and filed out of the store, stepping instinctively over the bloodied linoleum. Marty locked the front doors and turned the sign to closed.
"Come on, Bear," he said, motioning to the staircase that led up to his apartment above the store. "There's things you need to know." | Captain walks into the front door of his old secluded farmhouse. Cabo had been so fun, he kind of cut loose with the alcohol and women for the last two weeks. It'd been decades since he had fun like that, the relaxation, the sun and just the lounging around not having to save people all day long. Before he left, the city's politicians were waging an all out war on him in the media. Call him a menace to society. He was just trying to do the right thing and help people. That's all he did, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, it was his full time job for which he received nothing. The city was a goddamn cesspool and it took all of his time. Now these "elected" officials are calling for his head. It was a perfect time for a vacation.
He dumps his Cabo clothes straight into the washer, hits the heavy soiled option and hits play! HELP HELP! He hears the first cry for help since he's been back. Back to action, he fly's to the scene, an old lady pointing up to a tree.
My cats stuck in the tree says the old lady! Captain turns to look, he doesn't see any animals in the tree. Ma'am, I don't see your cat, are you sure it's this tree? He immediately thinks dementia/Alzheimers. As Captain turns back, he see's the old lady pull a 44 magnum out of her purse. There's no fucking cat asshole, I'm here to collect the bounty! She unloads the clip into the Captain and he just stands there, shocked. Wth he's thinking as the last bullet ricochets off his chest and drills the old lady right between the eyes. She falls back dead. Three cops roll up immediately, they look angry. Captain starts explaining what happened and immediately the cops slap cuffs on him. Baffled by the recent events, the Captain asks them, what the hell is going on, this women said something about a bounty on me. The city has a bounty on your life, we voted that we are better off with out you says the tall cop. The city was virtually crime free in your absence says the short fat one. The muscular cop pulls out his 9mm followed by the other two, the unload there clips. All of them fall down from ricochets. Captains mouth is just hanging open, what the f just happened he thinks. He looks up to the crowd gathering, it looks more like an angry mob. People are pouring out of there houses with all sorts of weapons now. Is that an RPG? Pitchfork? That lady has a garden hoe! He flexes his forearms and the cuffs snap into pieces. Captain fly's up above the crowd as bullets start whizzing by him, he blasts out of there at the Mac 10 leaving shattered windows and buildings below. The people that are still conscious are holding there ears as blood pours out of them.
Back at the ranch, Captain pulls a bottle of Tequila from his last unpacked bag and downs it. They think I'm a menace, I'll f'ing show them a menace! He walks over to his well stocked bar and starts uncorking everything.
Early the next day, people are gathered outside city hall chanting stupid slogans for Captain's head. The mayor and other officials gather at the microphone to address them. Before a word is spoken a sonic boom startles everyone and the Captain appears, hovering hundreds of feet over them, a bottle in hand.
The Captain bellows out in his loudest voice, it shatters all the windows in the surrounding blocks. "You think I'm a menace and that your better off without a HERO! This city is a shit hole and you are all fucking horrible people. So the HERO is gone. But now you have a villian! Fuck every last one of you little pissants!" Lasers blast from both his eyes creating a 1 mile diameter circle around city hall. People are screaming and running in every direction as the mile wide section rises from the ground. It accelerates up and up at an alarming rate and then disappears into the sun in a small insignificant fireball. Captain returns to the giant hole in the ground and is surveying the damage he created, a smile on his face, bottle still in hand. He takes another chug, the smile disappears. Fuck, my favorite liquor store used to be in that hole! I really need to stop drinking!
| |
[WP] A superhero is fed up with how reliant his city has become on him for every little thing, so he takes a vacation. Upon his return, he discovers that the city is now completely free of crime... and that there's a $1,000,000 bounty on his head. | Life as a Superhero had it’s perks, that’s undeniable. I mean, you end up being revered, loved, respected and above all, idolized. It made my desire for heroics, and my determination to be a foundation for others to stand on all the more prominent.
Reinforced, to a degree. It made my life as a hero pretty amazing. But, all good things do come to an end, so I learned. It didn’t take long for my overzealous demeanour and behaviour to leave the city I patrolled complacent.
They grew needy, and although I loved to a be a hero, I definitely didn’t sign up to be a babysitter. It was only a matter of years before they’ve came to me for answers, for solutions. Results were the expectation, the demanded, not the miracle. My very presence became the very thing that brought my downfall. I went from revered to expected. From loved to expected. From respected and idolized to EXPECTED.
All of my effort, my ethics, my morals and determination were snuffed out by the flames of normalcy. I wasn’t a hero, I was a glorified traffic officer. My deeds and exploits reflected that. From taking on global threats, from destructive means of ending life to finding lost pets and actually REGULATING TRAFFIC.
I needed a break, I wasn’t being compensated accordingly, I wasn’t even being compensated to begin with! A vacation was in order, I simply couldn’t take it anymore. My talents, my power to manipulate light and shadows was for crime fighting, it wasn’t supposed to be used to entertain children at puppet shows!
It was with a relatively guilt-free heart that I left Water Way City. Their dependency on me needed to end. The police needed to do their job and I needed to catch up with some cute Californian girls.
~o~o~o~
My name, or rather, my secret identity is Vincent DeRomes. I like to think myself attractive and athletic, dashingly smart, and with wits unmatched. My hero name, is Eclipse. He's attractive and athletic, really smart, but above all else has mastered the facade of noble duty.
I’ll be the first to admit that my reasons for heroics are…. selfish, Completely and utterly for self-gain The moment I realized I could manipulate both light and shade, I had only one destined path for me.
To get chicks, respect and lots of money.
Granted, that kind of path resembled more of a drug lord’s or some freshman frat boy’s than a hero’s. So why heroics? Well, It was really all a freak accident.
I just happened to be at the right place at the right time. A mugging in which I was earshot from. I heard the pleas for help, the shrill tone of a young woman’s voice was more than enough to make me spring into action. Granted, by the time I even realized who I was slapping silly, I’ve already been given the label of some hero.
I suppose I should thank my hoodie for keeping it all a secret. Let me tell you, that I was pretty darn surprised to hear the woman’s interview later on tv. She described me as a knight in armor.
Or something like ‘frail skinny kid’, the details on that are a bit vague. I did get an urge to hit the gym more often. I’m sure it’s unrelated.
Anywho, that sums up my origin. My powers were given to me by someone, but those details are kept top secret. I became a hero accidentally, and ultimately did it as a hobby.
Hence the lack of compensation. Nevertheless, I did think the kindness and gratitude I received at first from the civilians as enough. It was until I wasn’t even receiving that that I decided it best to call it quits, or take a ‘break’ of sorts.
Let me tell you, the beaches in California are indeed as good as the commercials make them out to be. I didn’t know how to surf, but the board and my shades- not to mention, body sold the idea.
The ladies…. Well, the details are also top secret. Let me just say the commercials weren’t wrong about them either and leave it at that.
After a few months of straight relaxation. I figured it best to go back to Water Way. I mean, in my time patrolling there, I’ve managed to pick up a few nemesis’ who may or may not want to use the whole city and it’s people as leverage over me.
And despite myself, I still longed for the respect I used to get at first. The idolization that’s nothing more but a faded memory. How much I’ve wanted it to return. I guess, in a way, my origin is also deeply enrooted in that city.
Too much of me, as Vincent, as well as Eclipse are embedded in that place. So, for better or for worse, It didn’t take me much time to want to return.
It’s funny, really. Ever went somewhere, haven’t been for a while and return just to think to yourself: “Wow, everything’s different now?’
It’s funny, really, I mean everything, and when I say everything, I don’t actually mean everything, more like the general themes and vibes about the city are different. The once humble city, bustled with night life.
The police for once seemed competent, if the fourth time I’ve been stopped for ‘suspicious’ actions are anything to go by. And the people seem to have all but forgotten me. That didn’t sit too well with me, but I suppose it’s for the best.
That way, when I make my return, people won’t feel to jarred or expectant of me again. I mean, in the few months that I’ve been gone, Water Way has never looked so good. That… that also didn't sit too well with me either.
I mean, was I so easily replaced? Forgotten? I was their guardian, their puppet. I basically served their every whimsical desire like some loyal dog!? And this was my reward? It felt like a kick to the face. Then someone proceeded to gut me, then run me over with a car, then thrown in the river with cement shoes on.
It sucked, I promised I didn’t cry… a lot. Eclipse, the hero was no more. With his disappearance, his reputation, and remaining admiration left with him. Not gonna lie, it made my desire to become a hero again waver.
“Excuse me sir,” I asked, nudging the nearest pedestrian I could find.
“Hmm, yes boy?” The elderly man responded, folding his newspaper as he looked at me.
“Yeah, didn’t this place used to have a hero?” I asked, I wanted to feign ignorance, gain knowledge from an objective perspective.
I failed to notice how the man’s eyes hardened like concrete, his wrinkly jaw clenched shut, “No, he was nothing more than a tyrannical idiot,”
I did a spit take, which without anything to spit out made me look more like a normal idiot than tyrannical one.
‘W-what do you mean?”
“See for yourself,” The man said, handing me the newspaper.
My knuckles went white, and the sheets ripped before me, The main headline, the only headline I noticed, the only one that mattered, said: Eclipse, The Villain, Bounty $1,000,000 Dead or Alive.
“T-thanks,” I choked out, tossing the paper towards the man, he fumbled with the wrinkled form.
I marched away, I didn’t have a destination, I just wanted to leave, clear my head. The chilled air from an autumn night helped in that regard, at the very least it cooled me down. Slightly.
A villain? A villain? VILLAIN? Oh, how far have I fallen? I looked up to the sky. The shining stars looked so condescending from down here. I smirked, figured.
Give them an inch, they demand a mile. I saw it as pathetic, and unjust. But society needed a scapegoat, I supposed that meant me.
Sure, I could have rationalized it, I mean, for me to be labelled as a villain after doing nothing of villainous merit only could imply a set-up. It was the perfect foundation for a redemption story.
I hated those kind of stories. If they wanted me as a villain. Then.
Who.
Am.
I.
To.
Argue?
| I always knew this city was full of idiots, but I never expected them to do something *this* stupid. I'd hoped they'd learn a little independence in my absence, but this? This is wide-scale rebellion. Apparently there's been a temporary drop in crime rate - okay, a 100% drop in crime rates - and they've decided that makes *me* a criminal. Bastards.
Guess no one remembers what life was like before I started this gig eight years ago. We had black kids getting shot for carrying a squirt gun and Fentanyl junkies dying on park benches because no one dared to check if they were breathing. Enter the Illusionist and all that shit took a pretty dramatic downturn. Turns out the threat of a one-way trip on the crazy train is fairly decent at disincentivizing shitty behaviour. Here's the thing, though: the real criminals didn't *stop*, they just moved out of town. I call this Illusion #1.
Illusion #2 is that I *may* or may not have been forced to conduct some mock battles with "supervillains" to stay relevant. You know how the fights got more and more theatrical yet surprisingly nothing ever got destroyed? Yeah, I can't fly. I can't even make an invisible jet. Any sensible human being would have realized that the supervillains only showed up during dramatic sky duels, but like I said, this city is full of idiots.
Now I see you've got a bounty posted. $1,000,000? Really? You couldn't have sent any of that my way when I was saving you from yourselves? Well, I wish you luck in your search for a chiselled 30-something white dude with super powers. The Illusionist is on hiatus for the foreseeable future. Let me know when you all get disillusioned with Utopia. | |
[WP] A superhero is fed up with how reliant his city has become on him for every little thing, so he takes a vacation. Upon his return, he discovers that the city is now completely free of crime... and that there's a $1,000,000 bounty on his head. | Life as a Superhero had it’s perks, that’s undeniable. I mean, you end up being revered, loved, respected and above all, idolized. It made my desire for heroics, and my determination to be a foundation for others to stand on all the more prominent.
Reinforced, to a degree. It made my life as a hero pretty amazing. But, all good things do come to an end, so I learned. It didn’t take long for my overzealous demeanour and behaviour to leave the city I patrolled complacent.
They grew needy, and although I loved to a be a hero, I definitely didn’t sign up to be a babysitter. It was only a matter of years before they’ve came to me for answers, for solutions. Results were the expectation, the demanded, not the miracle. My very presence became the very thing that brought my downfall. I went from revered to expected. From loved to expected. From respected and idolized to EXPECTED.
All of my effort, my ethics, my morals and determination were snuffed out by the flames of normalcy. I wasn’t a hero, I was a glorified traffic officer. My deeds and exploits reflected that. From taking on global threats, from destructive means of ending life to finding lost pets and actually REGULATING TRAFFIC.
I needed a break, I wasn’t being compensated accordingly, I wasn’t even being compensated to begin with! A vacation was in order, I simply couldn’t take it anymore. My talents, my power to manipulate light and shadows was for crime fighting, it wasn’t supposed to be used to entertain children at puppet shows!
It was with a relatively guilt-free heart that I left Water Way City. Their dependency on me needed to end. The police needed to do their job and I needed to catch up with some cute Californian girls.
~o~o~o~
My name, or rather, my secret identity is Vincent DeRomes. I like to think myself attractive and athletic, dashingly smart, and with wits unmatched. My hero name, is Eclipse. He's attractive and athletic, really smart, but above all else has mastered the facade of noble duty.
I’ll be the first to admit that my reasons for heroics are…. selfish, Completely and utterly for self-gain The moment I realized I could manipulate both light and shade, I had only one destined path for me.
To get chicks, respect and lots of money.
Granted, that kind of path resembled more of a drug lord’s or some freshman frat boy’s than a hero’s. So why heroics? Well, It was really all a freak accident.
I just happened to be at the right place at the right time. A mugging in which I was earshot from. I heard the pleas for help, the shrill tone of a young woman’s voice was more than enough to make me spring into action. Granted, by the time I even realized who I was slapping silly, I’ve already been given the label of some hero.
I suppose I should thank my hoodie for keeping it all a secret. Let me tell you, that I was pretty darn surprised to hear the woman’s interview later on tv. She described me as a knight in armor.
Or something like ‘frail skinny kid’, the details on that are a bit vague. I did get an urge to hit the gym more often. I’m sure it’s unrelated.
Anywho, that sums up my origin. My powers were given to me by someone, but those details are kept top secret. I became a hero accidentally, and ultimately did it as a hobby.
Hence the lack of compensation. Nevertheless, I did think the kindness and gratitude I received at first from the civilians as enough. It was until I wasn’t even receiving that that I decided it best to call it quits, or take a ‘break’ of sorts.
Let me tell you, the beaches in California are indeed as good as the commercials make them out to be. I didn’t know how to surf, but the board and my shades- not to mention, body sold the idea.
The ladies…. Well, the details are also top secret. Let me just say the commercials weren’t wrong about them either and leave it at that.
After a few months of straight relaxation. I figured it best to go back to Water Way. I mean, in my time patrolling there, I’ve managed to pick up a few nemesis’ who may or may not want to use the whole city and it’s people as leverage over me.
And despite myself, I still longed for the respect I used to get at first. The idolization that’s nothing more but a faded memory. How much I’ve wanted it to return. I guess, in a way, my origin is also deeply enrooted in that city.
Too much of me, as Vincent, as well as Eclipse are embedded in that place. So, for better or for worse, It didn’t take me much time to want to return.
It’s funny, really. Ever went somewhere, haven’t been for a while and return just to think to yourself: “Wow, everything’s different now?’
It’s funny, really, I mean everything, and when I say everything, I don’t actually mean everything, more like the general themes and vibes about the city are different. The once humble city, bustled with night life.
The police for once seemed competent, if the fourth time I’ve been stopped for ‘suspicious’ actions are anything to go by. And the people seem to have all but forgotten me. That didn’t sit too well with me, but I suppose it’s for the best.
That way, when I make my return, people won’t feel to jarred or expectant of me again. I mean, in the few months that I’ve been gone, Water Way has never looked so good. That… that also didn't sit too well with me either.
I mean, was I so easily replaced? Forgotten? I was their guardian, their puppet. I basically served their every whimsical desire like some loyal dog!? And this was my reward? It felt like a kick to the face. Then someone proceeded to gut me, then run me over with a car, then thrown in the river with cement shoes on.
It sucked, I promised I didn’t cry… a lot. Eclipse, the hero was no more. With his disappearance, his reputation, and remaining admiration left with him. Not gonna lie, it made my desire to become a hero again waver.
“Excuse me sir,” I asked, nudging the nearest pedestrian I could find.
“Hmm, yes boy?” The elderly man responded, folding his newspaper as he looked at me.
“Yeah, didn’t this place used to have a hero?” I asked, I wanted to feign ignorance, gain knowledge from an objective perspective.
I failed to notice how the man’s eyes hardened like concrete, his wrinkly jaw clenched shut, “No, he was nothing more than a tyrannical idiot,”
I did a spit take, which without anything to spit out made me look more like a normal idiot than tyrannical one.
‘W-what do you mean?”
“See for yourself,” The man said, handing me the newspaper.
My knuckles went white, and the sheets ripped before me, The main headline, the only headline I noticed, the only one that mattered, said: Eclipse, The Villain, Bounty $1,000,000 Dead or Alive.
“T-thanks,” I choked out, tossing the paper towards the man, he fumbled with the wrinkled form.
I marched away, I didn’t have a destination, I just wanted to leave, clear my head. The chilled air from an autumn night helped in that regard, at the very least it cooled me down. Slightly.
A villain? A villain? VILLAIN? Oh, how far have I fallen? I looked up to the sky. The shining stars looked so condescending from down here. I smirked, figured.
Give them an inch, they demand a mile. I saw it as pathetic, and unjust. But society needed a scapegoat, I supposed that meant me.
Sure, I could have rationalized it, I mean, for me to be labelled as a villain after doing nothing of villainous merit only could imply a set-up. It was the perfect foundation for a redemption story.
I hated those kind of stories. If they wanted me as a villain. Then.
Who.
Am.
I.
To.
Argue?
| It would only take a second.
The snap of the Magician's fingers usually could fix all wrongs; it had been working for years. An old lady would scream for him in the street about her morning paper being late and, with a snap, it would suddenly appear in her grateful hands. The same would happen for the stock broker, late to his morning meeting. He would curse and cry to the Magician who was sympathetic; with a snap, the stock broker would be sailing away on a flying motorcycle to his meeting - simultaneously cool and efficient.
So the Magician had taken a vacation; we'd all agreed that it was a deserved one. But overnight crime had seemingly disappeared. People were able to do menial tasks again; things they hadn't been able to do in years. Arthritic fingers suddenly deflated and traffic even seemed to flow smoother during peak travel times. We all perplexedly scratched our heads. *Could this be the Magician?*
It would only take one second.
He sat before the judge, hands tied together as if in prayer. They were ziptied at the wrists and at the last knuckle of his fingers. His finely waxed moustache was wilted and clumpy with sweat. Without his extravagant purple costume, he looked like anyone. Someone small and meek; maybe a bank teller or jeweller. But this person had deceived us all for years. As the jury read their guilty verdict and a tall woman burst into tears, clutching through the air to the woeful Magician, the judge prepared his final words.
"Today we are witnesses to justice. For years, we became reliant on this man for our daily survival. His magics and overwhelming availability to us was a godsend. But the years went on and we atrophied. Children couldn't learn disappointment, so they grew into criminals. Adults who were completely dependant and tied to unhealthy ideas of what it meant to rely on someone. And so the Magician grew stronger than we needed him to be. We were weak.
"And then he left, but it was not abandonment. He was on the path to being a deity to us but we thankfully retained enough humanity to see he was tired. So tired. He left, we grew stronger, and we realized that we didn't need him. Today, we banish him from our lives and reclaim our society!"
A burst of cheering erupted and the Magician began to cry. I smugly watched him from the back of the room. Later today, we would run him out of town the way they did to thieves and liars in the old days.
My perfect little brother - the Magician - was a fraud and a villain. No one was gladder than I to be the first to throw a stone at him as he fled the town he'd nearly ruined.
It only took one second for the rock I threw to knock him out cold. | |
[WP] A superhero is fed up with how reliant his city has become on him for every little thing, so he takes a vacation. Upon his return, he discovers that the city is now completely free of crime... and that there's a $1,000,000 bounty on his head. | Life as a Superhero had it’s perks, that’s undeniable. I mean, you end up being revered, loved, respected and above all, idolized. It made my desire for heroics, and my determination to be a foundation for others to stand on all the more prominent.
Reinforced, to a degree. It made my life as a hero pretty amazing. But, all good things do come to an end, so I learned. It didn’t take long for my overzealous demeanour and behaviour to leave the city I patrolled complacent.
They grew needy, and although I loved to a be a hero, I definitely didn’t sign up to be a babysitter. It was only a matter of years before they’ve came to me for answers, for solutions. Results were the expectation, the demanded, not the miracle. My very presence became the very thing that brought my downfall. I went from revered to expected. From loved to expected. From respected and idolized to EXPECTED.
All of my effort, my ethics, my morals and determination were snuffed out by the flames of normalcy. I wasn’t a hero, I was a glorified traffic officer. My deeds and exploits reflected that. From taking on global threats, from destructive means of ending life to finding lost pets and actually REGULATING TRAFFIC.
I needed a break, I wasn’t being compensated accordingly, I wasn’t even being compensated to begin with! A vacation was in order, I simply couldn’t take it anymore. My talents, my power to manipulate light and shadows was for crime fighting, it wasn’t supposed to be used to entertain children at puppet shows!
It was with a relatively guilt-free heart that I left Water Way City. Their dependency on me needed to end. The police needed to do their job and I needed to catch up with some cute Californian girls.
~o~o~o~
My name, or rather, my secret identity is Vincent DeRomes. I like to think myself attractive and athletic, dashingly smart, and with wits unmatched. My hero name, is Eclipse. He's attractive and athletic, really smart, but above all else has mastered the facade of noble duty.
I’ll be the first to admit that my reasons for heroics are…. selfish, Completely and utterly for self-gain The moment I realized I could manipulate both light and shade, I had only one destined path for me.
To get chicks, respect and lots of money.
Granted, that kind of path resembled more of a drug lord’s or some freshman frat boy’s than a hero’s. So why heroics? Well, It was really all a freak accident.
I just happened to be at the right place at the right time. A mugging in which I was earshot from. I heard the pleas for help, the shrill tone of a young woman’s voice was more than enough to make me spring into action. Granted, by the time I even realized who I was slapping silly, I’ve already been given the label of some hero.
I suppose I should thank my hoodie for keeping it all a secret. Let me tell you, that I was pretty darn surprised to hear the woman’s interview later on tv. She described me as a knight in armor.
Or something like ‘frail skinny kid’, the details on that are a bit vague. I did get an urge to hit the gym more often. I’m sure it’s unrelated.
Anywho, that sums up my origin. My powers were given to me by someone, but those details are kept top secret. I became a hero accidentally, and ultimately did it as a hobby.
Hence the lack of compensation. Nevertheless, I did think the kindness and gratitude I received at first from the civilians as enough. It was until I wasn’t even receiving that that I decided it best to call it quits, or take a ‘break’ of sorts.
Let me tell you, the beaches in California are indeed as good as the commercials make them out to be. I didn’t know how to surf, but the board and my shades- not to mention, body sold the idea.
The ladies…. Well, the details are also top secret. Let me just say the commercials weren’t wrong about them either and leave it at that.
After a few months of straight relaxation. I figured it best to go back to Water Way. I mean, in my time patrolling there, I’ve managed to pick up a few nemesis’ who may or may not want to use the whole city and it’s people as leverage over me.
And despite myself, I still longed for the respect I used to get at first. The idolization that’s nothing more but a faded memory. How much I’ve wanted it to return. I guess, in a way, my origin is also deeply enrooted in that city.
Too much of me, as Vincent, as well as Eclipse are embedded in that place. So, for better or for worse, It didn’t take me much time to want to return.
It’s funny, really. Ever went somewhere, haven’t been for a while and return just to think to yourself: “Wow, everything’s different now?’
It’s funny, really, I mean everything, and when I say everything, I don’t actually mean everything, more like the general themes and vibes about the city are different. The once humble city, bustled with night life.
The police for once seemed competent, if the fourth time I’ve been stopped for ‘suspicious’ actions are anything to go by. And the people seem to have all but forgotten me. That didn’t sit too well with me, but I suppose it’s for the best.
That way, when I make my return, people won’t feel to jarred or expectant of me again. I mean, in the few months that I’ve been gone, Water Way has never looked so good. That… that also didn't sit too well with me either.
I mean, was I so easily replaced? Forgotten? I was their guardian, their puppet. I basically served their every whimsical desire like some loyal dog!? And this was my reward? It felt like a kick to the face. Then someone proceeded to gut me, then run me over with a car, then thrown in the river with cement shoes on.
It sucked, I promised I didn’t cry… a lot. Eclipse, the hero was no more. With his disappearance, his reputation, and remaining admiration left with him. Not gonna lie, it made my desire to become a hero again waver.
“Excuse me sir,” I asked, nudging the nearest pedestrian I could find.
“Hmm, yes boy?” The elderly man responded, folding his newspaper as he looked at me.
“Yeah, didn’t this place used to have a hero?” I asked, I wanted to feign ignorance, gain knowledge from an objective perspective.
I failed to notice how the man’s eyes hardened like concrete, his wrinkly jaw clenched shut, “No, he was nothing more than a tyrannical idiot,”
I did a spit take, which without anything to spit out made me look more like a normal idiot than tyrannical one.
‘W-what do you mean?”
“See for yourself,” The man said, handing me the newspaper.
My knuckles went white, and the sheets ripped before me, The main headline, the only headline I noticed, the only one that mattered, said: Eclipse, The Villain, Bounty $1,000,000 Dead or Alive.
“T-thanks,” I choked out, tossing the paper towards the man, he fumbled with the wrinkled form.
I marched away, I didn’t have a destination, I just wanted to leave, clear my head. The chilled air from an autumn night helped in that regard, at the very least it cooled me down. Slightly.
A villain? A villain? VILLAIN? Oh, how far have I fallen? I looked up to the sky. The shining stars looked so condescending from down here. I smirked, figured.
Give them an inch, they demand a mile. I saw it as pathetic, and unjust. But society needed a scapegoat, I supposed that meant me.
Sure, I could have rationalized it, I mean, for me to be labelled as a villain after doing nothing of villainous merit only could imply a set-up. It was the perfect foundation for a redemption story.
I hated those kind of stories. If they wanted me as a villain. Then.
Who.
Am.
I.
To.
Argue?
|
“This city has become too reliant on me.” started Julia. “I think it is the time that the Silver Wolf takes a vacation where I can enjoy myself rather than focus on the petty problems that are throughout this city.”
And that was it, for the first time in her career, the Silver Wolf was going to take a vacation. Throughout the years she has stopped numerous super villains, including the infamous Jolly Jackal, Professor Lazy Cheat and of course, Brain Matter. However, the public had become reliant on her appetite to stop crime. Now it was time for Julia to be herself, and to go have a luxurious vacation where she can finally sit back and relax, she is human too she deserves this right to relaxation.
However, it came as a great shock when the Silver Wolf had departed the city. There were very few good guys left, as everyone had relied on the Silver Wolf and decided that the city did not need their participation to keep the city safe since she protected everyone in the city. The criminals no longer had the competition that they were used to, and not having anyone to prevent their crimes took the adrenaline rush out of it so the criminals went rampant for the first couple days, but then they realized that crime just wasn’t as fulfilling as it once was.
This trend towards absolute peace had Mayor Maticke thinking. Although this is completely counter-intuitive, she decided that the way to fight crime is to not fight it at all. Professional fighters wouldn’t want to fight if there was no adversary, and this seemed to be true with the criminals in her city. She went on television and proclaimed that the Silver Wolf is now wanted, dead or alive. Anyone who can retrieve her will be awarded a hefty sum of one million dollars.
Julia was listening to the morning news while she was getting dressed in her hotel room when she overheard, “We are getting reports that Mayor Maticke has put a bounty on the Silver Wolf, who has kept her city safe, citing that there has been a massive decrease in the desire to commit crime since her departure.” Julia couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Mayor Maticke, after years of working closely together to stop crime in the city, has turned her back on Julia and now has put a bounty on her head.
Julia thought, “If they don’t want me, I’ll gladly stay here, no reason to force my helpfulness up there. If I ever want to stop crime, I can just continue to low key fight crime down here under a new identity that nobody could connect me to the Silver Wolf. I can become, The Owl.”
And that was that, Julia decided to stay down south where she can enjoy the nicer weather, relax and fight crime when she pleases. This was the life, until Mayor Dabrowski put a bounty on her head when he saw the progress that was being had in Mayor Maticke’s city. Eventually, President Smith announced that with the help of Congress, she has passed a law stating that all superheroes are now outlawed.
Julia saw this news, “I guess it’s time to go to Canada, although there is little crime to solve there…”
Edit: I fixed the formatting I think, just couldn't indent
Thanks for reading! I don't know why the formatting is so weird :( | |
[WP] A superhero is fed up with how reliant his city has become on him for every little thing, so he takes a vacation. Upon his return, he discovers that the city is now completely free of crime... and that there's a $1,000,000 bounty on his head. | Whenever Doug came back to the city, he always stopped at the brick filling station at the edge of the limits. He liked to eat a small bag of corn chips and drink a Diet Coke before he changed into his bear costume and lumbered back into crime fighting mode. He also liked to visit with Marty, the owner of the station, who despite being quite far removed from the city always seemed to have a heads up on the latest debauchery. Marty's wife made the best fried pies.
There was a small line at the counter. Doug took his place at the end and looked up at the security television that reflected him standing there. His beard had come in gray this time which made him realize how long he'd been gone.
"Please, go ahead," said the woman in front of him.
"It's all right," said Doug. "No hurry."
"I insist," she said as she moved behind him.
The little old man now ahead of him conceded his spot too, much to Doug's demurring. A bit baffled, he stood across the counter from Marty, who cocked his head and peered at him just beyond the boundary of recognition.
"Marty, it's me, Doug. Don't you recognize me?"
Marty's eyes widened and a smile came to his lips.
"It's been so long. I can hardly recognize you! Where have you been?" asked Marty.
"A vacation, I suppose. Maybe more like a retirement. I suppose I lost track of time."
Doug placed his chips and soda on the counter. With the automation of a long time clerk, Marty pecked the buttons on the register. Doug felt the urge to reach out and hug him, to turn this into a rightful homecoming.
"Five million dollars, even," said Marty.
Doug laughed, admitting that he didn't have that much on him. He took a five dollar bill out of his wallet and extended it across the counter.
"Will this cover it?" he asked playfully.
Marty took the bill and stared down at it as one might look at an old toy.
"I haven't seen one of these in a long, long time. Where'd you even get it?"
Doug, honestly confused, shrugged. He was about to speak when the front door chimed and a kid, probably fifteen, walked through the door and wove immediately to the back aisle. Marty raised his index finger to ask for a moment. He then reached under the counter and produced a mop handle, about four feet long, sharpened to a barbaric point at one end. With silent white sneakers, Marty sneaked around the counter and hid behind the magazine rack near the doors. The boy hurried back up the aisle, clutching a small box in his hand, and turned the corner to make his exit. Marty lunged, catching his shirt on the corner of the wire rack, causing it to come crashing down in clatter of metal and magazines. The boy then clutched the middle of the mop handle with both hands, right at the point where Marty had buried it in his chest.
"Marty! You've killed him!" cried Doug.
Marty dumped the boy on the ground, planted his foot, and pulled free his makeshift spear. Reaching down, he saved the little cardboard box from the pooling blood and held it up so Doug could see.
"He's been coming in here and stealing the headache powder. Finally caught the little bugger."
Doug, his muscled arms hanging limply at his sides, gaped as Marty returned the box to its place and came back behind the counter. He took the rag from the soapy bucket, wiped his hands clean, and it was suddenly business as usual.
"Marty," said Doug, "I'm going to have to take you in."
"Take me in?" asked Marty, taken aback. "To where? For what?"
"To jail! For murder!"
Marty shook his head softly as one might pitifully listen to the rather useless questions of an amnesiac. He then looked past Doug to the people waiting patiently behind him.
"Take it, friends. It's on the house today."
The other customers quietly returned the items to their places on the shelves and filed out of the store, stepping instinctively over the bloodied linoleum. Marty locked the front doors and turned the sign to closed.
"Come on, Bear," he said, motioning to the staircase that led up to his apartment above the store. "There's things you need to know." |
“This city has become too reliant on me.” started Julia. “I think it is the time that the Silver Wolf takes a vacation where I can enjoy myself rather than focus on the petty problems that are throughout this city.”
And that was it, for the first time in her career, the Silver Wolf was going to take a vacation. Throughout the years she has stopped numerous super villains, including the infamous Jolly Jackal, Professor Lazy Cheat and of course, Brain Matter. However, the public had become reliant on her appetite to stop crime. Now it was time for Julia to be herself, and to go have a luxurious vacation where she can finally sit back and relax, she is human too she deserves this right to relaxation.
However, it came as a great shock when the Silver Wolf had departed the city. There were very few good guys left, as everyone had relied on the Silver Wolf and decided that the city did not need their participation to keep the city safe since she protected everyone in the city. The criminals no longer had the competition that they were used to, and not having anyone to prevent their crimes took the adrenaline rush out of it so the criminals went rampant for the first couple days, but then they realized that crime just wasn’t as fulfilling as it once was.
This trend towards absolute peace had Mayor Maticke thinking. Although this is completely counter-intuitive, she decided that the way to fight crime is to not fight it at all. Professional fighters wouldn’t want to fight if there was no adversary, and this seemed to be true with the criminals in her city. She went on television and proclaimed that the Silver Wolf is now wanted, dead or alive. Anyone who can retrieve her will be awarded a hefty sum of one million dollars.
Julia was listening to the morning news while she was getting dressed in her hotel room when she overheard, “We are getting reports that Mayor Maticke has put a bounty on the Silver Wolf, who has kept her city safe, citing that there has been a massive decrease in the desire to commit crime since her departure.” Julia couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Mayor Maticke, after years of working closely together to stop crime in the city, has turned her back on Julia and now has put a bounty on her head.
Julia thought, “If they don’t want me, I’ll gladly stay here, no reason to force my helpfulness up there. If I ever want to stop crime, I can just continue to low key fight crime down here under a new identity that nobody could connect me to the Silver Wolf. I can become, The Owl.”
And that was that, Julia decided to stay down south where she can enjoy the nicer weather, relax and fight crime when she pleases. This was the life, until Mayor Dabrowski put a bounty on her head when he saw the progress that was being had in Mayor Maticke’s city. Eventually, President Smith announced that with the help of Congress, she has passed a law stating that all superheroes are now outlawed.
Julia saw this news, “I guess it’s time to go to Canada, although there is little crime to solve there…”
Edit: I fixed the formatting I think, just couldn't indent
Thanks for reading! I don't know why the formatting is so weird :( | |
[WP] A superhero is fed up with how reliant his city has become on him for every little thing, so he takes a vacation. Upon his return, he discovers that the city is now completely free of crime... and that there's a $1,000,000 bounty on his head. | Whenever Doug came back to the city, he always stopped at the brick filling station at the edge of the limits. He liked to eat a small bag of corn chips and drink a Diet Coke before he changed into his bear costume and lumbered back into crime fighting mode. He also liked to visit with Marty, the owner of the station, who despite being quite far removed from the city always seemed to have a heads up on the latest debauchery. Marty's wife made the best fried pies.
There was a small line at the counter. Doug took his place at the end and looked up at the security television that reflected him standing there. His beard had come in gray this time which made him realize how long he'd been gone.
"Please, go ahead," said the woman in front of him.
"It's all right," said Doug. "No hurry."
"I insist," she said as she moved behind him.
The little old man now ahead of him conceded his spot too, much to Doug's demurring. A bit baffled, he stood across the counter from Marty, who cocked his head and peered at him just beyond the boundary of recognition.
"Marty, it's me, Doug. Don't you recognize me?"
Marty's eyes widened and a smile came to his lips.
"It's been so long. I can hardly recognize you! Where have you been?" asked Marty.
"A vacation, I suppose. Maybe more like a retirement. I suppose I lost track of time."
Doug placed his chips and soda on the counter. With the automation of a long time clerk, Marty pecked the buttons on the register. Doug felt the urge to reach out and hug him, to turn this into a rightful homecoming.
"Five million dollars, even," said Marty.
Doug laughed, admitting that he didn't have that much on him. He took a five dollar bill out of his wallet and extended it across the counter.
"Will this cover it?" he asked playfully.
Marty took the bill and stared down at it as one might look at an old toy.
"I haven't seen one of these in a long, long time. Where'd you even get it?"
Doug, honestly confused, shrugged. He was about to speak when the front door chimed and a kid, probably fifteen, walked through the door and wove immediately to the back aisle. Marty raised his index finger to ask for a moment. He then reached under the counter and produced a mop handle, about four feet long, sharpened to a barbaric point at one end. With silent white sneakers, Marty sneaked around the counter and hid behind the magazine rack near the doors. The boy hurried back up the aisle, clutching a small box in his hand, and turned the corner to make his exit. Marty lunged, catching his shirt on the corner of the wire rack, causing it to come crashing down in clatter of metal and magazines. The boy then clutched the middle of the mop handle with both hands, right at the point where Marty had buried it in his chest.
"Marty! You've killed him!" cried Doug.
Marty dumped the boy on the ground, planted his foot, and pulled free his makeshift spear. Reaching down, he saved the little cardboard box from the pooling blood and held it up so Doug could see.
"He's been coming in here and stealing the headache powder. Finally caught the little bugger."
Doug, his muscled arms hanging limply at his sides, gaped as Marty returned the box to its place and came back behind the counter. He took the rag from the soapy bucket, wiped his hands clean, and it was suddenly business as usual.
"Marty," said Doug, "I'm going to have to take you in."
"Take me in?" asked Marty, taken aback. "To where? For what?"
"To jail! For murder!"
Marty shook his head softly as one might pitifully listen to the rather useless questions of an amnesiac. He then looked past Doug to the people waiting patiently behind him.
"Take it, friends. It's on the house today."
The other customers quietly returned the items to their places on the shelves and filed out of the store, stepping instinctively over the bloodied linoleum. Marty locked the front doors and turned the sign to closed.
"Come on, Bear," he said, motioning to the staircase that led up to his apartment above the store. "There's things you need to know." | "Why James! What is the meaning of all this?!"
"It's simple answer Techman, you are the solution, the answer to every problem this city has faced. You can't leave us. We need you a whole lot more than you need us."
Techman looked at the Police Chief with utter shock and disgust. The city he had devoted his life to had betrayed him. He was no longer a hero, but an animal, an animal they wanted to keep on lockdown. Techman was tired, gear tattered from dispersing the many that came to collect the bounty. Now he was face to face with the source.
"There is no crime! There hasn't been for months! I made sure of that!"
"EXACTLY! THERE IS NO CRIME! YET! Don't you see? It's a conspiracy. The scumbags of the underworld are hiding, biding their time till you leave us. It's the perfect plan."
"You need help James. The years battling the corrupt have finally caught up to you. You're sick, you need to see a doctor James. Let me help you."
"You're right... I do need help."
James slowly reached inside his coat pocket and pulled out a revolver. The mechanical click of the hammer being pulled back broke the silence of the night.
"You will help me and the citizens of this city. Now and always. Techman I am placing you under arrest."
"No James, you wont. The city is safe. There is nothing left to fight. You are so consumed by your fear that you cannot see. I understand. The years of murders, rapes, heists and bomb threats. No one wants that to happen again, and it wont. You need to trust the work we have put in."
"SHUT UP! SHUT UP! THEY'LL COME BACK! THEY ALWAYS DO! HOW MANY MORE NEED TO DIE! HUH!? HOW MANY MORE! DONT YOU CARE ANYMORE?!"
"... It's okay James. Everything will be alright... Sometimes you simply need to let go"
Techman walks over to the ledge and falls. The sounds of screeching tires and a scream.
| |
[WP] You can see through walls, and have always thought this was a normal skill everyone possessed. One day your professor explains the Schrödinger's cat experiment to the class, and you raise your hand to ask a question. | While the teacher kept talking about the cat experiment I jumped onto google. Surely Schrödinger must have had some sort issue with his eyesight. Google however did not provide me with any answer. He wore glasses but as far as I knew that didn't stop the ability to look through walls or other objects. I could know as I used my telescope, accompanied by a box of tissues, more than once to check out Cindy from next door taking a shower when I was 15.
Puzzled I finally decided to raise my hand.
[Professor]: yes Joshua? You have a question?
"Y..Ye..yes. I'm googling Schrödinger but I find nothing about him having issues with his eyes except for him wearing glasses...."
[Professor]: As far as I know he didn't have any issues except for needing glasses. Why do you ask?
"We..well...if...if he doesn't have any eye issues, why didn't he just look inside the box?"
[Professor]: That's basically the whole point, as long as the box is closed the cat is both death AND alive.
"yeah...bu...but why didn't he just look inside the box? Like, just like a mailbox. You don't open it if there isn't any mail in it."
[Professor]: The mailman raises the mail flag if you have mail. So if it's down you don't open it.
"no, when you walk up to it you just look inside and if there is mail you open it and grab it..."
[Professor]: Yes, if the flag is up.
"no..no...our mailbox didn't have that flag. Thats just for people with eye issues. You just walk up to it, look inside and if there is mail you grab it. So why didn't Schrödinger look inside the box to see if the cat's still alive?"
[Professor]: Josha, are you pulling my leg? Look inside the mailbox and then opening it? I know its the first day after spring break, maybe you partied a little bit too hard?
"Am...Am...Am I really the only one that looks inside the mailbox before opening it? You all just rely on the flag? You just walk up to it and look inside. Like look INSIDE. Why open it if you can already see that it's empty?"
At this point I started feeling very uncomfortable. The entire room had their eyes fixated on me. I literally could feel the unease and disbelief. Everyone can look through walls and stuff right? For the first time I started to question this, for me, normal ability.
[Professor]: Joshua, are you feeling ok? Do you want to go to the nurses office?
"may...maybe...no...yes.... I don't know...."
[Professor]: Maybe it's better you do son.
"I.... I.... I think you should lock the door... 2 guys just walked into the building with guns."
[Professor]: Joshua? what did you take? Are you experiencing a bad trip?
But before he could finish the classroom erupted in panic as distant gunshots where heard. The professor rushed to the door and locked it. He turned around and had his eyes fixed on me in disbelief. A few moments later he snapped out of it and instructed us to lay low on the ground.
| [professor] "So in summary the total system is a box which contains a cat, a poisonous gas, an automated hammer robot, a geiger counter, and the radioactive material. There are two possible outcomes - either the radioactive substance decays slightly and causes the geiger to activate the hammer that releases poison or, alternatively, the substance does not decay and thus the system does not change from the initial state.
[professor] "When quantum theory describes the results of the decay of the particles within the radioactive material we say all possibilities have happened simultaneously, and we by extension describe the chain of events that follow and treat them as a single system that has a superposition of both outcomes. Now when the box is opened we see the state of the cat, and that tells us about the hammer, which tells us about the geiger, which tells us about the radioactive substance, which tells us about the particle. At this point the wave function has collapsed and there are no longer any superposition."
[student] "Professor, why do you have to open the box?"
[professor] "Because otherwise you wouldn't be able to see if the cat was alive or dead."
[student] "But you don't have to open the box to do that."
[professor] "True enough. I suppose one could just shake the box, or watch to see if the cat moved the box, or meowed but that's not the point. In quantum theory it doesn't matter how you measure the superposition the result is always the same: any observation will collapse the wave-function. For a measurement to even be possible the wave-function must have already collapsed, you see. If the cat meowed, you would know the state of the cat, which in turn back tracks through the system until the waveform collapses - or has already collapsed - to determine the state of the entire system including the cat that meowed."
[student] "One more question, professor?"
[professor] "Of course."
[student] "If the wave-function collapses because I observe the cat, but the cat is just how I measure the state of the geiger, which is a measure of the state of decaying atoms - but the gieger itself is not a quantum entity -
doesn't that mean that the geiger counter is observing the system from within the box? So the system self-monitors and thus can't exist in a superposition, correct?"
[professor] "Ah, now that, my boy, is an excellent question. We will cover objective collapse theories shortly and you will have your answer then." | |
[WP] You can see through walls, and have always thought this was a normal skill everyone possessed. One day your professor explains the Schrödinger's cat experiment to the class, and you raise your hand to ask a question. | "Sir, I don't understand the basis of the experiment."
"What do you mean Joshua?"
"Well, why not just... look through the box? I assume that's the first thing that would come to anyones mind when faced with something like this."
This is where I knew something I said was odd.
"Look through...?"
"Yes, look through the box. It's what I would do."
My professor looked at me in a perplexed manner. At this point I could tell that something about looking through the box was against the point of the experiment or something.
"Joshua, you're not allowed to cut a hole into the box, that would just make it a birdhouse with a well fed cat." After this statement the classroom gave out a collective quiet laugh, but I persisted.
"No sir, I mean that we should just look through the box like we always do!" I couldn't understand why nobody the would listen to what I was saying until my professor said simply:
"Joshua are you attempting to tell me that you can see through a solid object, such as a wooden box?"
"Well... Yes sir, can't everyone...?"
I looked around the room quickly to see any nodding heads that can make me feel a little less crazy, but the silence in the room was disturbing considering that there were over 70 people there.
"What about walls, can you see through walls?"
"...Yes sir."
At this point I realized that looking through solid objects was anything but normal.
"Well Joshua, I'm going to leave the room, hold up a number, and come back in. You shall then tell the class that number and I will verify if you are telling the truth, if you aren't telling the truth then I will simply talk to the dean about your outburst in the classroom and we will handle it thusly."
"Alright."
The professor stepped out of the room, closed the door and walked to the wall adjacent to the door.
The professor held up 7 fingers, then did a plus sign with his hands (+) and then held up 6 fingers. I was perplexed by what he was doing and could feel the collective stares of the classroom as they watched the "freak" that was crazy enough to believe that he could see through walls. The proffesor then held his arms in the way of an equals sign (=) and held up ten fingers then three fingers and then held up his middle finger.
The proffesor began to walk back into the room, but as he went to the door, I tracked him with my head and so when he actually opened the door when my head got to it the class was collectively shocked.
"Well Joshua?"
"Uhh... You first held up 7, then 6, then you added them together to make 13 and then flipped me off."
As I told my professor this, his small smirk slowly shifted to shock.
"B...By god he... He's right..."
EDIT: Typo. | "What do you mean?" The professor said. He seemed really confused about what I had said. I told you professor, "Just look through the box, we can see right through it."
"That's preposterous. No one can see through wood"
"But sir-"
"If you cannot take this class seriously, I must ask you to leave."
With a red face I grabbed my books and made for the door. I felt the eyes of my classmates on me as I exited the room as quickly as I could. I was angry. Of course people can see through walls. Who couldn't?
Apparently everyone. 30 minutes later when class let out for everyone my best friend Max showed up. He looked almost in awe, as if I had super powers. He insisted I prove myself.
"Please! Just once?"
"No" I replied for the 10th time.
"Come on" he insisted.
"Fine." I said curtly. "Go in that room and do something"
"What?"
"I don't care what, just do it!"
He went into the room and started doing jumping jacks. Then he span in a circle and sat down. After he got up he came out and asked me what I saw
"You did jumping jacks, ran in a circle like a moron and then sat down!"
The look of surprise on his face was priceless, even it it meant the end of a normal life.
The teachers were calling my ability a scientific phenomenon that should be studied. The students called it freakish and avoided me. No one would dare come to talk to me, and heaven forbid if I ever glanced at a women's restroom or towards there dorms.
Looks like I'm transferring next year, though I doubt I can really run from this.
Edit: typos | |
It's my birthday. Five decades. Party at my place, BYOB. | [WP] HAPPY BIRTHDAY! Every year your mysterious Uncle Rick has sent you a birthday package. Once, it was a DVD, 2 years before DVD's were invented. This year, the box contains what looks like a 2020 iPhone, but the most interesting thing is the wadded up newspapers used to cushion it. | I was tinkering with the new phone and wondering why the hell every apple update makes the operations system worse when I noticed the headline.
"Rick Dryer Finally Put To Justice" in massive letters covering the top line of the paper.
Uncle Rick put to justice? I couldn't believe it. Uncle Rick was always a little strange and to be honest a little sketch, but what could he have possibly done. I scanned the rest of the article and was horrified by what I saw.
"In what was a long and eventful trial, Rick Dryer had been found guilty of crimes against humanity according to the Second Geneva Convention..."
Second Geneva Convention?
"...after inventing the means to travel through time, Dryer recklessly decided to utilize this new technology for bad rather than good..."
So that's how he gets all this stuff? Suddenly, it sank in and I felt like I was holding a blood diamond. Unsettled, I set the phone away from me and continued reading.
"...Dryer used the technology to find weapons from the future and came back to use those weapons in a series of calculated heists..."
Shit, who the hell was my uncle?"
"....Investigators had been attempting to discover how it was that he hid these weapons for years. Eventually the FBI was put on the case and they discovered that he hid them in birthday gifts to his nephew..."
I froze in my tracks.
"...They discovered this when he gave his nephew the IPhone 13 three years before its initial release..."
That's when I heard a knock. I looked out my window to see the police barricade outside my house. Awestruck, I dropped the newspaper before I read the final line:
"...The greatest controversy in the trial was, perhaps, the debate of whether or not this nephew was indeed complacent in the crimes. Ultimately, in a decision many deemed premature, the jury deemed him guilty in aiding a criminal." | It is also my birthday. One year from being a legal adult. No clue where you live. Can't drink.
***
Just like it is an understatement to say that Antarctica is a little bit cold, it is an understatement to say that Rick was a shady character.
The first time I ever dealt with Rick, I was 6, and it was 1993. We got a DVD with "The Lion King" on it for my fifth birthday. Oddly enough, the movie was released the next year. And the DVD was invented the year after that. It didn't stop there, either. I was 17 when I got an iPhone for my birthday, and the year was 2005. The iPhone was officially released on June 29, 2007. It wasn't even announced until January of 2007.
Further still, Rick didn't believe in the mail. He made all of deliveries personally, even in college, and after I moved out, even though I never told him where I lived. I didn't know where he lived, or how old he was, or which side of the family he was on; if he was family at all. All I knew was that he showed up at my door once a year regardless of where I was, and gave me a present that hadn't been invented yet.
So, on my 30th birthday, I woke up to the sound of a doorbell ringing. It was a Saturday, and the doorbell had woken me up before 1 pm. This was not the amount of sleep I had been hoping for. I carefully got out of bed, so as to not disturb my girlfriend, and surveyed myself. I decided that the t-shirt and boxers I had slept in were adequate enough to answer the doorbell, and made my way out of my bedroom, down the stairs, and to the front door.
I opened it and saw Rick standing there. Over the years, the man had aged, but this appearance of him left me thinking I may not see him next year. He looked tired, and his gray hair was a bedraggled mess. His skin hung off of his body like a wet towel would hang from a doorknob, and his faded blue shirt and nearly chalk-white cargo shorts looked decades old. His blue eyes were bloodshot, and his hands tightly gripped a package. He hadn't wrapped anything in recent years, instead just leaving me a cardboard box that had been sealed with duct tape. He extended his arm and handed me the package. It couldn't have been larger than a book would be, albeit thicker. It was light, but as I held it, nothing moved within.
"Happy birthday, sport." Rick smiled weakly after his words, which were barely audible. His voice sounded broken, yet soft, like someone who had lost their voice mere days ago trying to speak again. Rick nodded his head slightly, as if content with himself, and then turned around and walked off. I had long given up on trying to stop him to ask questions. He never stopped.
I closed the door behind me. I was expecting a handheld device of some sold. Maybe a new phone, or a scanner of some sort. I opened the box carefully, using a steak knife the make a narrow slit in the tape. I used my fingers to finally get the flaps open, and emptied the cardboard box of its contents. There was a new phone, vaguely similar to my current iPhone, wrapped in newspaper. Along with it was a charger, headphones, and a $20 bill that had been rolled up tightly.
I unrolled the twenty to put it into my wallet, but as I did so, I saw a sheet of white paper had been rolled into the bill. I unraveled it and read it.
*"Congrats, Mark. You made it to 30. Hope it treats you well. Rick."*
The handwriting was shaky. I placed the slip of paper down and went about dealing with the rest of the gifts. I grabbed the twenty and walked into the kitchen, put it in my wallet, and returned to the dining room table, where I had unloaded the box. The phone had enough charge to be turned on, and I performed all of the necessary steps to move all of my stuff over to my new iPhone 9. I plugged it in to charge in an outlet by the kitchen. I set the headphones down by the phone as well.
I went back to the dining room to clean up. I picked up the box and moved to stuff the newspaper back inside in order to throw it all away at once, but the date caught my eye. September 19th, 2019. Intrigued, I cleared away the tape debris and the knife and looked at the headline.
*TRIAL OF MARK FRISCO STILL UNDERWAY, NO RECENT DEVELOPMENTS*
Wait, what?
*"The ongoing trial of Apple Inc. vs Frisco seems to be at a perpetual standstill.*
*"Frisco, who has been sued by Apple for apparently owning and freely using products they had only recently begun testing on, continues to stick to the story of his uncle giving him the phone. Due to the lack of evidence to this claim, it has been very hard for Frisco to prove his own innocence. But, the same can be said for Apple as well.*
*"'It has been very difficult for us to prove his guilt,' says Barbara Harris, a spokesperson for Apple. 'Mark Frisco's story is hardly believable, yet it is the only story that anyone has come up with, since Frisco claims he received the phone before any patents were filed for the design of it. We will continue to try to figure out how Frisco received this phone,' Harris assured.*
*"This story will be edited as updates come."*
I sat down in one of the dining room chairs, still clutching the paper. I could not believe what I had just read. I heard footsteps behind me, and turned around to see Jessica, my girlfriend, walking down the stairs.
"What's wrong, baby? Is everything okay?" she asked, her voice a mixture of curiosity and concern. She began to make her way to the table.
I looked her way. I had told her about Rick before, and she had seen what he could give me. "Jess, we need find Rick."
"Now."
***
I struggled to end this one in an appropriate manner, my goal was to make it seem like they would find Rick and figure out how he got the stuff from the future. Hope you liked it! Happy birthday!! |
It's my birthday. Five decades. Party at my place, BYOB. | [WP] HAPPY BIRTHDAY! Every year your mysterious Uncle Rick has sent you a birthday package. Once, it was a DVD, 2 years before DVD's were invented. This year, the box contains what looks like a 2020 iPhone, but the most interesting thing is the wadded up newspapers used to cushion it. | “Uncle Rick, this is Nicky. We really have to talk. I’m not sure you’re getting my messages, I’ve been trying to leave you a voicemail, but I can’t figure out all the settings on this thing. Whatever. Its really important. Call me back.” Nicky hung up the phone.
Nicky sighed as he sat down in his cramped Brooklyn apartment kitchen. He had uncrumpled the sheets of newspaper and they now covered his kitchen table. He read through the papers again. One of the sheets had a date in the top right corner - July 17, 2020. That didn’t make sense, it was July 2017, but things never made sense with Uncle Rick. This was too much though. He read the lead stories again: *Nuclear War in Asia. Adolf Hitler Returned to Life. Cancer an Airborne Disease.*
Nicky got up to take a piss. But he was cut off as a slurping sound suddenly opened a swirling green vortex in his kitchen. “Hey, I’m walking here…” Nicky said.
Rick Sanchez stepped through the portal, into Nicky’s kitchen apartment. He pulled a futuristic gun and aimed it directly at Nicky.
“Uncle Rick, what, what are you doing?” Nicky asked.
“Listen, whatever you…*burp*…whatever you think you are. I’m not your uncle,” spit dribbled from Rick’s mouth as he spoke. He reeked of alcohol. “What, what are you doing right now? Are you crying? Holy shit, you’re actually crying. I, I’ve got to give it to you. I didn’t think you things could cry.”
“Uncle Rick, I got the cell phone you sent from the future, but I saw the newspaper cli--” Nicky started again.
“Would you…*burp*…would you just shut up. That cell phone’s not from the future. Its, it’s a god damn StarTAC. Look at the back. I wrote iPhone 2020 on it with a marker. A sharpie marker. Your species might literally be the dumbest f---ing thing in all of the multiverses. And I’ve been to Epilon 419. Epilon 419. Their lead…*burp*… their lead scientist just figured out that farts come out of your ass. Its their greatest scientific discovery. Its literally, its literally a worldwide holiday there. They’re scheduling a parade. But no, you’re actually dumber.”
“I don’t understand Uncle Rick. Why would you send me this then?” Nicky asked. “And all the other gifts?”
“Alright listen. I’ll speak slowly. I just need, I need you to understand how dumb you are before I kill you. Its, its only right. Also, I’m basically…*burp*…I’m basically just killing time until I get another call,” Rick said. “I’m not your Uncle. You’re a parasite. All of your memories of us are an illusion. You got that, fake memories? I never sent you anything before this. I never took you to Coney Island. We never played Hungry, Hungry Hippos. I never hugged you after Grandma’s HIV scare. Fake. *Burp.* All completely fake. Nicky, you’re a parasite. And, and like we said a really dumb parasite. I have half a mind to take you to the fart scientist. Just to see what you could learn. You could study with them.”
Rick continued, “But here’s the thing Nicky. I’m not going to do that. I’m going to…*burp*…I’m going to exterminate every one of you. Because you multiply off of people’s memories. You give people fake memories of fake happiness. The world doesn’t need any more of that. You hitchhiked back to my reality….*burp*….I couldn’t sniff out all of you. But I set off a EK4 Pulse Modulator to trap you in your current forms. Then it was easy, I just sent out a cell phone for you to call me with some bad news attached in newspaper clippings. You things can’t handle bad news. Its, its all happy memories with you. So that’s it. One big trap to make sure, to make sure I didn’t accidentally kill Beth or Summer over fake memories.”
“Cousin Beth!” Nicky yelled between his tears.
“No. She’s not -- Holy shit, why am I bothering,” Rick said. He fired his gun at Cousin Nicky, who shriveled up into his worm parasite form as he died.
/r/Fatty_McFatts
| It is also my birthday. One year from being a legal adult. No clue where you live. Can't drink.
***
Just like it is an understatement to say that Antarctica is a little bit cold, it is an understatement to say that Rick was a shady character.
The first time I ever dealt with Rick, I was 6, and it was 1993. We got a DVD with "The Lion King" on it for my fifth birthday. Oddly enough, the movie was released the next year. And the DVD was invented the year after that. It didn't stop there, either. I was 17 when I got an iPhone for my birthday, and the year was 2005. The iPhone was officially released on June 29, 2007. It wasn't even announced until January of 2007.
Further still, Rick didn't believe in the mail. He made all of deliveries personally, even in college, and after I moved out, even though I never told him where I lived. I didn't know where he lived, or how old he was, or which side of the family he was on; if he was family at all. All I knew was that he showed up at my door once a year regardless of where I was, and gave me a present that hadn't been invented yet.
So, on my 30th birthday, I woke up to the sound of a doorbell ringing. It was a Saturday, and the doorbell had woken me up before 1 pm. This was not the amount of sleep I had been hoping for. I carefully got out of bed, so as to not disturb my girlfriend, and surveyed myself. I decided that the t-shirt and boxers I had slept in were adequate enough to answer the doorbell, and made my way out of my bedroom, down the stairs, and to the front door.
I opened it and saw Rick standing there. Over the years, the man had aged, but this appearance of him left me thinking I may not see him next year. He looked tired, and his gray hair was a bedraggled mess. His skin hung off of his body like a wet towel would hang from a doorknob, and his faded blue shirt and nearly chalk-white cargo shorts looked decades old. His blue eyes were bloodshot, and his hands tightly gripped a package. He hadn't wrapped anything in recent years, instead just leaving me a cardboard box that had been sealed with duct tape. He extended his arm and handed me the package. It couldn't have been larger than a book would be, albeit thicker. It was light, but as I held it, nothing moved within.
"Happy birthday, sport." Rick smiled weakly after his words, which were barely audible. His voice sounded broken, yet soft, like someone who had lost their voice mere days ago trying to speak again. Rick nodded his head slightly, as if content with himself, and then turned around and walked off. I had long given up on trying to stop him to ask questions. He never stopped.
I closed the door behind me. I was expecting a handheld device of some sold. Maybe a new phone, or a scanner of some sort. I opened the box carefully, using a steak knife the make a narrow slit in the tape. I used my fingers to finally get the flaps open, and emptied the cardboard box of its contents. There was a new phone, vaguely similar to my current iPhone, wrapped in newspaper. Along with it was a charger, headphones, and a $20 bill that had been rolled up tightly.
I unrolled the twenty to put it into my wallet, but as I did so, I saw a sheet of white paper had been rolled into the bill. I unraveled it and read it.
*"Congrats, Mark. You made it to 30. Hope it treats you well. Rick."*
The handwriting was shaky. I placed the slip of paper down and went about dealing with the rest of the gifts. I grabbed the twenty and walked into the kitchen, put it in my wallet, and returned to the dining room table, where I had unloaded the box. The phone had enough charge to be turned on, and I performed all of the necessary steps to move all of my stuff over to my new iPhone 9. I plugged it in to charge in an outlet by the kitchen. I set the headphones down by the phone as well.
I went back to the dining room to clean up. I picked up the box and moved to stuff the newspaper back inside in order to throw it all away at once, but the date caught my eye. September 19th, 2019. Intrigued, I cleared away the tape debris and the knife and looked at the headline.
*TRIAL OF MARK FRISCO STILL UNDERWAY, NO RECENT DEVELOPMENTS*
Wait, what?
*"The ongoing trial of Apple Inc. vs Frisco seems to be at a perpetual standstill.*
*"Frisco, who has been sued by Apple for apparently owning and freely using products they had only recently begun testing on, continues to stick to the story of his uncle giving him the phone. Due to the lack of evidence to this claim, it has been very hard for Frisco to prove his own innocence. But, the same can be said for Apple as well.*
*"'It has been very difficult for us to prove his guilt,' says Barbara Harris, a spokesperson for Apple. 'Mark Frisco's story is hardly believable, yet it is the only story that anyone has come up with, since Frisco claims he received the phone before any patents were filed for the design of it. We will continue to try to figure out how Frisco received this phone,' Harris assured.*
*"This story will be edited as updates come."*
I sat down in one of the dining room chairs, still clutching the paper. I could not believe what I had just read. I heard footsteps behind me, and turned around to see Jessica, my girlfriend, walking down the stairs.
"What's wrong, baby? Is everything okay?" she asked, her voice a mixture of curiosity and concern. She began to make her way to the table.
I looked her way. I had told her about Rick before, and she had seen what he could give me. "Jess, we need find Rick."
"Now."
***
I struggled to end this one in an appropriate manner, my goal was to make it seem like they would find Rick and figure out how he got the stuff from the future. Hope you liked it! Happy birthday!! |
It's my birthday. Five decades. Party at my place, BYOB. | [WP] HAPPY BIRTHDAY! Every year your mysterious Uncle Rick has sent you a birthday package. Once, it was a DVD, 2 years before DVD's were invented. This year, the box contains what looks like a 2020 iPhone, but the most interesting thing is the wadded up newspapers used to cushion it. | Actually Uncle Rick wasn’t my uncle. He was my Great Uncle. Or some other distant relative, actually my relationship with him wasn’t very clear to me. I had never seen him in person, but I felt like I knew him quite well. The voice he used in the letters he sent me felt very familiar, the jokes he made I could have made and his sense of humour was almost exactly the same as mine, his handwriting was so similar to mine that I could have written the letters myself. We were both into incredibly dry humour and horrible puns, jokes so bad that most sane people would frown and moan upon hearing them. We only contacted each other through letters, handwritten, he insisted upon that. Twice a year I would get a letter from him, during Christmas and on my birthday. I could only write back to him then, because he left his address at the bottom of the page in each letter. And every time the address was different. He moved around quite a lot.
I’m not sure how my parents felt about Uncle Rick. They didn’t keep the letter he sent them, or me, on the day I was born. Apparently he congratulated me and my parents in that first letter, and introduced himself as a family friend of my grandparents. At first my parents didn’t think anything of it because they received lots of letters and cards from acquaintances who wanted to congratulate them. The fact that they had named me Rick a day before receiving the letter also didn’t strike them as strange because Rick was a fairly common name. They did keep the reflective discs with a hole in the middle. Two years later, by the time that those discs became known as DVDs, they had forgotten about them however.
Every year, I received gifts from Uncle Rick. Sometimes it were ordinary gifts, such as books. Sometimes it were peculiar gifts, such as the digital camera I received when everyone around me was still using film rolls. I always kept those gifts safely stowed away in my room. I never dared to use them. I never forgot about Uncle Rick, it seemed like he was always in the back of my mind. I wanted to visit him, wherever he lived, but I never asked him because I somehow felt that I couldn’t see him. I didn’t want to upset him, and our strange relationship seemed to be dictated by his terms anyways. I never knew if my letters reached him. He never wrote back or mentioned them again.
And still, every year a package reaches my mailbox, always tied and wrapped in the same brown paper. And now, on my 22nd birthday, I have received a new package. When I open it up I find a sleek looking Iphone inside, wrapped in crumpled newspapers. *Iphone 9s*. I’m used to these gifts that seem to be from the future, but I’m surprised. I have always dismissed the thought that they could really be from the future. I have always told myself that Uncle Rick just bought me cutting edge stuff that had already been developed but hadn’t appeared on the market yet. This time I’m not so sure. I put the Iphone on my desk and take the crumpled newspaper. I smooth it out on my lap.
*21 January 2021*. I continue reading the front page.
*Scientists at Princeton University Discover First Time Machine, a truly wonderful day for humankind*
*A team of scientists led by the 26-year old R. Mackey have discovered a way to travel in time*-
The newspaper falls to the floor while I sink back in my chair in shock. When the newspaper reaches the ground another paper falls out. The familiar brown envelope, the familiar handwriting.
*My dearest Rick,*
*Congratulations on your 22nd, after all you can’t be 21 forever. Today I give you my ultimate gift. You see Rick, I had to save you. I had to save myself. All the stories are true. Humankind is done for, and will go extinct in the coming years. I, you, found a way to cheat time. The directions are all on the DVDs I gave you the day you were born. It might seem difficult, impossible even, but you will succeed. Trust me, I know. Life will be good in the past, you will enjoy yourself.*
*Good Luck,*
*Your dearest Rick.*
It is only when I pick up the newspaper again that I see the picture next to the article. It shows a smiling man. It shows a smiling me.
| It is also my birthday. One year from being a legal adult. No clue where you live. Can't drink.
***
Just like it is an understatement to say that Antarctica is a little bit cold, it is an understatement to say that Rick was a shady character.
The first time I ever dealt with Rick, I was 6, and it was 1993. We got a DVD with "The Lion King" on it for my fifth birthday. Oddly enough, the movie was released the next year. And the DVD was invented the year after that. It didn't stop there, either. I was 17 when I got an iPhone for my birthday, and the year was 2005. The iPhone was officially released on June 29, 2007. It wasn't even announced until January of 2007.
Further still, Rick didn't believe in the mail. He made all of deliveries personally, even in college, and after I moved out, even though I never told him where I lived. I didn't know where he lived, or how old he was, or which side of the family he was on; if he was family at all. All I knew was that he showed up at my door once a year regardless of where I was, and gave me a present that hadn't been invented yet.
So, on my 30th birthday, I woke up to the sound of a doorbell ringing. It was a Saturday, and the doorbell had woken me up before 1 pm. This was not the amount of sleep I had been hoping for. I carefully got out of bed, so as to not disturb my girlfriend, and surveyed myself. I decided that the t-shirt and boxers I had slept in were adequate enough to answer the doorbell, and made my way out of my bedroom, down the stairs, and to the front door.
I opened it and saw Rick standing there. Over the years, the man had aged, but this appearance of him left me thinking I may not see him next year. He looked tired, and his gray hair was a bedraggled mess. His skin hung off of his body like a wet towel would hang from a doorknob, and his faded blue shirt and nearly chalk-white cargo shorts looked decades old. His blue eyes were bloodshot, and his hands tightly gripped a package. He hadn't wrapped anything in recent years, instead just leaving me a cardboard box that had been sealed with duct tape. He extended his arm and handed me the package. It couldn't have been larger than a book would be, albeit thicker. It was light, but as I held it, nothing moved within.
"Happy birthday, sport." Rick smiled weakly after his words, which were barely audible. His voice sounded broken, yet soft, like someone who had lost their voice mere days ago trying to speak again. Rick nodded his head slightly, as if content with himself, and then turned around and walked off. I had long given up on trying to stop him to ask questions. He never stopped.
I closed the door behind me. I was expecting a handheld device of some sold. Maybe a new phone, or a scanner of some sort. I opened the box carefully, using a steak knife the make a narrow slit in the tape. I used my fingers to finally get the flaps open, and emptied the cardboard box of its contents. There was a new phone, vaguely similar to my current iPhone, wrapped in newspaper. Along with it was a charger, headphones, and a $20 bill that had been rolled up tightly.
I unrolled the twenty to put it into my wallet, but as I did so, I saw a sheet of white paper had been rolled into the bill. I unraveled it and read it.
*"Congrats, Mark. You made it to 30. Hope it treats you well. Rick."*
The handwriting was shaky. I placed the slip of paper down and went about dealing with the rest of the gifts. I grabbed the twenty and walked into the kitchen, put it in my wallet, and returned to the dining room table, where I had unloaded the box. The phone had enough charge to be turned on, and I performed all of the necessary steps to move all of my stuff over to my new iPhone 9. I plugged it in to charge in an outlet by the kitchen. I set the headphones down by the phone as well.
I went back to the dining room to clean up. I picked up the box and moved to stuff the newspaper back inside in order to throw it all away at once, but the date caught my eye. September 19th, 2019. Intrigued, I cleared away the tape debris and the knife and looked at the headline.
*TRIAL OF MARK FRISCO STILL UNDERWAY, NO RECENT DEVELOPMENTS*
Wait, what?
*"The ongoing trial of Apple Inc. vs Frisco seems to be at a perpetual standstill.*
*"Frisco, who has been sued by Apple for apparently owning and freely using products they had only recently begun testing on, continues to stick to the story of his uncle giving him the phone. Due to the lack of evidence to this claim, it has been very hard for Frisco to prove his own innocence. But, the same can be said for Apple as well.*
*"'It has been very difficult for us to prove his guilt,' says Barbara Harris, a spokesperson for Apple. 'Mark Frisco's story is hardly believable, yet it is the only story that anyone has come up with, since Frisco claims he received the phone before any patents were filed for the design of it. We will continue to try to figure out how Frisco received this phone,' Harris assured.*
*"This story will be edited as updates come."*
I sat down in one of the dining room chairs, still clutching the paper. I could not believe what I had just read. I heard footsteps behind me, and turned around to see Jessica, my girlfriend, walking down the stairs.
"What's wrong, baby? Is everything okay?" she asked, her voice a mixture of curiosity and concern. She began to make her way to the table.
I looked her way. I had told her about Rick before, and she had seen what he could give me. "Jess, we need find Rick."
"Now."
***
I struggled to end this one in an appropriate manner, my goal was to make it seem like they would find Rick and figure out how he got the stuff from the future. Hope you liked it! Happy birthday!! |
It's my birthday. Five decades. Party at my place, BYOB. | [WP] HAPPY BIRTHDAY! Every year your mysterious Uncle Rick has sent you a birthday package. Once, it was a DVD, 2 years before DVD's were invented. This year, the box contains what looks like a 2020 iPhone, but the most interesting thing is the wadded up newspapers used to cushion it. | Actually Uncle Rick wasn’t my uncle. He was my Great Uncle. Or some other distant relative, actually my relationship with him wasn’t very clear to me. I had never seen him in person, but I felt like I knew him quite well. The voice he used in the letters he sent me felt very familiar, the jokes he made I could have made and his sense of humour was almost exactly the same as mine, his handwriting was so similar to mine that I could have written the letters myself. We were both into incredibly dry humour and horrible puns, jokes so bad that most sane people would frown and moan upon hearing them. We only contacted each other through letters, handwritten, he insisted upon that. Twice a year I would get a letter from him, during Christmas and on my birthday. I could only write back to him then, because he left his address at the bottom of the page in each letter. And every time the address was different. He moved around quite a lot.
I’m not sure how my parents felt about Uncle Rick. They didn’t keep the letter he sent them, or me, on the day I was born. Apparently he congratulated me and my parents in that first letter, and introduced himself as a family friend of my grandparents. At first my parents didn’t think anything of it because they received lots of letters and cards from acquaintances who wanted to congratulate them. The fact that they had named me Rick a day before receiving the letter also didn’t strike them as strange because Rick was a fairly common name. They did keep the reflective discs with a hole in the middle. Two years later, by the time that those discs became known as DVDs, they had forgotten about them however.
Every year, I received gifts from Uncle Rick. Sometimes it were ordinary gifts, such as books. Sometimes it were peculiar gifts, such as the digital camera I received when everyone around me was still using film rolls. I always kept those gifts safely stowed away in my room. I never dared to use them. I never forgot about Uncle Rick, it seemed like he was always in the back of my mind. I wanted to visit him, wherever he lived, but I never asked him because I somehow felt that I couldn’t see him. I didn’t want to upset him, and our strange relationship seemed to be dictated by his terms anyways. I never knew if my letters reached him. He never wrote back or mentioned them again.
And still, every year a package reaches my mailbox, always tied and wrapped in the same brown paper. And now, on my 22nd birthday, I have received a new package. When I open it up I find a sleek looking Iphone inside, wrapped in crumpled newspapers. *Iphone 9s*. I’m used to these gifts that seem to be from the future, but I’m surprised. I have always dismissed the thought that they could really be from the future. I have always told myself that Uncle Rick just bought me cutting edge stuff that had already been developed but hadn’t appeared on the market yet. This time I’m not so sure. I put the Iphone on my desk and take the crumpled newspaper. I smooth it out on my lap.
*21 January 2021*. I continue reading the front page.
*Scientists at Princeton University Discover First Time Machine, a truly wonderful day for humankind*
*A team of scientists led by the 26-year old R. Mackey have discovered a way to travel in time*-
The newspaper falls to the floor while I sink back in my chair in shock. When the newspaper reaches the ground another paper falls out. The familiar brown envelope, the familiar handwriting.
*My dearest Rick,*
*Congratulations on your 22nd, after all you can’t be 21 forever. Today I give you my ultimate gift. You see Rick, I had to save you. I had to save myself. All the stories are true. Humankind is done for, and will go extinct in the coming years. I, you, found a way to cheat time. The directions are all on the DVDs I gave you the day you were born. It might seem difficult, impossible even, but you will succeed. Trust me, I know. Life will be good in the past, you will enjoy yourself.*
*Good Luck,*
*Your dearest Rick.*
It is only when I pick up the newspaper again that I see the picture next to the article. It shows a smiling man. It shows a smiling me.
| “Uncle Rick, this is Nicky. We really have to talk. I’m not sure you’re getting my messages, I’ve been trying to leave you a voicemail, but I can’t figure out all the settings on this thing. Whatever. Its really important. Call me back.” Nicky hung up the phone.
Nicky sighed as he sat down in his cramped Brooklyn apartment kitchen. He had uncrumpled the sheets of newspaper and they now covered his kitchen table. He read through the papers again. One of the sheets had a date in the top right corner - July 17, 2020. That didn’t make sense, it was July 2017, but things never made sense with Uncle Rick. This was too much though. He read the lead stories again: *Nuclear War in Asia. Adolf Hitler Returned to Life. Cancer an Airborne Disease.*
Nicky got up to take a piss. But he was cut off as a slurping sound suddenly opened a swirling green vortex in his kitchen. “Hey, I’m walking here…” Nicky said.
Rick Sanchez stepped through the portal, into Nicky’s kitchen apartment. He pulled a futuristic gun and aimed it directly at Nicky.
“Uncle Rick, what, what are you doing?” Nicky asked.
“Listen, whatever you…*burp*…whatever you think you are. I’m not your uncle,” spit dribbled from Rick’s mouth as he spoke. He reeked of alcohol. “What, what are you doing right now? Are you crying? Holy shit, you’re actually crying. I, I’ve got to give it to you. I didn’t think you things could cry.”
“Uncle Rick, I got the cell phone you sent from the future, but I saw the newspaper cli--” Nicky started again.
“Would you…*burp*…would you just shut up. That cell phone’s not from the future. Its, it’s a god damn StarTAC. Look at the back. I wrote iPhone 2020 on it with a marker. A sharpie marker. Your species might literally be the dumbest f---ing thing in all of the multiverses. And I’ve been to Epilon 419. Epilon 419. Their lead…*burp*… their lead scientist just figured out that farts come out of your ass. Its their greatest scientific discovery. Its literally, its literally a worldwide holiday there. They’re scheduling a parade. But no, you’re actually dumber.”
“I don’t understand Uncle Rick. Why would you send me this then?” Nicky asked. “And all the other gifts?”
“Alright listen. I’ll speak slowly. I just need, I need you to understand how dumb you are before I kill you. Its, its only right. Also, I’m basically…*burp*…I’m basically just killing time until I get another call,” Rick said. “I’m not your Uncle. You’re a parasite. All of your memories of us are an illusion. You got that, fake memories? I never sent you anything before this. I never took you to Coney Island. We never played Hungry, Hungry Hippos. I never hugged you after Grandma’s HIV scare. Fake. *Burp.* All completely fake. Nicky, you’re a parasite. And, and like we said a really dumb parasite. I have half a mind to take you to the fart scientist. Just to see what you could learn. You could study with them.”
Rick continued, “But here’s the thing Nicky. I’m not going to do that. I’m going to…*burp*…I’m going to exterminate every one of you. Because you multiply off of people’s memories. You give people fake memories of fake happiness. The world doesn’t need any more of that. You hitchhiked back to my reality….*burp*….I couldn’t sniff out all of you. But I set off a EK4 Pulse Modulator to trap you in your current forms. Then it was easy, I just sent out a cell phone for you to call me with some bad news attached in newspaper clippings. You things can’t handle bad news. Its, its all happy memories with you. So that’s it. One big trap to make sure, to make sure I didn’t accidentally kill Beth or Summer over fake memories.”
“Cousin Beth!” Nicky yelled between his tears.
“No. She’s not -- Holy shit, why am I bothering,” Rick said. He fired his gun at Cousin Nicky, who shriveled up into his worm parasite form as he died.
/r/Fatty_McFatts
|
It's my birthday. Five decades. Party at my place, BYOB. | [WP] HAPPY BIRTHDAY! Every year your mysterious Uncle Rick has sent you a birthday package. Once, it was a DVD, 2 years before DVD's were invented. This year, the box contains what looks like a 2020 iPhone, but the most interesting thing is the wadded up newspapers used to cushion it. | Actually Uncle Rick wasn’t my uncle. He was my Great Uncle. Or some other distant relative, actually my relationship with him wasn’t very clear to me. I had never seen him in person, but I felt like I knew him quite well. The voice he used in the letters he sent me felt very familiar, the jokes he made I could have made and his sense of humour was almost exactly the same as mine, his handwriting was so similar to mine that I could have written the letters myself. We were both into incredibly dry humour and horrible puns, jokes so bad that most sane people would frown and moan upon hearing them. We only contacted each other through letters, handwritten, he insisted upon that. Twice a year I would get a letter from him, during Christmas and on my birthday. I could only write back to him then, because he left his address at the bottom of the page in each letter. And every time the address was different. He moved around quite a lot.
I’m not sure how my parents felt about Uncle Rick. They didn’t keep the letter he sent them, or me, on the day I was born. Apparently he congratulated me and my parents in that first letter, and introduced himself as a family friend of my grandparents. At first my parents didn’t think anything of it because they received lots of letters and cards from acquaintances who wanted to congratulate them. The fact that they had named me Rick a day before receiving the letter also didn’t strike them as strange because Rick was a fairly common name. They did keep the reflective discs with a hole in the middle. Two years later, by the time that those discs became known as DVDs, they had forgotten about them however.
Every year, I received gifts from Uncle Rick. Sometimes it were ordinary gifts, such as books. Sometimes it were peculiar gifts, such as the digital camera I received when everyone around me was still using film rolls. I always kept those gifts safely stowed away in my room. I never dared to use them. I never forgot about Uncle Rick, it seemed like he was always in the back of my mind. I wanted to visit him, wherever he lived, but I never asked him because I somehow felt that I couldn’t see him. I didn’t want to upset him, and our strange relationship seemed to be dictated by his terms anyways. I never knew if my letters reached him. He never wrote back or mentioned them again.
And still, every year a package reaches my mailbox, always tied and wrapped in the same brown paper. And now, on my 22nd birthday, I have received a new package. When I open it up I find a sleek looking Iphone inside, wrapped in crumpled newspapers. *Iphone 9s*. I’m used to these gifts that seem to be from the future, but I’m surprised. I have always dismissed the thought that they could really be from the future. I have always told myself that Uncle Rick just bought me cutting edge stuff that had already been developed but hadn’t appeared on the market yet. This time I’m not so sure. I put the Iphone on my desk and take the crumpled newspaper. I smooth it out on my lap.
*21 January 2021*. I continue reading the front page.
*Scientists at Princeton University Discover First Time Machine, a truly wonderful day for humankind*
*A team of scientists led by the 26-year old R. Mackey have discovered a way to travel in time*-
The newspaper falls to the floor while I sink back in my chair in shock. When the newspaper reaches the ground another paper falls out. The familiar brown envelope, the familiar handwriting.
*My dearest Rick,*
*Congratulations on your 22nd, after all you can’t be 21 forever. Today I give you my ultimate gift. You see Rick, I had to save you. I had to save myself. All the stories are true. Humankind is done for, and will go extinct in the coming years. I, you, found a way to cheat time. The directions are all on the DVDs I gave you the day you were born. It might seem difficult, impossible even, but you will succeed. Trust me, I know. Life will be good in the past, you will enjoy yourself.*
*Good Luck,*
*Your dearest Rick.*
It is only when I pick up the newspaper again that I see the picture next to the article. It shows a smiling man. It shows a smiling me.
| Night’s Edge jutted over the edge of a cliff like a drunken man about to fall. Or perhaps a suicidal one, who wondered if the rocks below held the gift of death. *Perhaps it’s one, the other, or both,* Jack thought sadly. *It makes no difference if the end result is a fall.* He stood alone on a long cement road that wrapped the barren soil thrice before reaching its highest point. It was already tough going -- the hilled cliffside was steep at points and rarely flat -- but rain from the night before had made the slopes slick with water. Not much water, if truth be told, but mud had followed the fallen rain and coated the walkways in shades of brown. A few worms floundered, and Jack thought he might pick them for bait, or otherwise end their misery beneath a clouded sky. He did neither, but walked down that path, stepping around deep puddles and gaping cracks.
Beneath Night’s Edge, open ground slowly gave way to a crooked town, whose tallest buildings leaned like lovers about to kiss. Their children were more boxes of wood, so tightly packed that they formed dark alleys, shady areas where the homeless hid by day, but left under the cover of night to scavenge or rape or plunder. The night was theirs, Jack had always known. The town was theirs, too; sundown marked an unspoken curfew that was followed more closely than religion, lest you be caught in moon’s spotlight or blindfolded in shadow. But Jack sought neither the homeless in their alleyways, nor was he like to find himself on the streets come sundown.
The post office seemed the smallest building in the smallest of towns, that sat like a poor wire - walker on the smallest of islands, along the shore of the largest continent with the smallest population. Jack often complained of its smallness to the landlord of Night’s Edge, the apartment complex aptly named for the direction it faced: east, pointing west to follow the Sun’s hasty retreat. He complained to Astrid more, though he thought the landlord might not approve of a skinny male of thirty - two, who lived in a room whose walls were half - rotted from water damage. To go far on the island of Shetland, you had to find some way to distinguish yourself. The collared folk did, up in their leaning towers. So did the marathon runners, the fishermen who braved tough waters, or even the scientists, who came and went to mainland to treat with the penguins and clanfolk. Somehow, Jack didn’t think that being a gardener would earn the merit he sought. And what was there to garden, after all? Dead trees? Maybe the scraggly flowers that grew around Night’s Edge, or the weeds that sprouted from cracks on the sidewalk but were swept out with the next storm. A strange smile graced his lips, and Jack barked a short laugh that sent the ravens fleeing for the sky.
“Every year,” the postman told him when Jack found the office. “Right on the dot and at the same time. I wish I had an uncle like yours. Mine was the town drunk.”
“Yeah,” Jack told him. “I only knew mine shortly before he left to mainland. He still sends me things, though.”
“Aye. There’s nothing out there, though, but cold snow, and cold snow after that.”
The postman went by the name of Daryl Dickham, or Ham Dick if his friends were around. He liked to talk and was amiable enough, but that was why Jack hated him on the bad days. Jack talked to Astrid, then the landlord and his neighbors whom he had known since birth. Ham Dick was too much an extrovert for the pair to ever become friends. “So it’s here, then?” Jack asked only to move along, and to observe the proper courtesies.
“You bet,” said Daryl. “Have it right here. You come down the same time each day, for the past decade. I know that schedule too well.”
Jack nodded curtly, but took the package in a grip that was swift and overeager. When he had it, he held it tightly so that his knuckles grew white. It was dingy, but Jack knew his uncle always sent something of value. Years ago, it had been two DVD’s. Nothing special, right? But Jack had no idea what they were, until two years later when the first DVD player was invented.
“Whaddya think it’s going to be this year?” Daryl looked curious enough, but Jack just shrugged and shouldered past him on his way to the door. “Bye,” Daryl said to his back.
His way home was largely uneventful, and was filled with a grim determination, followed closely by an exhaustive weariness that threatened to take Jack’s vision and dim his eyes, if he so let it. But he ignored it, and the ache in his feet, and the homeless man begging for change, and the beautiful flowers that had been shipped in, and the coffee shop that handed free espresso shots come noon. He soon left the town behind him, and was alone once more along a road seldom walked. The lovers and their children faded with distance, until they almost seemed a normal town. *A human body,* Jack thought when he looked back. But the roads were empty and their alleys were fraught with a black that looked disturbingly like rot. *Is it dying?*
He walked until he could walk no more. Or perhaps he could wait no longer. *The drunk or the suicidal, that’s the real question.* And so it was, all over again, for either way Jack would’ve found himself placed on the one muddied bench astride the road, whose chipping paint was hidden beneath a layer of wet dirt. And in truth, it was not a bad place to stop, at least as far as stops went. A few flowers budded purple and yellow and green, and dead trees hung their branches overhead. They would not provide protection, but were laced with Christmas angel cutouts that had surprisingly remained past last night’s storm.
The wrapping paper fled almost as quick as Jack’s stride. It followed almost as quickly, borne upon a brisk wind that swept the papers out to sea. They left the cardboard beneath completely nude, but Jack tore it open with equal savagery. He found a phone inside that was unfamiliar to him, nestled comfortably upon wads of colored newsprint that caught his eye.
“First Contact: Antarctica,” Jack read. Then, “Small Fishing Village Attacked and Hundreds Killed.” Beneath it was a pale body that seemed familiar, but was so bloated it had become near unrecognizable. A girl, newly dead, gripped that body in the stiff hug of rigor mortis. *Astrid,* Jack thought in horror. “Then that man,” he said aloud. “It must be…”
The sound of pounding blood cut through the air and drowned out the birds, and the branches that clacked like drums or windchimes among a particularly violent gust of wind. The sky followed soon after, and dead bark, and gray concrete after that. When Jack’s body hit the ground in a faint, he did not feel the pain.
***
/r/Lone_Wolf_Studios for weekly stories and updates! |
[WP] Since you where young your dog would check if your room was safe before you went to sleep, so you have never been scared of the dark. This is the first night since your dog died and you find it too difficult to go to bed. You hear a wailing from the closet, the dark misses your dog too. | I spent my morning as jovial as could be. I got to watch my favorite Batman in the morning, and atr my favorite cereal (cheerios, most days, and honey nut on sunday)
After Batman was another cartoon. Something silly for little kids, but I watched it with Sammy and it was her favorite. I heard the door open. Dad was out with Isaac and got mom's special coffee. Her treat on Sunday.
Normally Isaac would come over and say, "Hello!" Or, that's what i always thought he was saying with his cold nose and warm kisses. I guess Isaac was tired because he went and laid down by himself
As Sammy's cartoon continued I heard mom and dad whispering. They probably just want us to enjoy our cartoon. I finished my cereal and laid the bowl in my lap waiting for Isaac. He always loves getting the last little taste and would rush over when he heard the spoon clank the bowl.
Isaac didn't come over. During the commercial I got up to put my bowl away and check on him. I found him just outside his bed. Laying and panting.
"Isaac, want some cereal?" I sat next to him and patted his thick chest. He strained to look up.
"Isaac, isn't feeling well. Daddy is going to take him to the vet."
"Okay mom." I hugged Isaac and went back to the cartoons.
After dinner we were at the vet saying, "goodbye." Sammy didn't understand. She didn't remember saying goodbye to Nana.
I wanted to be more than a kid. I cried as I said goodbye to my friend.
That night while in bed. I heard Sammy crying. I got up and closed my door. I always left it open in case Isaac wanted to tuck me in or sleep in my bed. That didn't matter now.
I kept my door closed each night that week. It helped so I couldn't hear my sister, and I hoped nobody can hear me while I cried into my pillow.
After one week right as I was dosing off behind watery eyes I heard a shuffle.
"Hello?"
A shuffle again.
"Hello?"
Then a whisper,
"umm..."
"Yes?"
"I know, I know...boys get older and like their privacy, but can you leave the door open at least some nights?"
I was sitting on the edge of my bed looking around the room. Through the gentle light of the window I saw a timid shadow fluttering around.
"Why do you want my door open?"
"So, Issak can tuck me in and give me kisses."
"Isaac?"
"Yes! Issak. I know you two were friends. I just hope you let him come visit sometime"
"Isaac was your friend?"
"Of course, this was such a lonely room for so long. Then he became my friend..."
The shadow fluttered closer.
"We would play, and talk long before you arrived. He told me that although you shrieked and were squishy and simple, you were people and would be good and leave me alone."
"Oh."
"oh?"
"Isaac...died" I choked on my word.
"Died? When will he be back? It can be so lonely with out him."
I did my best to help the shadow understand. It had too many questions and I didn't understand it fully myself to be honest.
Sometimes she asks me when we'll see Isaac again. I have to remind her that we are not all shadows, and one day she'll say goodbye to me.
| I dropped the shovel just before entering the house again. Buring Donny in the backyard brought tears I had not seen in a long time.
As I plummeted on my bed memories of that golden retriever flooded every space inside me: its hair, once shinny and silky, brushed by the wind of chill spring mornings. It's paws, soaked by puddles in the mud every October day. And most importantly, its quiet yet calming company in the darkness of my sleep.
I had always been terrified by the dark when I'm by myself, feeling both watched and lonely, vulnerable. But Donny, for 12 years, filled the void I couldn't explain. Until now.
*I'm a grown up man, I can handle this* I thought for myself
I forced myself into the blankets, keeping my face buried in the feather pillow. The darkness of my closed eyes were not nearly as terrifying as the one that upholstered the room. The window, letting in dim moonlight and a cold breeze, was perhaps the only thing keeping me sane.
But then it was no more.
The window shut and the curtains drawn with a sudden hit. My heart skipped a beat, just to accelerate faster and faster.
Sitting in my bed, I looked around. I *knew* there couldn't be anyone, but the difference between feeling and knowing becomes harder to tell as fear takes over.
And in this case, the latter was wrong.
I can't quite describe it, since it's ridiculous, but on my left wall I could see the nothing getting darker in some spots. And then, the spots started merging. Soon, the silhouette of a man stood in front of me, faceless and still. It had no eyes, but I knew it was watching me.
"Tobias" whispered the voice "we meet at last"
----------------------------------------------------------
Critics are requested and welcomed! u/Nanochillin | |
[WP] Since you where young your dog would check if your room was safe before you went to sleep, so you have never been scared of the dark. This is the first night since your dog died and you find it too difficult to go to bed. You hear a wailing from the closet, the dark misses your dog too. | Jack rolled over again in his bed and his eyes were drawn to the empty space in the corner of the room. Well, not exactly empty. On the floor was the well-worn rug and, scattered around it, tell-tale bits of rawhide chewies. Next to it, a bowl of water, now completely dry. The small clutter only left the space emptier in Jack's eyes.
The same could not be said for the space behind the forlorn rug and lonely water bowl. A floral-patterned wallpaper was split by a looming, red door that pulled at the frame holding it in place. The handle seemed to jiggle silently and Jack's breath caught in his throat as he pulled the blankets close around his chin.
His eyes darted to the rug and for a split second, Clifford was there just as he had been every night as long as Jack could remember. The dog's knowing eyes locked on him from where he lay curled up on the rug waiting for him to fall asleep. Then Jack blinked and the dog was gone.
Jack had thought Clifford was a stupid name for a real dog but when he told his little brother Ben that when he brought him home from the shelter, Ben had told him that Clifford was his dog and that Jack was a stupid name. Jack had punched him in the shoulder and in return earned a sharp nip from the young dog running around Ben's feet.
Ben and Clifford were almost inseparable after that. Almost. Every night, Clifford came into Jack's room and slept on that old rug no matter how hard Ben tried to coax him out. He even bought Clifford a fancy dog bed which still lay completely unused in the corner of his room.
At first, Jack had been annoyed. He tried shutting his door only to find Clifford would scratch at it incessantly until he was let in. Much to Ben's chagrin, their mom offered to pick up a dog house for Clifford to spend the night in but Jack said he would just let the stupid dog into his room at night.
The truth was, Jack found that when Clifford was in his room, he didn't worry so much about the red door that waited impatiently for him in the corner for him to go to bed. Over time, Clifford became part of his regular routine as he got ready to go to sleep in the evening. He even found himself growing attached to the dog that lay staring at him as fell each night into a dreamless sleep.
When he was younger, he'd never really considered that Clifford would eventually depart those moments of his daily routine. The thought had begun to cross his mind when Clifford, his hips giving way to the relentless forces of age, began to whine for help as he made his way up the stairs to Jack's room each night. Even then though, he'd thought he'd have more time. He had been wrong and now Clifford was gone.
He rolled back over, his eyes turned away from the red door. His mother had told him it was okay to cry but he had said he wouldn't, and so far that had remained the truth. He squeezed his eyes shut trying not to break that promise but the sound of weeping eventually met his ears. He hoped his mom didn't hear. He hadn't needed her to come sit with him while he fell asleep in years.
Finally, realizing he wouldn't get any sleep, he sat up in bed. To his surprise, the crying didn't stop. He looked around and found that the pitiful noise was coming from the corner of the room. The one with the enormous red door.
He stared at it. The noise was too tiny, too pathetic to scare him. He turned on the lamp next to his bed and the door seemed to shrink away from it. The red he'd always found so vibrant now seemed dull in the dim light of the lamp. It only took a minute for him to lower his feet to the floor and begin walking silently to the closet door and the wretched noise that came from behind it.
Years of horrifying memories flashed in front of his vision as he reached for the handle but he shoved them aside and turned it allowing the door to swing creakily open. Inside were the piles of clothes he hadn't worn in ages and the sports equipment he'd outgrown and never replaced. If it hadn't been for the noise, he'd never have noticed the tiny black puddle that quivered on the floor.
"Hello there," he said and the puddle gasped and tried to slip away. He blocked its path with his hand and stared at the thing as it cowered against him. "What are you doing in my closet?" he asked finally.
The thing began wailing again, the noise carrying around the room and Jack glanced at the door praying that it wouldn't wake his parents. Finally, between sobs and sniffles, he made out some of what the thing was saying. "Clifford...said never leave...closet...and now...now...HE'S GONE!"
Jack stood up, a smile touching his lips. It almost seemed silly now that this was the thing Clifford had been protecting him from. Hell, if it hadn't been for Clifford, he probably would have opened this door years ago.
"I'm Jack," he said to the thing as he turned and knelt to rummage for something under his bed.
"Darkness," the creature replied with a sniffle, his crying subsiding. His eyes darted nervously around the room.
"Why haven't I ever seen you before Darkness?" asked Jack as he pulled a shoe box out from under his bed.
"Clifford said...Clifford said never to leave closet," Darkness stuttered. "Danger outside closet." His curiosity began to overcome his fear though as he slowly slithered into the room taking in the space around him.
Jack smiled as he opened the shoe box. Inside lay a small bird, sewing needles protruding from its wings and flight feathers scattered around the box. He remembered how Clifford had stood over that bird for hours where it had fallen from its nest. Every time Jack had reached for it, Clifford had begun barking and nipping at him. He'd only been able to get to it by sneaking out while Clifford played with Ben in the front yard and it had been almost dead by then. Almost worthless.
"Don't worry Darkness," said Jack smiling as he cleared a space among the many tiny paws and ears that lay in the box around the bird, their previous owners nowhere to be found. "We're going to have a lot of fun together." | I dropped the shovel just before entering the house again. Buring Donny in the backyard brought tears I had not seen in a long time.
As I plummeted on my bed memories of that golden retriever flooded every space inside me: its hair, once shinny and silky, brushed by the wind of chill spring mornings. It's paws, soaked by puddles in the mud every October day. And most importantly, its quiet yet calming company in the darkness of my sleep.
I had always been terrified by the dark when I'm by myself, feeling both watched and lonely, vulnerable. But Donny, for 12 years, filled the void I couldn't explain. Until now.
*I'm a grown up man, I can handle this* I thought for myself
I forced myself into the blankets, keeping my face buried in the feather pillow. The darkness of my closed eyes were not nearly as terrifying as the one that upholstered the room. The window, letting in dim moonlight and a cold breeze, was perhaps the only thing keeping me sane.
But then it was no more.
The window shut and the curtains drawn with a sudden hit. My heart skipped a beat, just to accelerate faster and faster.
Sitting in my bed, I looked around. I *knew* there couldn't be anyone, but the difference between feeling and knowing becomes harder to tell as fear takes over.
And in this case, the latter was wrong.
I can't quite describe it, since it's ridiculous, but on my left wall I could see the nothing getting darker in some spots. And then, the spots started merging. Soon, the silhouette of a man stood in front of me, faceless and still. It had no eyes, but I knew it was watching me.
"Tobias" whispered the voice "we meet at last"
----------------------------------------------------------
Critics are requested and welcomed! u/Nanochillin | |
[WP] You are the world’s top surgeon, renowned for bringing people on the brink of death back to full health. A group of three people strike up a conversation with you at a bar, and you realize that their careers are the modern equivalent of Dungeons & Dragons and they want you as their new healer. | Dr. Miyamoto looked down sullenly at the glass in his hand that was shaking from fatigue, which he could barely lift to his mouth to drink. He gazed at the bar table through the bottom of the empty glass and wondered if there he should order another drink, completely oblivious to the fact that he was still wearing his mint green scrubs and his long black hair falling out of his ponytail and over his face. His colleagues at the hospital often bragged about how tired they can be and still operate successfully. “As if that was something to be proud of,” he scoffed to himself. His mind drifted back to the disaster of his most recent surgery. Gun shot wound to the head. The bullet lodged right next to the hippocampus, right in the center of the brain. By the gift of God…or maybe as a sick joke, the unfortunate woman was still alive, but she needed immediate surgery. Dr. Miyamoto was called in from another 12 hour surgery that he had just completed to this operation, because his staff believed he was the only one that could save her. Fighting through the sleep deprivation, he managed to to complete the operation in just under 14 hours.
How that patient managed to survive was nothing short of luck.
Miyamoto held up his glass and motioned to the bartender for another drink. He contemplated resting his head on the bar, but he knew if he did that, he wasn’t waking up.
“This drink was paid for by the group over there,” the old bartender said, pointing his long, spindly, white finger at a woman and two other men in the group. The woman raised her glass at Miyamoto and motioned for him to come over. He looked around at the people sitting next to him, because surely, they must be talking to someone else. He looked back to confirm what he was seeing as the woman raised her eyebrows and nodded as if to say,
“Yes. You.”
Miyamoto stepped away from the bar and shuffled over to the booth where he found the group. He looked around and saw a muscular black man with a shaved head, prison tattoos all over his body parts that were visible, and that he was hulking out of his clothing. He looked and moved like a stone giant. The other man had wild, unkempt hair. He was much thinner and fidgeted with his hands a lot while he was sitting. He was muttering incomprehensible things to himself between looking not quite into Miyamoto’s eyes, and looking down at the table. Then there was this strange Middle Eastern looking woman who bought him another round. Her eyes were warm and her face was soft looking and inviting and felt…familiar, almost. Her dark brown hair flowed all around her shoulders. Her body language and betrayed her smaller frame. He had met Yakuza back in his home town, and something about her reminded him of it.
“Hayata Miyamoto. Glad to finally meet you,” the woman said as she stood and took his hand in hers. “Please have a seat.”
“You know my name?”
“Dr. Hayata Miyamoto. Child prodigy from the Kansai region of Japan. Studied at Harvard medical at the age of 15. Graduated at the top of your class. Became Chief of Surgery at John’s Hopkins at the age of 22. Has earned the nickname “Hayata the Archangel” because of how many times you pull people from the brink of death, when in many respects the people should have died. We know a lot more than just your name, doctor. Please, have a seat,” the woman said, motioning to an empty seat available next to the black giant.
“Who are you… people?” Miyamoto forced out the question from his ever growing confusion.
“Oh, where are my manners. The man your sitting next to is Malik. He doesn’t talk much, but he’s great if you ever need a little extra muscle. The guy across from you is Zoran. He seemed a bit dodgy, but he invents the most interesting things when we need them. As for me…” the woman says as she eases back into her seat, “My name is Hira. And it’s my job to keep these two in line and focus their efforts for the greater good. We’d like to have a little talk with you.”
Miyamoto glanced from one person to the next and became more and more confused with each time he looked around.
“About what?” Miyamoto stammered out in exhausted confusion.
Hira reached into her giant black purse and pulled out a tablet with a black and white photo on it. The picture was a tropical area town that looked like it was in ruins. “Our employer has spent no small effort over the course of almost a century trying to keep something very dangerous out of the hands of dictators and mass murderers. Killers with high position and authority to cause something like this.”
“What am I looking at?” Miyamoto asked peering harder at the still grey photo on the tablet.
Hira casually pointed at the picture in the tablet. “in 1954, Soviet friendly forces were removed from power after a bloody coup d'état that resulted in a body count that we weren’t proud of. What authorities and historians have officially stated is that it was a rebellion for produce like bananas to be imported more heavily to the U.S. a regrettable, but comparably small black mark on humanity’s history. But like I said, that’s what was official declared.”
Miyamoto blinked slowly and took a sip of his drink and looked down at the brown liquor. “And…unofficially?”
Hira’s body language became more rigid. She gave a piercing glance to Malik. He stood up and with his massive frame scanned the entire bar slowly, sat back in his seat, picked his drink back up and nodded affirmatively to Hira. Zoran had also stopped fidgeting and sat motionless, staring off into his loosely closed hands in his lap. She leaned in toward Myamoto and motioned for him to lean in as well.
“Someone uncovered an ancient relic. A Toltec relic that was located in an unmarked tomb in Kaminaljuyu. The Aztecs had no name for it, but we have called it the Death Cheater’s Amulet. It grants the wearer prolonged life. Eternal life, even. It’s just that…”
Hira reached for her neck stressfully and continued. “…there’s a catch.”
“What kind of catch?”
Hira reached over and started swiping through picture after picture on the tablet. At first, Miyamoto thought these were surgical photos from a medical journal, until he started to realize that these photos were not from a medical journal. Miyamoto looked up from the tablet. His face started draining of color. “You don’t mean…”
“Human hearts. Children’s hearts to be exact. In order to extend the life of the wearer, they must sacrifice 5 children under the age of 8 and offer it up to the amulet every….single…day. You see, in Guatemala, someone figured that out and was attempting to destroy the amulet, but the dictatorship seized it, killed him, and was in the process of….life prolonging. The people we work for went in behind the scenes and managed to secure it under the guise of the revolution. We had it safely secured up until 10 years ago when it was stolen by a traitor from our organization. We need your help to tracking them down.”
Miyamoto looked around at this party he was sitting with in a mixture of fear and stressful confusion. “What do you want from ME? I’m nobody special. I’m just a surgeon. I don’t…”
Hira held her hand calmly, but abruptly to quiet him. “No you are not *just a surgeon*,” she remarked with a wanton hand flip. “If we needed a surgeon, we could pick from the thousands of applicants we get each year to our organization.” Hira placed her weight on her hands to lean over the table until she was nose to nose with Miyamoto. “We need *Hayata the Archangel*. From here on out, all of our missions to retrieve this amulet will probably be suicide missions. We may need someone with us that can pull us from the cold clutches of the Angel of Death himself so we can live to fight and get back the amulet. We need you, doctor. We feel that you would also be motivated to help.” Hira swiped once more on the tablet and Hira could not stop staring at the person in the photo. It was an obituary photo. His little sister’s obituary photo. “Why are you showing me this? My sister died because the doctor was incompetent.” Miyamoto raised his voice and started becoming more and more angry.
Hira looked at Malik. Malik put his large hand on Miyamoto in a gesture to comfort him, with a grip that was a little too tight for comfort. Hira continued, “We believe that the new wearer of the amulet is posing as a medical professional, among many other professions to discreetly gain access to the children that he needs to survive. We have it on good authority that your sister Aiko was a victim.” Memories of his early childhood flashed through his mind. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. She had died at the age of 5 due to a mistake in her heart transplant operation. She was the reason he swore to become a surgeon so that nobody had to die because of that ever again.
Miyamoto couldn’t believe what he was hearing. The words were lost on him. He couldn’t seem to remember how to speak any language whatsoever. Hira continued, “We know this might come as a shock to you. We can’t imagine the pain you must be going through. All we can say is that if you come with us, we will help you find the man responsible for your sister’s death and ensure nobody else has to go through what you went through.”
Miyamoto fell silent. After what seemed like several minutes he finally answered, “I’ll go, but how do you even know if I can help keep you guys alive?”
Hira let a small laugh escape her lips as she stood up. “I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised you don’t remember me,” she said as she turned her back and lifted up her hair to reveal several scars on her back and neck that resembled gunshot wounds and laceration scars all over her shoulders.
“Let’s just say you come…highly recommended…”
| [Part 1]
The sweet taste of mead made its way down his throat and rested in his belly.
It had been a long day and there was nothing like man's favorite poison to kill its dreary memories. Valhalla's Pub had been such a sweet sanctuary, it was nestled wonderfully between his apartment and the hospital. He began to wonder which of these three places he spent more time in.
"Dr. Grey" A voice behind him said "It is and honor to finally meet you"
he extended his hand. "My name is Jon"
Greys eyes shifted in his direction. He was a tall man, wearing a tight black suit and confident grin. His hand had a hefty gold ring that pinched when they shook hands.
"Honored? well that's nice of you to say." Grey replied "How can I help you?"
Grey had become used to people saying such things, but refused to let it go to his head. He simply wanted to help people. He had never been much for fame or fortune.
Jon grinned, and nodded towards the open stool next to Grey. Grey motioned for him to sit.
"We have been watching you for awhile now Dr.Grey-" He said, unbuttoning his suit and sitting in a single motion. This gave Grey the impression he rarely wore anything else.
"That is an interesting way to open a conversation" Grey replied, his eyebrow raised.
"And I am happy to inform you," Jon continued "That after considering thousands of applicants you have been chosen."
"...For?"
"The opportunity of a lifetime Grey. Have you ever found yourself thirsting for adventure, for action to feel ALIVE?"
"...no"
"Well Doctor I have a great opportunity for you" He said without missing a beat "We would like you to....Did you say no?"
"Yes"
"What?!" Jon lost his composure "Everyone wants adventure! What kind of-"
In that moment a gargantuan hand fell onto Jons shoulder. Jon startled and near fell from his booth. The cool demeanor he enter the room with had become closer to a pouting child.
A hulking silhouette stood behind him. So massive Grey half expected a bear to step into the light, one with a human hand (This image terrified him. He wondered briefly how formidable a bear would be with the addition of opposable thumbs.)
A powerful voice spoke: "Now Jonathan, that ain't no way to speak to our friend here"
Grey's eyes narrowed, 'it can't be?' he thought. The figure took a step forward.
"Names Milly," (Holy crap its a women) "pleased to meet yew" (How on earth?) "I sure hope little Jonathan here" (he was 6'3, but that still qualified as 'little' by comparison) "isn't bothering you much."
She was very beautiful. Her hair messily pulled back in a bun. Her skin was black and her hair was blackish-red. She had a very full figure, and by full I mean of muscles. She must have stood at least 7 feet tall.
Grey hesitantly reached out for her hand. She smiled and placed hers around his. Her hands were soft and delicate. However, it felt as though she could crush his hand without so much as a second thought. As though it was between an iron press, covered in silk.
Jon straightened his tie and pushed back his hair. He had regained his professional demeanor.
"Thank you Milly but I can handle this." He turned his head towards Grey "I apologize for that, it seems I haven't introduced myself appropriately. Me, Milly and my friend over there" Gesturing to a table off in the corner "Are a in the business of tactical component procuring and the as-.."
"We're assassins/ treasure hunters, sweetie" Milly's interruption prompted a brief glare from Jon, but he seemed satisfied enough with the summary.
"Afraid we got orders to get your pretty-ass on board."
| |
[WP] You are the world’s top surgeon, renowned for bringing people on the brink of death back to full health. A group of three people strike up a conversation with you at a bar, and you realize that their careers are the modern equivalent of Dungeons & Dragons and they want you as their new healer. | "An expedition," I numbly asked again, more than a little drunk with the sort of half smile one wears when you can't tell if someone is joking or not.
"This guy's supposed to be smart?" the big guy said, staring into his bottle.
"It's _2017_," I laughed. "There's nowhere really left to go on some grand adventure and explore, unless you guys have a submarine."
The big guy shot me a penetrating look, searching my face for something.
"Smarter than he seems, maybe," he grumbled.
"Yes!" the woman in front of me said, her eyes sparkling. "I told you!" Boy this wasn't what I was expecting when I caught the cute girl making eyes at me and went over to buy her a drink.
She held out her hand. "I think perhaps we got off on the wrong foot. I'm Dr Van de Graf. Elaine Van de Graaf." She shook a little too enthusiastically.
"Doctor of what, exactly?" I asked, perhaps rather rudely. But as head surgeon in this podunk city I thought I knew most of the doctors.
"Err..." She mumbled.
I raised an eyebrow.
"Dual major. Occultism and Electrical Engineering." someone said to my left. I coughed and spun around, greeted by a uh...well what was the PC word again? 'Height challenged' fellow.
"I'm Duin, that's Griff," he said, pointing at the big guy who grunted in acknowledgement. "Since Elaine is going to waste your time trying to convince you of something you won't believe, I think I'll skip ahead."
"H-hey!" she shouted, pouting and stomping. I smiled a little stupidly.
"We're looking for the Lost City of Atlantis, Elaine's enough of a genius that she's probably found it, and we're being chased by a bunch of scary people and can use someone who knows their way around an operating table."
I laughed out loud, just until he opened a small little briefcase and showed me its contents. Inside was what could only be described as alien. Full of twisting bronze gears and glowing with what looked like Cherenkov radiation...or some blue LEDs. He threw it into the air and it stayed there. I hovered my hand above it, then under it, then around it...and then I became very sober very quickly.
"Wh-how...is this-_where_!?"
Griff coughed and stood, clutching at something by his hip while grabbing me with his right hand. "Story for another time. We need to get going."
I pulled away. "And why exactly is tha-"
"Bar's awful quiet," Elaine said quietly.
It was then I noticed that we were, quite strangely, extremely alone for 7 o' clock on a Friday night. Even the bartender seemed to have filtered off somewhere.
"84 seconds," Elaine said, "Keep me safe." Then she started muttering, which of course was perfectly normal to everyone but me.
Griff nodded, pulling out a revolver and a _shotgun_ from God-knows-where.
All three took a drink of some scintillating green liquid, Elaine somehow muttering while drinking as Duin offered me one as well. "Cat's Eyes" he said, as if that explained anything. I was too shocked to refuse.
Duin was fumbling with the artifact. "I'm in," he said at last with a smile. "Lights out..."
"Atlantean computing...practically cheating," he said as the room turned queerly grey.
Then the door exploded and soldiers in black vests burst into the room in a shower of splinters and fire.
Three dropped before they crossed the threshhold, Griff's pistol firing so fast it sounded _almost_ like one shot. Or maybe I just only heard the first shot. It was all certainly very loud.
A mumbled voice...or shouting maybe...and a rough hand shoved me to the ground. More gunfire and the room filled with smoke and the smell of blood.
And then I was somewhere else, on a cliff near the sea, and it was morning. I could taste the salt in the air.
"What." I said, only to be surprised that I couldn't hear my own voice.
When the ringing finally subsided, Elaine shrugged. "I'm afraid I'll need an hour to recharge and get you back t-"
I grabbed her hands in mine.
"_I'm in._" | "No thanks" I said promptly upon seeing the motley collection of fools that had apprehended me the other day for my service.
"But sir!" one of them protested, a fellow with a wizard hat clasped between his hands. He approached me with his head down, knowing full well that I had asked not to be disturbed.
"But nothing!" I retorted. "I haven't the time for your silly little games. Now please leave me be! I have patients to attend to."
By now, everybody else in the hospital waiting room was staring at us, and I had expected that this would be enough to humiliate them into retreating. But alas, that was not to be.
"We are sorry for interrupting your aunt's funeral the other day. We know how Mundanes cherish such things. But our need for your care is more urgent than ever. Please, we beg of you, come help us."
I noticed for the first time that only two of them were present. There had been a third the last time I'd encountered them. "Where's that guy that tried to chop through my aunt's casket? I'd like to have a word with him" I demanded.
"That's just the thing, sir! Warrior Jacob is the one who is in need of your care. He was grievously wounded in a battle with a horrible monster. I'm sure he will atone for trying out his greatsword on your loved one's casket if you were to save his life!"
I considered for a moment. While I did have patients to see, we had been overstaffed that day, so my colleagues could handle it. Meanwhile, I could go see to this buffoon who had probably only gotten bitten by the neighbor's poodle.
"Alright" I said. "I'll do it. Take me to him."
"At once, sir!" the wizard-hat man said. His companion, who had not yet spoken at this point, said "Follow me" and led us out the door.
"Where do you think you're going?" a nurse said. "I thought you were on schedule until 11 tonight." She had been passing by with a cart full of medical supplies when she spotted me leaving.
Before I could say anything, the man in the wizard hat produced a phial of clear liquid and sprayed it into her eyes. The nurse reeled backwards, yelling and holding her face.
"We must make haste now!" the wizard hat man said.
I followed them as we dashed through the hallways, down the stairs, out the hospital door and into a beaten Toyota they had parked on the dashed "no parking" zone in front of the hospital.
"Will that woman be alright?" I asked as we sped out of the parking lot to go who-knows-where.
"The madam will be fine. T'was but a weak solution of sulfuric acid."
Before I could open my mouth to protest that any concentration of sulfuric acid thrown onto a person was unacceptable, the wizard-hat man spoke up again. "You must be wondering our names. Well, I am Magician Mathew, and my comrade here is Ryan the Rogue".
I nodded bleakly and looked out the window, starting to regret my decision to join them.
"First we'll have to make a stop" Ryan said. He had a rather sinister look about him that I didn't trust.
"Alright, as long as it doesn't take too long" I said.
We pulled into a storage facility with multiple warehouses. "Go with Ryan" Mathew said. "He'll get you where you need to go".
"And where exactly is that?" I asked as Ryan led me across the dusty lot to the first of the warehouses.
"In here" he said gruffly. "We'll need to get you suited up with some medical supplies before we can go to Jacob." He started fiddling with the lock and brought out a tiny metal tool from among a bag of trinkets.
"Wait, we're just gonna break in here? That's highly illegal!" I said shrilly.
"Not gonna. Did." Ryan said. Sure enough, the door swung open on its rusty hinges to reveal a room filled with medical supplies of every sort and type. The hospital I worked for could only dream of being as well stocked as this.
"Grab what you need" Ryan said gruffly. "I'll stand watch at the door and take care of any security guards that happen to come along."
I didn't like the sound of that. "But what exactly do I need? I don't know the extent and nature of the patients injuries".
Ryan pulled out his phone and showed me a photo of a man who had been mangled and near ripped to shreds. "This give you any idea?"
I gulped and nodded. So it was much worse than just a run-in with a neighbor's pet.
"Y'know, you really should've brought him to the hospital with you" I said as I gathered the necessary supplies.
"Couldn't. He was screaming in pain every time we moved him."
"Then you could've at least brought in someone to see him!" I retorted.
"We did" he said, gesturing to me.
I guess I couldn't argue with that. With armfuls of supplies weighing us down, we trudged back to the car, which promptly took off to our next destination: wherever it was they were keeping Jacob.
"Did you get everything you needed?" Mathew asked as we merged back into traffic.
"We did, and more" I confirmed. I paused for a second. "But even with the best supplies, I'm not sure if your friend will survive or not. Those wounds looked pretty serious. I'll do the best I can, but..." I trailed off.
"But what?" Ryan asked, somewhat menacingly.
"Easy" Mathew said. He put his hand on Ryan's arm, and that seemed to calm him down a bit. "I'm sure our friend will do everything he can for Jacob. In the meantime, we'll just have to hope and pray. Too bad we don't have a priest in our party, huh?"
Ryan nodded solemnly, and I just shook my head. Did these guys really think that magic words and holy spells had any effect in the real world?
"Here we are" Mathew announced, pointing to a light beige house that probably belonged to his mother.
We all got out and scrambled quickly through the unlocked door. "Where's the patient?" I asked.
"Down in the basement" Mathew said. "Come with me!"
I followed him down the basement steps to see something that confused and shocked me to no end.
I had been expecting to see a severely injured man, or at worst, a corpse. But what I saw before me made no sense. There, sitting near a table and gazing into a thick D&D manual, was Jacob. Unharmed, content, and giggling at the penises he was drawing onto some of the pictures in the book.
"What the fuck? This man is in no need of my help!" I said, justifiably angered.
I then heard the door lock behind me. Mathew had a blank expression on his face, while Ryan looked like he was about ready for a fight. Something about their stances told me they weren't about to let me leave.
"What the hell, guys?! You tricked me!" I yelled. I put up my fists, but quickly realized it would be useless; there were 3 of them and only 1 of me.
"We had to" Mathew said. "You see, we knew that you'd never join our party unless there was a medical emergency. So we made one up."
"B-But what about the photograph?" I sputtered.
"Photoshop" Jacob answered from behind me. "Did you really think a trio of nerds like us wouldn't have enough technical skills to put together a simple hoax?"
"And we needed the medical supplies so that you can treat us for our injuries if any of us ever get hurt on our quests" Ryan said, answering my next question for me.
"Alright, fine, I'll play your little game for now. What is it you want with me?" I demanded.
Mathew took a step towards me and ruffled my hair. I recoiled from his touch. "Relax. We just need someone around to do our laundry, cook our meals, and anything else we can think of. Y'know, like a house maid. Maybe we'll have you join in on some of our games if we need an extra player, but for the most part, you'll be doing domestic work."
"That's outrageous!" I cried. "I won't work for you!"
Ryan shrugged. "Then we'll have no choice but to introduce you to some of our friends" he said, indicating Mathew's sulfuric acid and a few wicked-looking weapons mounted on the wall. I sighed and relented. There was no way I'd be able to withstand the type of tortures they could inflict on me.
"How long do you intend on keeping me here?" I asked, afraid of the answer.
"Forever" all 3 said simultaneously.
"It won't be so bad. We'll take good care of you" Mathew said at seeing my expression of horror. "We'll feed you a bag of Cheetohs 3 times a day, plus diet coke whenever you want it. Of course, that'll be between your domestic duties. Speaking of which, clean this". He tossed me a pair of dirty underwear. I held it, dumbfounded.
"The laundry room is on the second door to the left. Congrats on joining the team. We've been looking for a qualified healer for quite a while, and we're confident you'll do well."
Ryan stayed after the other two left. "Make sure you do a good job around here. We wouldn't want you losing any HP, now would we?" He tossed me a long white robe. "That's your uniform" he said. "Wear it at all times, or else".
Then he left me there in the basement, all alone except for the pair of underwear clutched to my chest. I was beginning to get comfortable in the darkness and isolation that fantasy role-players had been accustomed to for years. I had officially joined my first D&D campaign.
| |
Loving the stories guys; You're all awesome people, and you should feel awesome. | [WP] You set up a sign that says "LEAVE WALLET HERE", as a joke. Much to your surprise, people obey the sign. You wonder what else people would be willing to do. | Title: Leave Wallet Here
I was at my wits' end. After over a decade of fighting, sacrifice and pain it was all coming to an end.
He was going to die.
We had nothing left and have been living off credit for the last year, our once well paying jobs gone and our savings dwindled to nothing. We refinanced the house and it was gone in the blink of an eye, right into the hospitals pocket.
Every dime we could shake loose went into treatment and he kept bouncing back, each time they started talking about 'end of life care' he would suddenly and completely respond to the treatment and be back on his feet. His wide warm and reassuring smile would return and fill me with hope. I haven't seen that smile now for 2 months since the cancer returned. There's no money left for treatment, there's no way to get my beloved back on his feet. We've beaten this cursed disease back before and we can do it again, first it was the skin, then lung, now his liver.
I just need to find the money, I have almost half...I cashed in our retirement, sold the car, the dog and most of our furniture. I work 3 part time, grueling restaurant jobs around visiting hours.
I'm at the bottom of the barrel and I know it.
What could I do now but beg and plead to save his life.
I took him for a stroll, sedated and wrapped up in blankets with an umbrella to block the sun I pushed his wheel chair into a busy park near the metropolitan hospital. We sat on a low hill near the fountain, a sign between my feet. "Leave Wallet Here"
What a joke, how could this ever work. I'm grasping at thin air...
I must have looked like the most pathetic man they've ever seen, tired, old and broken. What ever they saw they were sympathetic at the very least. With kind smiles one by one people left their wallets at my feet, one man tossed a money clip over flowing with bills onto the grass. Woman pulled small leather bound folios from purses or little nylon zippered things from their pockets. In less then an hour I was crying, bawling even at the pile of some 50 or 60 wallets. I've never seen New Yorkers be so generous I' ve never been so happy, I've never been so hopeful.
Wait.
This isn't right, there are credit cards in here and drivers licenses! More then one expensive high fashion wallets made of soft leather. Lots of a cash but who would just drop their lives at the feet of a clearly desperate man like this. The pile continued to grow, tonight I'll try the cash cards or maybe figure out how to sell the ID's. I could hawk the wallets themselves easily some would pull in a few hundred alone.
I had to get him back to the hospital soon but there just wasn't enough....I needed more, I needed a big ticket item like a car!
Travis and I rolled down to the street, near an open air parking lot close to the high rise investment firms overlooking the park.
"Leave Car Keys Here" I placed the sign at my feet just like before, this time sitting on the dirty sidewalk.
Infinite, Ford, Nissan, Lexus, Porsche, Mercedes and even a Tesla!
This would do it, I could easily cover the $232,000 for treatment and have enough to get us back on our feet!
Jimmy! Jimmy from the seafood place where I scrub pots said his cousin runs a chop shop, said he could hook me up with a new car when he saw me selling our honda.
I need a phone! The sign, the sign..."Leave Phone Here" I wrote and scratched out the rest.
5 minutes, 14 phones perfect.
Its almost the dinner rush, he should be at the restaurant prepping for service.
"Jimmy! It's me Phil, call your cousin the car guy. I want to make a deal with him. Now Jimmy its important, tell him to call me back at this number right now"
"Tony Hi, yes I'm Jimmy's friend. Listen, I've got a couple cars here. I want to make a deal, I need fast cash."
Travis and I drove the Tesla back to the hospital, Tony's guys didn't even look at it. It was much much later then I was supposed to have Travis back and the orderly was not thrilled. I got an ear full about how dangerous it is for Travis to be out so long in his condition without being monitored, how his immune system could tank at any moment or how his liver could fail!
"Its okay. Lets just get him into bed, its been a long day."
Her look softens I suppose she thinks I'm just trying to get the most out of my time with my husband before the end.
The very next morning I didn't bother going into work to serve over paid bankers coffee and three cheese omelets, I didn't even call in. Straight to the hospital, I could pay for his treatment. All cash, so easy. It's perfect, its a dream come true. Finally....I could see that smile again. I could have my Travis back.
"That won't do Phil, its his liver. Chemo won't work this late in the game. We need to replace the organ and try a localized radiation treatment to ensure the cancer doesn't spread during the operation. "
"O-oookay doctor, when can we get him a new liver? Can he have part of mine?"
"You're not the right blood type Phil, he's AB-Negative...rare. If we get him on the emergency list today, a liver might come up in two or three weeks. But Phil....Travis is in bad shape, his liver could literally fail while we are talking here. He won't survive long enough for a replacement to come in. Even then because of his condition he might be declined for a transplant."
"Its the end of the road, we need to start an end of life plan. You.....
He....what about........estate"
The doctors lips moved but no words came out.
A liver, he needs a liver now. God dammit.
Where did I leave that sign?
| Hmm how odd! I never thought this might actually work, now whenever I need to go somewhere I can't take my wallet all I must do is put a sign on it telling people to leave the wallet where it is. I decided to take this further and put a note on my unlocked car saying the same thing, "please leave car here", and now I never need to be worried about being locked out of my car again! |
Loving the stories guys; You're all awesome people, and you should feel awesome. | [WP] You set up a sign that says "LEAVE WALLET HERE", as a joke. Much to your surprise, people obey the sign. You wonder what else people would be willing to do. | Psychology is a funny old thing. People have this notion that if theres a sign put up and no one's there, that they are probably being watched. So, with that in my head I decided to play a joke on some if my customers.
I run a shop. It's old and smells musty, we don't do a lot of business, but I have my core of regular customers who barely keep us up. I love them, I really do. They keep a smile on my face and when something goes wrong, which is more often than not at this stage, they band around me like a huge, warm blanket.
I thought to myself one particularly hot and humid July morning that it would be funny to play a trick. Test out some of that psychology stuff. So I spent the quiet moments before opening making up a sign. A placard for special offers and a sharpie where all I needed for my prank. I wrote "leave your wallet." On the placard.
I opened the shop and placed the placard beside the cash register, walked to my office in the back and sat at my small, cheap, warped desk.
I fell asleep sitting there. The warmth got to me. I looked at my crappy old watch which read 3.30. I opened the shop at 9.30. "I needed that" I thought to myself.
I stretched, cracking my shoulders, wrists and ankles loudly, and walked out to the front of the shop. As I approached the service desk and to my shock I saw a pile of wallets. Maybe 7 or 8 of varying different styles. I shock my head a small laugh passing my lips as I broke into a grin.
With that, I started to go through the wallets and making phonecalls to return them. | Hmm how odd! I never thought this might actually work, now whenever I need to go somewhere I can't take my wallet all I must do is put a sign on it telling people to leave the wallet where it is. I decided to take this further and put a note on my unlocked car saying the same thing, "please leave car here", and now I never need to be worried about being locked out of my car again! |
Loving the stories guys; You're all awesome people, and you should feel awesome. | [WP] You set up a sign that says "LEAVE WALLET HERE", as a joke. Much to your surprise, people obey the sign. You wonder what else people would be willing to do. | **The day we all followed directions**
It started with a simple sign, a prank that just appeared.
A cardboard post that told the world to leave their money here.
Now you might imagine my delight when I returned to find
a pile of money, leatherbound, in stacks they'd left behind.
My interest piqued, I left a second sign beside my yard.
"Nudity is Mandatory" on a large white card.
And sure enough, as I did wait on my front steps I saw
My neighbor's wife strip off her outfit, lingerie and all.
I took the car to drive around and hunt for things to do
When I was stopped by a roadblock that I could not go through.
A pile of cars had crashed against a building by the road.
I parked my car and went to check the reason traffic slowed.
Amidst the smoking wreckage, I made out the blurry font
of a sign that sadly read "Drive through restaurant."
| Hmm how odd! I never thought this might actually work, now whenever I need to go somewhere I can't take my wallet all I must do is put a sign on it telling people to leave the wallet where it is. I decided to take this further and put a note on my unlocked car saying the same thing, "please leave car here", and now I never need to be worried about being locked out of my car again! |
Loving the stories guys; You're all awesome people, and you should feel awesome. | [WP] You set up a sign that says "LEAVE WALLET HERE", as a joke. Much to your surprise, people obey the sign. You wonder what else people would be willing to do. | I chuckled when I saw the pile of wallets. But that giddy feeling quickly turned into curiosity. The sign was so simple, the premise so transparent, but it had worked. Even though it was just a small pile of wallets in the box underneath the sign, the plan had proven itself effective and the pile was growing by the minute
So, as a quick experiment I decided to set up a sign across the room that said "LEAVE CELL PHONE HERE" and placed a cardboard box underneath it. Nothing fancy, just plain and bare like the other sign.
I sat outside on a bench where I had a clear view of both setups. I waited and watched as person after person walked up to the wallet station tp make their deposit, but completely ignore my sign.
Almost forty minutes passed and not a single person left their phone.
I was a bit annoyed and confused. So I decided to stop the next person that left their wallet and see what their reasoning was.
The first person to walk out was a young man in his mid-twenties. Nothing out of the ordinary, a seemingly normal person I walked up to him and just went right into my interrogation
"Why did you leave your wallet in that box?"
A bit startled he looked up at me and answered, "Because of the sign"
"So you just threw away your wallet because the sign said so?"
He furrowed his brow and gave me a strange look
"Of course not. The sign isn't telling people to give up their wallets. It's telling them *where* they're supposed to leave their wallets ... Are you telling me that you really don't know why we're all giving up our wallets"
Embarrassed and confused I said "of course I know'
He just smirked and walked away. He knew I was lying
I stood there for a few minutes. Thinking about the strange conversation I just had. With a bit of hesitation I walked up to the box and carefully placed my wallet inside.
As I walked out the building, I realized my cellphone was still in my pocket. | Tap tap tap.
The sign had a rather queer message scribbled across it. "Put a copy of this sign nearby."
Tap tap tap.
They came with sticks and scraps of cardboard and duct tape. Hundreds of them. Thousands. Millions.
Tap tap tap.
A sea of zombies, endlessly scribbling, tearing, taping, and tapping their signs into the ground.
Tap tap tap.
Many were rotting where they fell, still clutching their long dried sharpie.
Tap tap tap. |
Loving the stories guys; You're all awesome people, and you should feel awesome. | [WP] You set up a sign that says "LEAVE WALLET HERE", as a joke. Much to your surprise, people obey the sign. You wonder what else people would be willing to do. | **The day we all followed directions**
It started with a simple sign, a prank that just appeared.
A cardboard post that told the world to leave their money here.
Now you might imagine my delight when I returned to find
a pile of money, leatherbound, in stacks they'd left behind.
My interest piqued, I left a second sign beside my yard.
"Nudity is Mandatory" on a large white card.
And sure enough, as I did wait on my front steps I saw
My neighbor's wife strip off her outfit, lingerie and all.
I took the car to drive around and hunt for things to do
When I was stopped by a roadblock that I could not go through.
A pile of cars had crashed against a building by the road.
I parked my car and went to check the reason traffic slowed.
Amidst the smoking wreckage, I made out the blurry font
of a sign that sadly read "Drive through restaurant."
| Tap tap tap.
The sign had a rather queer message scribbled across it. "Put a copy of this sign nearby."
Tap tap tap.
They came with sticks and scraps of cardboard and duct tape. Hundreds of them. Thousands. Millions.
Tap tap tap.
A sea of zombies, endlessly scribbling, tearing, taping, and tapping their signs into the ground.
Tap tap tap.
Many were rotting where they fell, still clutching their long dried sharpie.
Tap tap tap. |
Loving the stories guys; You're all awesome people, and you should feel awesome. | [WP] You set up a sign that says "LEAVE WALLET HERE", as a joke. Much to your surprise, people obey the sign. You wonder what else people would be willing to do. | For as long as I can remember, I've spent my Saturdays collecting money for charity. I have a small whiteboard, a marker pen, and a little red bucket for people to put their money in. I'll write clever little things on the board, such as "If you can read this sign, please give money to those who can't," and at the end of the day, I'll donate what I've collected to the charity that I've chosen.
I don't know if you've ever done what I've done, but let me assure you, it sounds more rewarding than it is. People hate parting with their money. Whole jobs have been formed around parting money from people, well-paid jobs at that. It makes what I do a heartbreaking endeavour. Most days I'll collect around $10-$20 for a day's begging, a pitance at best.
I recently became frustrated with this trend, and instead of my usual witty slogan, I gave up and wrote "LEAVE WALLET HERE" on my sign. To my great surprised, they did. All of them. People would walk past, their eyes would glaze over, and they would pop their wallet into my little red bucket. I let this continue for a couple of hours in morbid fascination before I decided to experiment.
"BE HAPPY IF YOU'RE GOOD. CRY IF YOU'RE BAD."
They did.
The glazed look would appear in their eyes, and then they would grin. They wore the most joyous expressions I've ever seen, a sea of smiles! One in twenty would break down in tears, and I was there to comfort them. These few could not dampen my own joy, humanity was good! I kept my slogan on the sign for a full 2 hours before I decided upon a new one.
"TELL ME YOUR BEST-KEPT SECRET."
They did.
They came to me, whispered in my ear, told me things that no one knew; things that no one *should* know. Who took the fall. What made them feel good. Where the body was buried. It only took a couple more hours before I erased my board and wept quietly on the sidewalk. No wonder these people didn't give to charity.
Then it hit me. These were the same people as the first, the ones that were happy. They swept their horrors under the rug and smiled false smiles. How could they? How dare they?!
Pen in hand, I wrote a single word on the board. If they could not behave, if they could not repent, then perhaps they needed to be taught. My pen finished the last letter and I stepped back, wiping away my tears and smiling.
"OBEY."
They did.
| Tap tap tap.
The sign had a rather queer message scribbled across it. "Put a copy of this sign nearby."
Tap tap tap.
They came with sticks and scraps of cardboard and duct tape. Hundreds of them. Thousands. Millions.
Tap tap tap.
A sea of zombies, endlessly scribbling, tearing, taping, and tapping their signs into the ground.
Tap tap tap.
Many were rotting where they fell, still clutching their long dried sharpie.
Tap tap tap. |
Loving the stories guys; You're all awesome people, and you should feel awesome. | [WP] You set up a sign that says "LEAVE WALLET HERE", as a joke. Much to your surprise, people obey the sign. You wonder what else people would be willing to do. | "It started as a joke, I just wanted to know if people would do this. There's something in these markers, in the board, or maybe it's the people. They'll give me whatever I want. Do you know how I got that TV? I just wrote "LEAVE TV HERE" and I came by an hour later and 3 of them were sitting on the box." Murphy said trying to explain this to a friend.
They were sitting by their broken table next to an inflatable mattress in front of a 4k Television.
"Well shit, then why don't you ask for money?" Dave said.
"That's the thing, whenever I try to do that people yell at an imaginary beggar."
"Here's an idea..."
**~30 Minutes Later~**
"Alright it's all set up" Dave said.
"Don't you think this is a little suspicious?" Murphy Said.
"No I don't thinks so."
"Are you sure about that?" Murphy said lifting up a box that said "LEAVE DRUGS HERE".
"You got a free tv and are wondering about this? Trust me it will work"
"Fine, if it doesn't then you have to pay all the rent for 2 months."
"Fine, whatever let's leave it here and go."
They both had walked away for 30 seconds when the first of the shadow people dropped bags in the box. The day was retiring for the moon to come take the night shift and the boys headed to the supermarket.
They both are staring.
"Dude we have to get this." Dave said.
"We have no money for rent and you want to buy an automatic ramen maker?"
"Dude it will pay for itself."
"It takes a minute to boil water and 30 seconds for the ramen to loosen this takes 20 cups of water and 4 minutes to heat up."
"But it takes the salt out of it, we'll be healthy."
"We are literally asking for drugs outside and you're worried about being healthy? Besides it says on the sticker here to reduce salt intake 'Use half of the seasoning packet'."
"Fine, have your way Mister FourKay."
**~20 Minutes Later~**
The boys are at the box looking at it.
"What is this?" Murphy asks while lifting up a bag.
"Maybe they put the drugs in there."
"They put drugs inside a magazine? Look at this stuff, a boy scout boxcar, a picture of someone's father at a formula1 race, a toy model of a race car. Do you see a common theme here?"
"That doesn't make any sense dude, why all th- oh my god I wrote Drags."
"You sure did."
"Can't we just replace the A with a U?"
"No it only works once a day, maybe we can sell some of this stuff"
**~At a Model Shop~**
"How much for this?" Dave said slapping down a hotwheels racecar.
"10 Cents." The Man behind the counter said.
"..Alright how 'bout this?" A red Formula One car model.
"Sir, this is another HotWheels racecar."
"uh how about this." The Entire box.
"How about $30?"
"Sure." Dave said getting the money. "Told you I could get the money."
"Yep only $170 to go. And you also gave away my magic box." Murphy said.
"Oh oh oh... Sir! We need that box, you see, we need that to carry our ramen machine back in." Dave said.
"Oh Okay, here you go." The shopkeeper said.
"Wait dave I have a better idea." Murphy said.
**~A Week Later~**
In the room with the 4k TV and the air mattress sits the boys surrounded by red ramen makers and pairs and pairs of chopsticks that line the floor. They both laugh as they stuff their face with the free ramen they got. A bang comes from the door.
"Murph you better have the rent" A man barges in the room.
"We can pay in the fine currency of ramen and ramen accessories." | Tap tap tap.
The sign had a rather queer message scribbled across it. "Put a copy of this sign nearby."
Tap tap tap.
They came with sticks and scraps of cardboard and duct tape. Hundreds of them. Thousands. Millions.
Tap tap tap.
A sea of zombies, endlessly scribbling, tearing, taping, and tapping their signs into the ground.
Tap tap tap.
Many were rotting where they fell, still clutching their long dried sharpie.
Tap tap tap. |
Loving the stories guys; You're all awesome people, and you should feel awesome. | [WP] You set up a sign that says "LEAVE WALLET HERE", as a joke. Much to your surprise, people obey the sign. You wonder what else people would be willing to do. | Ellison woke up around midday. He'd had a bad night and during the colder months it wasn't unusual for him to sleep better during the daytime. He marked out another 'X' on the pavement where the last one had been scuffed up from passers-by and leaned back to wait for whatever coins came his way.
Across the road an old man had set himself up in the crevice between a pharmacy and what might've been the entrance to some apartments on the upper levels. The man was foreign, Ellison could tell from the sign he was holding up to the pedestrians that walked by. It said - Please give your wallets if you can. Ellison sniggered. Money, you idiot, you ask for money, not their wallets. Somebody dropped a coin on Ellison's 'X' and it pinged away into the gutter somewhere. He groaned, didn't move. The coin wasn't going anywhere so he'd get it when he'd woken up a little more.
The man across the way got his first donation of the day too, and made grateful motions towards the businessman, his donor. In his hand, Ellison could see a stylish leather wallet, black. Even from a footpath away his eyes visibly goggled. He drew out a wad of notes and leafed through them, and Ellison had to wonder if the guy even knew how much he had.
While he was distracted another wallet plopped down onto the pavement beside him, and another after that. Soon he was weeping, soon he was trying to push the money back, well...the wallets.
He took the sign down, tried to offer the wallets to other people walking by. Ellison laughed at that. It's not their wallets, you idiot, those people have already gone. And the wallets did stop coming now but the pile remained.
Ellison could see the look of bafflement on the man's face. Then he went back to the board and began scribbling. When he held it up again the sign read - Be happy, no need for money. Ellison shrugged, his english still needed work but it wasn't as bad as the last one. Without thinking he began to smile and that smile turned into a laugh. He couldn't think of any reason he felt like laughing but it came out of him anyway. And in amongst the sound of his own levity he began to hear others on the street doing the same. Not just that, they were tossing the money from their pockets, purses or wallets to the ground.
Shocked, the man across the way crossed out his writing and wrote - Be good to each other. Like before, the people around him began to do just that; greet each other and offer kindnesses they hadn't offered before. Ellison saw a different look on the man's face and he went back to the board. Ellison settled back in his corner. There was enough distraction now that he didn't need to play along with the other actors. This was the good part.
'Good' had now been crossed out and 'bad' took its place. Ellison grinned. The actors, posing as pedestrians, performed admirably. Snarling at one another, tripping others up, even starting fights. The man's look changed again. He was understanding his power...or, the illusion of it.
Ellison picked his moment to extricate himself from the false environment. Everything was running smoothly now, and in a week he would check back in on the simulation, see just how perverse that little old man really could be. | Tap tap tap.
The sign had a rather queer message scribbled across it. "Put a copy of this sign nearby."
Tap tap tap.
They came with sticks and scraps of cardboard and duct tape. Hundreds of them. Thousands. Millions.
Tap tap tap.
A sea of zombies, endlessly scribbling, tearing, taping, and tapping their signs into the ground.
Tap tap tap.
Many were rotting where they fell, still clutching their long dried sharpie.
Tap tap tap. |
Loving the stories guys; You're all awesome people, and you should feel awesome. | [WP] You set up a sign that says "LEAVE WALLET HERE", as a joke. Much to your surprise, people obey the sign. You wonder what else people would be willing to do. | "But why?" I ask, clutching a freshly printed sign. In thick, black letters, it read, "Please, for your convenience, leave you wallet here."
"Company policy," my manager proudly states, his thumbs wrapped around his suspenders as he puffs out his chest.
"But how will the customers pay?" I stop caring about the why and worry about the logistics. Customers would need their wallets to pay for their items. I hope my keen observation would illuminate the silliness of the idea.
"Why, my dear, they place their wallets after paying! It'd be silly to think otherwise."
I shrug, placing the sign in its wire holder at the front of the register. Maybe, it would make sense as things went along.
A man walks into the gas station. He's slim, a handsome sort of 40, wearing a shirt that almost glistens under the lighting. I assume it's expensive, like his slick not-your-mother's-SUV outside.
"Two coffees, please."
I begin to ring him out, expecting to hear something about the sign. He's looks like a smart man, a head manager at a marketing or finance firm or some other cushy office job. He glances at sign, takes all his belongings out of his wallet, and places it on the counter.
I stare in awe, wanting to ask why yet not knowing how.
"Did you just see that?"
The manger clicks his tongue, shaking his head. He sounds frustrated, "yes, hold on a moment."
The manager takes the sign and slithers back into his office.
At last, I feel I have awakened from a particularly strange daydream. Bill walks into the store. Bill is a regular at the gas station and always orders three things: a pack of Newports, the paper, and scratch tickets. Funnily enough, I don't think he owns a car. I often wonder how he even gets here. Sometimes, it's as if he just appears.
"Hey, doll," he greets me warmly, smiling as I already have his usual prepared for purchase.
He lets out a smoky chuckle, "you're pretty good, doll, but I'm gonna do something a little different today. I need three-one-three day and night. A back up for a dollar."
As I punch the numbers into the lotto machine, I raise an eyebrow and smile, "feelin' lucky?"
"Well, gotta retire somehow."
Now, Bill isn't what you would call a smart guy in the traditional sense, but he served in the military for ten years after Vietnam and certainly has his wits about him. He manages a landscaping business and isn't too shabby at it either. I open my mouth, about to recall the whole strange sign-fiasco when I see my manager pacing up to the counter.
He jams the sign into the holder, beaming at the new one.
Bill reads aloud, "Please, for your convenience leave you wallet here with its contents."
What? I think, who in their right mind would be robbed by this piece of plastic?
Bill presses his lips, pondering as he collects his merchandise, "why?"
"Company policy," the manager replies.
Without another word, Bill shrugs, tosses his wallet on the counter, and leaves.
I shiver, startled at what my eyes witnessed. Bill, the not-quite-smart-but-still-perceptive guy, just left his wallet--his card, license, and cash--on the counter and all that prompted him was that meager phrase "company policy". What does that even mean? What policy could require us to collect peoples wallet and belongings?
"Ah, good, good." My manager appears delighted, stroking the edges of his groomed mustache. I don't think you can describe someone as capitalist, but if you could, he was the spitting image. Nodding his head, he crawled into office, repeating "good, good".
I turned the sign towards me. There's nothing particular minus the very bizarre instructions. White board, black ink in Times New Roman. There's no hot blonde with triple-Ds urging you to leave your wallet so she can leave a lipstick stain on your cheek or God knows elsewhere. There's no rough, stoic, yet handsome cowboy telling you the secret to being a man starts with leaving your wallet on the counter. No cute kittens or puppies. No wide-eyed babies. Just black and white and the sheen of plastic, but not even enough sheen to sparkle. Just enough to make you believe it's real.
"Hey darling," Nancy coos, pulling me back to where I'm supposed to be--at work.
"Hey Nancy, what can I get for you today?"
She hums, deciding on which scratch ticket to buy. I watch eagerly as her finger reaches out to a few, but each time she reconsiders, disappointing me. Her humming dies into an silence thick with expectation, but she doesn't notice. The desire for her to make a choice drips off my skin like sweat.
She lets out a shout, either finding a ticket or her long lost son. "Give me two of the 'I Love Lucy'."
I smile and chuckle at the image of Lucy O'Ball cramming chocolate candies down her throat.
"Hey, you know what my friend says to me the other day?" Nancy begins small-talking me as she scours her pocketbook for four dollars. "I tell him I'm buying this ticket and a 'Two-Times' the other day and he says, 'Nancy, you're nothing but a two-timin' Lucy!'"
She holds back a laugh, waiting for my reaction. I'm not sure what's so funny or what a two-timin' Lucy is, but I share a laugh anyways. Anything's funny at 5:30 AM when you've been working for 6 hours straight.
She takes her tickets and wishes me a great day. I'm relieved to see she either neglected to see the sign or didn't think anything of it. I feel a sense of normalcy.
"Oh, I almost forgot."
Nancy digs through her purse again and I wonder which scratch tickets she'll buy now. She reveals her wallet. My stomach sinks as she places it with her usual smile.
An hour passes and we've collected all sort of wallets. Small, large, skinny, tall, short, brown, blue, alligator, some weird one that feels like human flesh that I only touched for a moment. One woman even left her whole purse. Somewhere between the fifth and sixth I stop being shocked and settle into melancholy.
"This is going well. Just so well," the boss twists his mustache a little too eagerly as his eyes undressed each wallet. I want to feel disgusted, but I only muster a sigh. 7:30 can't come soon enough.
"In fact, this is going so well, I think it's time to for phase two of the model," he adds, pleased.
"Phase? Model?" I'm confused all over again.
"No, no, THE Model, my dear. All in due time, due time."
My eyes follow him as he putters back into the office, singing happily to no one in particular. My stomach rises to my chest. The fact that it's empty makes the feeling that much more unbearable.
Soon, the manager comes back with another sign, this time bulky and electronic, with red words flashing across the screen. I read the previous wallet-instructions with another added one.
"Please leave your change."
No one argues. Anyone who questions is met with the same answer that the boss's tongue laps like buttermilk. "Company policy". Those two words are all even the most skeptical need to comply.
The manager chuckles as the pile of money and wallets rises. He's made himself a chair out of all the materials now. More like a throne. He wears an empty cigarette carton like a crown on his head.
"Could you even imagine?!" He bursts out, laughing a sinister, full-bellied laugh.
"I couldn't." In fact, if someone told me this happened on their shift, I'd ask if they were sure they were smoking cigarettes.
He laughs again. "Well, so much work, let's get fun with it."
He holds a remote in his hand. A series of beeps and boops emanate from the electric sign as he adjusts the setting. Now, the font comes in all kinds of shaped and colors. The result is the same. Everyone complies even as he adds more and more demands.
"Please, for your convenience, place your right shoe on your left foot and your left shoe on your right."
"Please, for your convenience, wear all clothing inside-out when entering the store."
"For your convenience, gives two nickels for every dime of change."
"For your convenience, round to the nearest ten dollars."
"For your convenience, only walk on slippery surfaces throughout the store."
"For your convenience, smack the next person behind you in line. Push the last."
"Kick all children while entering."
"Dogs cannot be on leashes."
"No shirt, no shoes, no pants."
"Please, for your convenience, walk on one hand and one foot on the premises at all times."
I urge myself to feel something. Anything. But I'm lost in the absurdity. People are attempting to kick children with their free leg while grabbing milk with the other. Customers begin opening bottles and dumping all sort of liquids onto the floor to maintain slick surfaces. The last customer in line, an old crippled man, has been pushed over fifteen times and can no longer move. I'm not sure he is even still alive.
7:30. My shift is over. I start pushing this days events out of my mind. I'll sort it all out in my head later after some rest.
My boss stares me down, his toothy grin widening. "Please direct your attention to the screen."
I turn, barely able to make out the flashing gold lights in my stupor of exhaustion.
"All employees must give up their lives to the company for their convenience."
Before I can understand, my hand reaches for a lighter on the display case. As I find myself paying, I comply with all the same rules as the customers. I leave my wallet and the change. I begin turning my clothes inside out then taking them off. A customer pours lighter fluid under me to keep the floor slippery. I get down on one foot and one hand, holding the lighter between my toes high above my head. Click, click, click. It lights. It flickers.
I take a final look at my boss, the flame dancing in his eyes. His smile overtakes his face, contorting his mouth into a coat-hanger shape.
"And please, do come again."
"But why?" I reply in a hoarse whimper.
"Company policy."
| Tap tap tap.
The sign had a rather queer message scribbled across it. "Put a copy of this sign nearby."
Tap tap tap.
They came with sticks and scraps of cardboard and duct tape. Hundreds of them. Thousands. Millions.
Tap tap tap.
A sea of zombies, endlessly scribbling, tearing, taping, and tapping their signs into the ground.
Tap tap tap.
Many were rotting where they fell, still clutching their long dried sharpie.
Tap tap tap. |
Loving the stories guys; You're all awesome people, and you should feel awesome. | [WP] You set up a sign that says "LEAVE WALLET HERE", as a joke. Much to your surprise, people obey the sign. You wonder what else people would be willing to do. | **The day we all followed directions**
It started with a simple sign, a prank that just appeared.
A cardboard post that told the world to leave their money here.
Now you might imagine my delight when I returned to find
a pile of money, leatherbound, in stacks they'd left behind.
My interest piqued, I left a second sign beside my yard.
"Nudity is Mandatory" on a large white card.
And sure enough, as I did wait on my front steps I saw
My neighbor's wife strip off her outfit, lingerie and all.
I took the car to drive around and hunt for things to do
When I was stopped by a roadblock that I could not go through.
A pile of cars had crashed against a building by the road.
I parked my car and went to check the reason traffic slowed.
Amidst the smoking wreckage, I made out the blurry font
of a sign that sadly read "Drive through restaurant."
| I chuckled when I saw the pile of wallets. But that giddy feeling quickly turned into curiosity. The sign was so simple, the premise so transparent, but it had worked. Even though it was just a small pile of wallets in the box underneath the sign, the plan had proven itself effective and the pile was growing by the minute
So, as a quick experiment I decided to set up a sign across the room that said "LEAVE CELL PHONE HERE" and placed a cardboard box underneath it. Nothing fancy, just plain and bare like the other sign.
I sat outside on a bench where I had a clear view of both setups. I waited and watched as person after person walked up to the wallet station tp make their deposit, but completely ignore my sign.
Almost forty minutes passed and not a single person left their phone.
I was a bit annoyed and confused. So I decided to stop the next person that left their wallet and see what their reasoning was.
The first person to walk out was a young man in his mid-twenties. Nothing out of the ordinary, a seemingly normal person I walked up to him and just went right into my interrogation
"Why did you leave your wallet in that box?"
A bit startled he looked up at me and answered, "Because of the sign"
"So you just threw away your wallet because the sign said so?"
He furrowed his brow and gave me a strange look
"Of course not. The sign isn't telling people to give up their wallets. It's telling them *where* they're supposed to leave their wallets ... Are you telling me that you really don't know why we're all giving up our wallets"
Embarrassed and confused I said "of course I know'
He just smirked and walked away. He knew I was lying
I stood there for a few minutes. Thinking about the strange conversation I just had. With a bit of hesitation I walked up to the box and carefully placed my wallet inside.
As I walked out the building, I realized my cellphone was still in my pocket. |
Loving the stories guys; You're all awesome people, and you should feel awesome. | [WP] You set up a sign that says "LEAVE WALLET HERE", as a joke. Much to your surprise, people obey the sign. You wonder what else people would be willing to do. | For as long as I can remember, I've spent my Saturdays collecting money for charity. I have a small whiteboard, a marker pen, and a little red bucket for people to put their money in. I'll write clever little things on the board, such as "If you can read this sign, please give money to those who can't," and at the end of the day, I'll donate what I've collected to the charity that I've chosen.
I don't know if you've ever done what I've done, but let me assure you, it sounds more rewarding than it is. People hate parting with their money. Whole jobs have been formed around parting money from people, well-paid jobs at that. It makes what I do a heartbreaking endeavour. Most days I'll collect around $10-$20 for a day's begging, a pitance at best.
I recently became frustrated with this trend, and instead of my usual witty slogan, I gave up and wrote "LEAVE WALLET HERE" on my sign. To my great surprised, they did. All of them. People would walk past, their eyes would glaze over, and they would pop their wallet into my little red bucket. I let this continue for a couple of hours in morbid fascination before I decided to experiment.
"BE HAPPY IF YOU'RE GOOD. CRY IF YOU'RE BAD."
They did.
The glazed look would appear in their eyes, and then they would grin. They wore the most joyous expressions I've ever seen, a sea of smiles! One in twenty would break down in tears, and I was there to comfort them. These few could not dampen my own joy, humanity was good! I kept my slogan on the sign for a full 2 hours before I decided upon a new one.
"TELL ME YOUR BEST-KEPT SECRET."
They did.
They came to me, whispered in my ear, told me things that no one knew; things that no one *should* know. Who took the fall. What made them feel good. Where the body was buried. It only took a couple more hours before I erased my board and wept quietly on the sidewalk. No wonder these people didn't give to charity.
Then it hit me. These were the same people as the first, the ones that were happy. They swept their horrors under the rug and smiled false smiles. How could they? How dare they?!
Pen in hand, I wrote a single word on the board. If they could not behave, if they could not repent, then perhaps they needed to be taught. My pen finished the last letter and I stepped back, wiping away my tears and smiling.
"OBEY."
They did.
| I chuckled when I saw the pile of wallets. But that giddy feeling quickly turned into curiosity. The sign was so simple, the premise so transparent, but it had worked. Even though it was just a small pile of wallets in the box underneath the sign, the plan had proven itself effective and the pile was growing by the minute
So, as a quick experiment I decided to set up a sign across the room that said "LEAVE CELL PHONE HERE" and placed a cardboard box underneath it. Nothing fancy, just plain and bare like the other sign.
I sat outside on a bench where I had a clear view of both setups. I waited and watched as person after person walked up to the wallet station tp make their deposit, but completely ignore my sign.
Almost forty minutes passed and not a single person left their phone.
I was a bit annoyed and confused. So I decided to stop the next person that left their wallet and see what their reasoning was.
The first person to walk out was a young man in his mid-twenties. Nothing out of the ordinary, a seemingly normal person I walked up to him and just went right into my interrogation
"Why did you leave your wallet in that box?"
A bit startled he looked up at me and answered, "Because of the sign"
"So you just threw away your wallet because the sign said so?"
He furrowed his brow and gave me a strange look
"Of course not. The sign isn't telling people to give up their wallets. It's telling them *where* they're supposed to leave their wallets ... Are you telling me that you really don't know why we're all giving up our wallets"
Embarrassed and confused I said "of course I know'
He just smirked and walked away. He knew I was lying
I stood there for a few minutes. Thinking about the strange conversation I just had. With a bit of hesitation I walked up to the box and carefully placed my wallet inside.
As I walked out the building, I realized my cellphone was still in my pocket. |
Loving the stories guys; You're all awesome people, and you should feel awesome. | [WP] You set up a sign that says "LEAVE WALLET HERE", as a joke. Much to your surprise, people obey the sign. You wonder what else people would be willing to do. | "But why?" I ask, clutching a freshly printed sign. In thick, black letters, it read, "Please, for your convenience, leave you wallet here."
"Company policy," my manager proudly states, his thumbs wrapped around his suspenders as he puffs out his chest.
"But how will the customers pay?" I stop caring about the why and worry about the logistics. Customers would need their wallets to pay for their items. I hope my keen observation would illuminate the silliness of the idea.
"Why, my dear, they place their wallets after paying! It'd be silly to think otherwise."
I shrug, placing the sign in its wire holder at the front of the register. Maybe, it would make sense as things went along.
A man walks into the gas station. He's slim, a handsome sort of 40, wearing a shirt that almost glistens under the lighting. I assume it's expensive, like his slick not-your-mother's-SUV outside.
"Two coffees, please."
I begin to ring him out, expecting to hear something about the sign. He's looks like a smart man, a head manager at a marketing or finance firm or some other cushy office job. He glances at sign, takes all his belongings out of his wallet, and places it on the counter.
I stare in awe, wanting to ask why yet not knowing how.
"Did you just see that?"
The manger clicks his tongue, shaking his head. He sounds frustrated, "yes, hold on a moment."
The manager takes the sign and slithers back into his office.
At last, I feel I have awakened from a particularly strange daydream. Bill walks into the store. Bill is a regular at the gas station and always orders three things: a pack of Newports, the paper, and scratch tickets. Funnily enough, I don't think he owns a car. I often wonder how he even gets here. Sometimes, it's as if he just appears.
"Hey, doll," he greets me warmly, smiling as I already have his usual prepared for purchase.
He lets out a smoky chuckle, "you're pretty good, doll, but I'm gonna do something a little different today. I need three-one-three day and night. A back up for a dollar."
As I punch the numbers into the lotto machine, I raise an eyebrow and smile, "feelin' lucky?"
"Well, gotta retire somehow."
Now, Bill isn't what you would call a smart guy in the traditional sense, but he served in the military for ten years after Vietnam and certainly has his wits about him. He manages a landscaping business and isn't too shabby at it either. I open my mouth, about to recall the whole strange sign-fiasco when I see my manager pacing up to the counter.
He jams the sign into the holder, beaming at the new one.
Bill reads aloud, "Please, for your convenience leave you wallet here with its contents."
What? I think, who in their right mind would be robbed by this piece of plastic?
Bill presses his lips, pondering as he collects his merchandise, "why?"
"Company policy," the manager replies.
Without another word, Bill shrugs, tosses his wallet on the counter, and leaves.
I shiver, startled at what my eyes witnessed. Bill, the not-quite-smart-but-still-perceptive guy, just left his wallet--his card, license, and cash--on the counter and all that prompted him was that meager phrase "company policy". What does that even mean? What policy could require us to collect peoples wallet and belongings?
"Ah, good, good." My manager appears delighted, stroking the edges of his groomed mustache. I don't think you can describe someone as capitalist, but if you could, he was the spitting image. Nodding his head, he crawled into office, repeating "good, good".
I turned the sign towards me. There's nothing particular minus the very bizarre instructions. White board, black ink in Times New Roman. There's no hot blonde with triple-Ds urging you to leave your wallet so she can leave a lipstick stain on your cheek or God knows elsewhere. There's no rough, stoic, yet handsome cowboy telling you the secret to being a man starts with leaving your wallet on the counter. No cute kittens or puppies. No wide-eyed babies. Just black and white and the sheen of plastic, but not even enough sheen to sparkle. Just enough to make you believe it's real.
"Hey darling," Nancy coos, pulling me back to where I'm supposed to be--at work.
"Hey Nancy, what can I get for you today?"
She hums, deciding on which scratch ticket to buy. I watch eagerly as her finger reaches out to a few, but each time she reconsiders, disappointing me. Her humming dies into an silence thick with expectation, but she doesn't notice. The desire for her to make a choice drips off my skin like sweat.
She lets out a shout, either finding a ticket or her long lost son. "Give me two of the 'I Love Lucy'."
I smile and chuckle at the image of Lucy O'Ball cramming chocolate candies down her throat.
"Hey, you know what my friend says to me the other day?" Nancy begins small-talking me as she scours her pocketbook for four dollars. "I tell him I'm buying this ticket and a 'Two-Times' the other day and he says, 'Nancy, you're nothing but a two-timin' Lucy!'"
She holds back a laugh, waiting for my reaction. I'm not sure what's so funny or what a two-timin' Lucy is, but I share a laugh anyways. Anything's funny at 5:30 AM when you've been working for 6 hours straight.
She takes her tickets and wishes me a great day. I'm relieved to see she either neglected to see the sign or didn't think anything of it. I feel a sense of normalcy.
"Oh, I almost forgot."
Nancy digs through her purse again and I wonder which scratch tickets she'll buy now. She reveals her wallet. My stomach sinks as she places it with her usual smile.
An hour passes and we've collected all sort of wallets. Small, large, skinny, tall, short, brown, blue, alligator, some weird one that feels like human flesh that I only touched for a moment. One woman even left her whole purse. Somewhere between the fifth and sixth I stop being shocked and settle into melancholy.
"This is going well. Just so well," the boss twists his mustache a little too eagerly as his eyes undressed each wallet. I want to feel disgusted, but I only muster a sigh. 7:30 can't come soon enough.
"In fact, this is going so well, I think it's time to for phase two of the model," he adds, pleased.
"Phase? Model?" I'm confused all over again.
"No, no, THE Model, my dear. All in due time, due time."
My eyes follow him as he putters back into the office, singing happily to no one in particular. My stomach rises to my chest. The fact that it's empty makes the feeling that much more unbearable.
Soon, the manager comes back with another sign, this time bulky and electronic, with red words flashing across the screen. I read the previous wallet-instructions with another added one.
"Please leave your change."
No one argues. Anyone who questions is met with the same answer that the boss's tongue laps like buttermilk. "Company policy". Those two words are all even the most skeptical need to comply.
The manager chuckles as the pile of money and wallets rises. He's made himself a chair out of all the materials now. More like a throne. He wears an empty cigarette carton like a crown on his head.
"Could you even imagine?!" He bursts out, laughing a sinister, full-bellied laugh.
"I couldn't." In fact, if someone told me this happened on their shift, I'd ask if they were sure they were smoking cigarettes.
He laughs again. "Well, so much work, let's get fun with it."
He holds a remote in his hand. A series of beeps and boops emanate from the electric sign as he adjusts the setting. Now, the font comes in all kinds of shaped and colors. The result is the same. Everyone complies even as he adds more and more demands.
"Please, for your convenience, place your right shoe on your left foot and your left shoe on your right."
"Please, for your convenience, wear all clothing inside-out when entering the store."
"For your convenience, gives two nickels for every dime of change."
"For your convenience, round to the nearest ten dollars."
"For your convenience, only walk on slippery surfaces throughout the store."
"For your convenience, smack the next person behind you in line. Push the last."
"Kick all children while entering."
"Dogs cannot be on leashes."
"No shirt, no shoes, no pants."
"Please, for your convenience, walk on one hand and one foot on the premises at all times."
I urge myself to feel something. Anything. But I'm lost in the absurdity. People are attempting to kick children with their free leg while grabbing milk with the other. Customers begin opening bottles and dumping all sort of liquids onto the floor to maintain slick surfaces. The last customer in line, an old crippled man, has been pushed over fifteen times and can no longer move. I'm not sure he is even still alive.
7:30. My shift is over. I start pushing this days events out of my mind. I'll sort it all out in my head later after some rest.
My boss stares me down, his toothy grin widening. "Please direct your attention to the screen."
I turn, barely able to make out the flashing gold lights in my stupor of exhaustion.
"All employees must give up their lives to the company for their convenience."
Before I can understand, my hand reaches for a lighter on the display case. As I find myself paying, I comply with all the same rules as the customers. I leave my wallet and the change. I begin turning my clothes inside out then taking them off. A customer pours lighter fluid under me to keep the floor slippery. I get down on one foot and one hand, holding the lighter between my toes high above my head. Click, click, click. It lights. It flickers.
I take a final look at my boss, the flame dancing in his eyes. His smile overtakes his face, contorting his mouth into a coat-hanger shape.
"And please, do come again."
"But why?" I reply in a hoarse whimper.
"Company policy."
| Ellison woke up around midday. He'd had a bad night and during the colder months it wasn't unusual for him to sleep better during the daytime. He marked out another 'X' on the pavement where the last one had been scuffed up from passers-by and leaned back to wait for whatever coins came his way.
Across the road an old man had set himself up in the crevice between a pharmacy and what might've been the entrance to some apartments on the upper levels. The man was foreign, Ellison could tell from the sign he was holding up to the pedestrians that walked by. It said - Please give your wallets if you can. Ellison sniggered. Money, you idiot, you ask for money, not their wallets. Somebody dropped a coin on Ellison's 'X' and it pinged away into the gutter somewhere. He groaned, didn't move. The coin wasn't going anywhere so he'd get it when he'd woken up a little more.
The man across the way got his first donation of the day too, and made grateful motions towards the businessman, his donor. In his hand, Ellison could see a stylish leather wallet, black. Even from a footpath away his eyes visibly goggled. He drew out a wad of notes and leafed through them, and Ellison had to wonder if the guy even knew how much he had.
While he was distracted another wallet plopped down onto the pavement beside him, and another after that. Soon he was weeping, soon he was trying to push the money back, well...the wallets.
He took the sign down, tried to offer the wallets to other people walking by. Ellison laughed at that. It's not their wallets, you idiot, those people have already gone. And the wallets did stop coming now but the pile remained.
Ellison could see the look of bafflement on the man's face. Then he went back to the board and began scribbling. When he held it up again the sign read - Be happy, no need for money. Ellison shrugged, his english still needed work but it wasn't as bad as the last one. Without thinking he began to smile and that smile turned into a laugh. He couldn't think of any reason he felt like laughing but it came out of him anyway. And in amongst the sound of his own levity he began to hear others on the street doing the same. Not just that, they were tossing the money from their pockets, purses or wallets to the ground.
Shocked, the man across the way crossed out his writing and wrote - Be good to each other. Like before, the people around him began to do just that; greet each other and offer kindnesses they hadn't offered before. Ellison saw a different look on the man's face and he went back to the board. Ellison settled back in his corner. There was enough distraction now that he didn't need to play along with the other actors. This was the good part.
'Good' had now been crossed out and 'bad' took its place. Ellison grinned. The actors, posing as pedestrians, performed admirably. Snarling at one another, tripping others up, even starting fights. The man's look changed again. He was understanding his power...or, the illusion of it.
Ellison picked his moment to extricate himself from the false environment. Everything was running smoothly now, and in a week he would check back in on the simulation, see just how perverse that little old man really could be. |
Loving the stories guys; You're all awesome people, and you should feel awesome. | [WP] You set up a sign that says "LEAVE WALLET HERE", as a joke. Much to your surprise, people obey the sign. You wonder what else people would be willing to do. | First I started simple. I put up a simple sign telling people to leave their coats at the door. Lo' and behold, fifteen coats were hanging from an impromptu rack made from a pipe immediately inside the door.
Then I decided to see how far I could push it. I made a sign that said, "Please remove shoes and shirts before entering." Next thing you know topless men and women come wandering into my diner.
I then realized I had something to gain out of this. I made a sign asking for donations to "Uncle Joey's Booze Fund." Got some much needed free cash out of that one.
Next I decided to have some fun with it. I posted a sign that said, "Send nude photos to (214) XXX-XXXX." My phone blew up that night.
After a while I told my friend about it. He's the kind of guy that has a question and can't stand if it he never gets the answer so he there was one thing he was wondering about the whole process so he sought an answer. He put out a sign that said "Never listen to a sign on a street corner" and the gig was up. | This was supposed to have been a joke, but now I was here, driving around the city and giving people their wallets back. I had never realised how much people had become accustomed to obeying orders, as a sociological study, I would repeat things like this, though with less of a fallout.
The next sign I set up a week later, it said 'check your watch', I put my camera down and there it went, umong those who had probably read it, I had a 99% response rate including looking at their phones for a few seconds instead.
This was worldshattering to me, I could direct the public. I set up a sign saying 'put your hands in the air' next week, similar response rates.
I must not have been the only one seeing this, as, on the next day, after being wierded out by a few people running around naked, I found a sign telling everyone to leave their clothes behind.
I found one person with clothes on in the café next to the sign and sat down on the opposite side of the table she was at.
"You did this?" I asked her.
"No, they all did this, I just set up the sign, I didn't expect them to do this, it is wierd." She said, somewhat abscent from the scene, as if she didn't want to see all the naked people around her..
"Please, don't do this again." I said.
"Well, I won't do THIS again." She responded. "But I will do other things, and I am cirtain this will be repeated by others."
"Dammit."
"Well, got to get accustomed to this I guess." She said. "This was a terrible idea on the level of... fuck, I have no real comparison."
After spending the day as far away from that mall as possible with my new aquaintance, Mary, talking mostly about things like individual agency and the influence of society, as you do when you just pulled that, I found a new sign amidst a crowd looking on their phones.
'Read Murrey Bookchins work' The sign read.
I found Mary on the table again. She seemed sleepy.
"Good morning." I said.
"Hey." She said grumpily."That wasn't me, before you ask, someone put them up everywhere."
"Whats wrong?" I asked.
"All their reading is delaying my access to coffee. I will kill the guy who did this." She responded.
"Well, I still got a shitload with me for work." I told her and grabbed my thermos from my bag. "You seem to need some." I said as I screwed open the thermos and got some coffee ready. The smell alone made her seem more alive than before.
"Thanks." She said as I handed her the cup. She took a sip. She was wide awake after a few minutes. I waited for that to become the case.
"So, what do you think is going on there?" She asked me then.
"I think somebody might be preparing for some kind of revolution." I told her. "My cousin is an anarchist, I am fairly cirtain this is his doing. There is a jar next to the swear jar in his house where it says'Jell: Google Murrey Bookchin', the thing has to be emptyed a lot."
As expected, there were a lot of 'research Democratic confederalism' signs the next day.
Two days later, there were 'implement democratic confederalusm' signs, and a week later the signs read 'question authority and its justifications'.
The revolution was smooth, as everybody seemed on the same page, and it was also nation-wide, slowly becoming worldwide.
|
Loving the stories guys; You're all awesome people, and you should feel awesome. | [WP] You set up a sign that says "LEAVE WALLET HERE", as a joke. Much to your surprise, people obey the sign. You wonder what else people would be willing to do. | "But why?" I ask, clutching a freshly printed sign. In thick, black letters, it read, "Please, for your convenience, leave you wallet here."
"Company policy," my manager proudly states, his thumbs wrapped around his suspenders as he puffs out his chest.
"But how will the customers pay?" I stop caring about the why and worry about the logistics. Customers would need their wallets to pay for their items. I hope my keen observation would illuminate the silliness of the idea.
"Why, my dear, they place their wallets after paying! It'd be silly to think otherwise."
I shrug, placing the sign in its wire holder at the front of the register. Maybe, it would make sense as things went along.
A man walks into the gas station. He's slim, a handsome sort of 40, wearing a shirt that almost glistens under the lighting. I assume it's expensive, like his slick not-your-mother's-SUV outside.
"Two coffees, please."
I begin to ring him out, expecting to hear something about the sign. He's looks like a smart man, a head manager at a marketing or finance firm or some other cushy office job. He glances at sign, takes all his belongings out of his wallet, and places it on the counter.
I stare in awe, wanting to ask why yet not knowing how.
"Did you just see that?"
The manger clicks his tongue, shaking his head. He sounds frustrated, "yes, hold on a moment."
The manager takes the sign and slithers back into his office.
At last, I feel I have awakened from a particularly strange daydream. Bill walks into the store. Bill is a regular at the gas station and always orders three things: a pack of Newports, the paper, and scratch tickets. Funnily enough, I don't think he owns a car. I often wonder how he even gets here. Sometimes, it's as if he just appears.
"Hey, doll," he greets me warmly, smiling as I already have his usual prepared for purchase.
He lets out a smoky chuckle, "you're pretty good, doll, but I'm gonna do something a little different today. I need three-one-three day and night. A back up for a dollar."
As I punch the numbers into the lotto machine, I raise an eyebrow and smile, "feelin' lucky?"
"Well, gotta retire somehow."
Now, Bill isn't what you would call a smart guy in the traditional sense, but he served in the military for ten years after Vietnam and certainly has his wits about him. He manages a landscaping business and isn't too shabby at it either. I open my mouth, about to recall the whole strange sign-fiasco when I see my manager pacing up to the counter.
He jams the sign into the holder, beaming at the new one.
Bill reads aloud, "Please, for your convenience leave you wallet here with its contents."
What? I think, who in their right mind would be robbed by this piece of plastic?
Bill presses his lips, pondering as he collects his merchandise, "why?"
"Company policy," the manager replies.
Without another word, Bill shrugs, tosses his wallet on the counter, and leaves.
I shiver, startled at what my eyes witnessed. Bill, the not-quite-smart-but-still-perceptive guy, just left his wallet--his card, license, and cash--on the counter and all that prompted him was that meager phrase "company policy". What does that even mean? What policy could require us to collect peoples wallet and belongings?
"Ah, good, good." My manager appears delighted, stroking the edges of his groomed mustache. I don't think you can describe someone as capitalist, but if you could, he was the spitting image. Nodding his head, he crawled into office, repeating "good, good".
I turned the sign towards me. There's nothing particular minus the very bizarre instructions. White board, black ink in Times New Roman. There's no hot blonde with triple-Ds urging you to leave your wallet so she can leave a lipstick stain on your cheek or God knows elsewhere. There's no rough, stoic, yet handsome cowboy telling you the secret to being a man starts with leaving your wallet on the counter. No cute kittens or puppies. No wide-eyed babies. Just black and white and the sheen of plastic, but not even enough sheen to sparkle. Just enough to make you believe it's real.
"Hey darling," Nancy coos, pulling me back to where I'm supposed to be--at work.
"Hey Nancy, what can I get for you today?"
She hums, deciding on which scratch ticket to buy. I watch eagerly as her finger reaches out to a few, but each time she reconsiders, disappointing me. Her humming dies into an silence thick with expectation, but she doesn't notice. The desire for her to make a choice drips off my skin like sweat.
She lets out a shout, either finding a ticket or her long lost son. "Give me two of the 'I Love Lucy'."
I smile and chuckle at the image of Lucy O'Ball cramming chocolate candies down her throat.
"Hey, you know what my friend says to me the other day?" Nancy begins small-talking me as she scours her pocketbook for four dollars. "I tell him I'm buying this ticket and a 'Two-Times' the other day and he says, 'Nancy, you're nothing but a two-timin' Lucy!'"
She holds back a laugh, waiting for my reaction. I'm not sure what's so funny or what a two-timin' Lucy is, but I share a laugh anyways. Anything's funny at 5:30 AM when you've been working for 6 hours straight.
She takes her tickets and wishes me a great day. I'm relieved to see she either neglected to see the sign or didn't think anything of it. I feel a sense of normalcy.
"Oh, I almost forgot."
Nancy digs through her purse again and I wonder which scratch tickets she'll buy now. She reveals her wallet. My stomach sinks as she places it with her usual smile.
An hour passes and we've collected all sort of wallets. Small, large, skinny, tall, short, brown, blue, alligator, some weird one that feels like human flesh that I only touched for a moment. One woman even left her whole purse. Somewhere between the fifth and sixth I stop being shocked and settle into melancholy.
"This is going well. Just so well," the boss twists his mustache a little too eagerly as his eyes undressed each wallet. I want to feel disgusted, but I only muster a sigh. 7:30 can't come soon enough.
"In fact, this is going so well, I think it's time to for phase two of the model," he adds, pleased.
"Phase? Model?" I'm confused all over again.
"No, no, THE Model, my dear. All in due time, due time."
My eyes follow him as he putters back into the office, singing happily to no one in particular. My stomach rises to my chest. The fact that it's empty makes the feeling that much more unbearable.
Soon, the manager comes back with another sign, this time bulky and electronic, with red words flashing across the screen. I read the previous wallet-instructions with another added one.
"Please leave your change."
No one argues. Anyone who questions is met with the same answer that the boss's tongue laps like buttermilk. "Company policy". Those two words are all even the most skeptical need to comply.
The manager chuckles as the pile of money and wallets rises. He's made himself a chair out of all the materials now. More like a throne. He wears an empty cigarette carton like a crown on his head.
"Could you even imagine?!" He bursts out, laughing a sinister, full-bellied laugh.
"I couldn't." In fact, if someone told me this happened on their shift, I'd ask if they were sure they were smoking cigarettes.
He laughs again. "Well, so much work, let's get fun with it."
He holds a remote in his hand. A series of beeps and boops emanate from the electric sign as he adjusts the setting. Now, the font comes in all kinds of shaped and colors. The result is the same. Everyone complies even as he adds more and more demands.
"Please, for your convenience, place your right shoe on your left foot and your left shoe on your right."
"Please, for your convenience, wear all clothing inside-out when entering the store."
"For your convenience, gives two nickels for every dime of change."
"For your convenience, round to the nearest ten dollars."
"For your convenience, only walk on slippery surfaces throughout the store."
"For your convenience, smack the next person behind you in line. Push the last."
"Kick all children while entering."
"Dogs cannot be on leashes."
"No shirt, no shoes, no pants."
"Please, for your convenience, walk on one hand and one foot on the premises at all times."
I urge myself to feel something. Anything. But I'm lost in the absurdity. People are attempting to kick children with their free leg while grabbing milk with the other. Customers begin opening bottles and dumping all sort of liquids onto the floor to maintain slick surfaces. The last customer in line, an old crippled man, has been pushed over fifteen times and can no longer move. I'm not sure he is even still alive.
7:30. My shift is over. I start pushing this days events out of my mind. I'll sort it all out in my head later after some rest.
My boss stares me down, his toothy grin widening. "Please direct your attention to the screen."
I turn, barely able to make out the flashing gold lights in my stupor of exhaustion.
"All employees must give up their lives to the company for their convenience."
Before I can understand, my hand reaches for a lighter on the display case. As I find myself paying, I comply with all the same rules as the customers. I leave my wallet and the change. I begin turning my clothes inside out then taking them off. A customer pours lighter fluid under me to keep the floor slippery. I get down on one foot and one hand, holding the lighter between my toes high above my head. Click, click, click. It lights. It flickers.
I take a final look at my boss, the flame dancing in his eyes. His smile overtakes his face, contorting his mouth into a coat-hanger shape.
"And please, do come again."
"But why?" I reply in a hoarse whimper.
"Company policy."
| This was supposed to have been a joke, but now I was here, driving around the city and giving people their wallets back. I had never realised how much people had become accustomed to obeying orders, as a sociological study, I would repeat things like this, though with less of a fallout.
The next sign I set up a week later, it said 'check your watch', I put my camera down and there it went, umong those who had probably read it, I had a 99% response rate including looking at their phones for a few seconds instead.
This was worldshattering to me, I could direct the public. I set up a sign saying 'put your hands in the air' next week, similar response rates.
I must not have been the only one seeing this, as, on the next day, after being wierded out by a few people running around naked, I found a sign telling everyone to leave their clothes behind.
I found one person with clothes on in the café next to the sign and sat down on the opposite side of the table she was at.
"You did this?" I asked her.
"No, they all did this, I just set up the sign, I didn't expect them to do this, it is wierd." She said, somewhat abscent from the scene, as if she didn't want to see all the naked people around her..
"Please, don't do this again." I said.
"Well, I won't do THIS again." She responded. "But I will do other things, and I am cirtain this will be repeated by others."
"Dammit."
"Well, got to get accustomed to this I guess." She said. "This was a terrible idea on the level of... fuck, I have no real comparison."
After spending the day as far away from that mall as possible with my new aquaintance, Mary, talking mostly about things like individual agency and the influence of society, as you do when you just pulled that, I found a new sign amidst a crowd looking on their phones.
'Read Murrey Bookchins work' The sign read.
I found Mary on the table again. She seemed sleepy.
"Good morning." I said.
"Hey." She said grumpily."That wasn't me, before you ask, someone put them up everywhere."
"Whats wrong?" I asked.
"All their reading is delaying my access to coffee. I will kill the guy who did this." She responded.
"Well, I still got a shitload with me for work." I told her and grabbed my thermos from my bag. "You seem to need some." I said as I screwed open the thermos and got some coffee ready. The smell alone made her seem more alive than before.
"Thanks." She said as I handed her the cup. She took a sip. She was wide awake after a few minutes. I waited for that to become the case.
"So, what do you think is going on there?" She asked me then.
"I think somebody might be preparing for some kind of revolution." I told her. "My cousin is an anarchist, I am fairly cirtain this is his doing. There is a jar next to the swear jar in his house where it says'Jell: Google Murrey Bookchin', the thing has to be emptyed a lot."
As expected, there were a lot of 'research Democratic confederalism' signs the next day.
Two days later, there were 'implement democratic confederalusm' signs, and a week later the signs read 'question authority and its justifications'.
The revolution was smooth, as everybody seemed on the same page, and it was also nation-wide, slowly becoming worldwide.
|
Loving the stories guys; You're all awesome people, and you should feel awesome. | [WP] You set up a sign that says "LEAVE WALLET HERE", as a joke. Much to your surprise, people obey the sign. You wonder what else people would be willing to do. | "But why?" I ask, clutching a freshly printed sign. In thick, black letters, it read, "Please, for your convenience, leave you wallet here."
"Company policy," my manager proudly states, his thumbs wrapped around his suspenders as he puffs out his chest.
"But how will the customers pay?" I stop caring about the why and worry about the logistics. Customers would need their wallets to pay for their items. I hope my keen observation would illuminate the silliness of the idea.
"Why, my dear, they place their wallets after paying! It'd be silly to think otherwise."
I shrug, placing the sign in its wire holder at the front of the register. Maybe, it would make sense as things went along.
A man walks into the gas station. He's slim, a handsome sort of 40, wearing a shirt that almost glistens under the lighting. I assume it's expensive, like his slick not-your-mother's-SUV outside.
"Two coffees, please."
I begin to ring him out, expecting to hear something about the sign. He's looks like a smart man, a head manager at a marketing or finance firm or some other cushy office job. He glances at sign, takes all his belongings out of his wallet, and places it on the counter.
I stare in awe, wanting to ask why yet not knowing how.
"Did you just see that?"
The manger clicks his tongue, shaking his head. He sounds frustrated, "yes, hold on a moment."
The manager takes the sign and slithers back into his office.
At last, I feel I have awakened from a particularly strange daydream. Bill walks into the store. Bill is a regular at the gas station and always orders three things: a pack of Newports, the paper, and scratch tickets. Funnily enough, I don't think he owns a car. I often wonder how he even gets here. Sometimes, it's as if he just appears.
"Hey, doll," he greets me warmly, smiling as I already have his usual prepared for purchase.
He lets out a smoky chuckle, "you're pretty good, doll, but I'm gonna do something a little different today. I need three-one-three day and night. A back up for a dollar."
As I punch the numbers into the lotto machine, I raise an eyebrow and smile, "feelin' lucky?"
"Well, gotta retire somehow."
Now, Bill isn't what you would call a smart guy in the traditional sense, but he served in the military for ten years after Vietnam and certainly has his wits about him. He manages a landscaping business and isn't too shabby at it either. I open my mouth, about to recall the whole strange sign-fiasco when I see my manager pacing up to the counter.
He jams the sign into the holder, beaming at the new one.
Bill reads aloud, "Please, for your convenience leave you wallet here with its contents."
What? I think, who in their right mind would be robbed by this piece of plastic?
Bill presses his lips, pondering as he collects his merchandise, "why?"
"Company policy," the manager replies.
Without another word, Bill shrugs, tosses his wallet on the counter, and leaves.
I shiver, startled at what my eyes witnessed. Bill, the not-quite-smart-but-still-perceptive guy, just left his wallet--his card, license, and cash--on the counter and all that prompted him was that meager phrase "company policy". What does that even mean? What policy could require us to collect peoples wallet and belongings?
"Ah, good, good." My manager appears delighted, stroking the edges of his groomed mustache. I don't think you can describe someone as capitalist, but if you could, he was the spitting image. Nodding his head, he crawled into office, repeating "good, good".
I turned the sign towards me. There's nothing particular minus the very bizarre instructions. White board, black ink in Times New Roman. There's no hot blonde with triple-Ds urging you to leave your wallet so she can leave a lipstick stain on your cheek or God knows elsewhere. There's no rough, stoic, yet handsome cowboy telling you the secret to being a man starts with leaving your wallet on the counter. No cute kittens or puppies. No wide-eyed babies. Just black and white and the sheen of plastic, but not even enough sheen to sparkle. Just enough to make you believe it's real.
"Hey darling," Nancy coos, pulling me back to where I'm supposed to be--at work.
"Hey Nancy, what can I get for you today?"
She hums, deciding on which scratch ticket to buy. I watch eagerly as her finger reaches out to a few, but each time she reconsiders, disappointing me. Her humming dies into an silence thick with expectation, but she doesn't notice. The desire for her to make a choice drips off my skin like sweat.
She lets out a shout, either finding a ticket or her long lost son. "Give me two of the 'I Love Lucy'."
I smile and chuckle at the image of Lucy O'Ball cramming chocolate candies down her throat.
"Hey, you know what my friend says to me the other day?" Nancy begins small-talking me as she scours her pocketbook for four dollars. "I tell him I'm buying this ticket and a 'Two-Times' the other day and he says, 'Nancy, you're nothing but a two-timin' Lucy!'"
She holds back a laugh, waiting for my reaction. I'm not sure what's so funny or what a two-timin' Lucy is, but I share a laugh anyways. Anything's funny at 5:30 AM when you've been working for 6 hours straight.
She takes her tickets and wishes me a great day. I'm relieved to see she either neglected to see the sign or didn't think anything of it. I feel a sense of normalcy.
"Oh, I almost forgot."
Nancy digs through her purse again and I wonder which scratch tickets she'll buy now. She reveals her wallet. My stomach sinks as she places it with her usual smile.
An hour passes and we've collected all sort of wallets. Small, large, skinny, tall, short, brown, blue, alligator, some weird one that feels like human flesh that I only touched for a moment. One woman even left her whole purse. Somewhere between the fifth and sixth I stop being shocked and settle into melancholy.
"This is going well. Just so well," the boss twists his mustache a little too eagerly as his eyes undressed each wallet. I want to feel disgusted, but I only muster a sigh. 7:30 can't come soon enough.
"In fact, this is going so well, I think it's time to for phase two of the model," he adds, pleased.
"Phase? Model?" I'm confused all over again.
"No, no, THE Model, my dear. All in due time, due time."
My eyes follow him as he putters back into the office, singing happily to no one in particular. My stomach rises to my chest. The fact that it's empty makes the feeling that much more unbearable.
Soon, the manager comes back with another sign, this time bulky and electronic, with red words flashing across the screen. I read the previous wallet-instructions with another added one.
"Please leave your change."
No one argues. Anyone who questions is met with the same answer that the boss's tongue laps like buttermilk. "Company policy". Those two words are all even the most skeptical need to comply.
The manager chuckles as the pile of money and wallets rises. He's made himself a chair out of all the materials now. More like a throne. He wears an empty cigarette carton like a crown on his head.
"Could you even imagine?!" He bursts out, laughing a sinister, full-bellied laugh.
"I couldn't." In fact, if someone told me this happened on their shift, I'd ask if they were sure they were smoking cigarettes.
He laughs again. "Well, so much work, let's get fun with it."
He holds a remote in his hand. A series of beeps and boops emanate from the electric sign as he adjusts the setting. Now, the font comes in all kinds of shaped and colors. The result is the same. Everyone complies even as he adds more and more demands.
"Please, for your convenience, place your right shoe on your left foot and your left shoe on your right."
"Please, for your convenience, wear all clothing inside-out when entering the store."
"For your convenience, gives two nickels for every dime of change."
"For your convenience, round to the nearest ten dollars."
"For your convenience, only walk on slippery surfaces throughout the store."
"For your convenience, smack the next person behind you in line. Push the last."
"Kick all children while entering."
"Dogs cannot be on leashes."
"No shirt, no shoes, no pants."
"Please, for your convenience, walk on one hand and one foot on the premises at all times."
I urge myself to feel something. Anything. But I'm lost in the absurdity. People are attempting to kick children with their free leg while grabbing milk with the other. Customers begin opening bottles and dumping all sort of liquids onto the floor to maintain slick surfaces. The last customer in line, an old crippled man, has been pushed over fifteen times and can no longer move. I'm not sure he is even still alive.
7:30. My shift is over. I start pushing this days events out of my mind. I'll sort it all out in my head later after some rest.
My boss stares me down, his toothy grin widening. "Please direct your attention to the screen."
I turn, barely able to make out the flashing gold lights in my stupor of exhaustion.
"All employees must give up their lives to the company for their convenience."
Before I can understand, my hand reaches for a lighter on the display case. As I find myself paying, I comply with all the same rules as the customers. I leave my wallet and the change. I begin turning my clothes inside out then taking them off. A customer pours lighter fluid under me to keep the floor slippery. I get down on one foot and one hand, holding the lighter between my toes high above my head. Click, click, click. It lights. It flickers.
I take a final look at my boss, the flame dancing in his eyes. His smile overtakes his face, contorting his mouth into a coat-hanger shape.
"And please, do come again."
"But why?" I reply in a hoarse whimper.
"Company policy."
| First I started simple. I put up a simple sign telling people to leave their coats at the door. Lo' and behold, fifteen coats were hanging from an impromptu rack made from a pipe immediately inside the door.
Then I decided to see how far I could push it. I made a sign that said, "Please remove shoes and shirts before entering." Next thing you know topless men and women come wandering into my diner.
I then realized I had something to gain out of this. I made a sign asking for donations to "Uncle Joey's Booze Fund." Got some much needed free cash out of that one.
Next I decided to have some fun with it. I posted a sign that said, "Send nude photos to (214) XXX-XXXX." My phone blew up that night.
After a while I told my friend about it. He's the kind of guy that has a question and can't stand if it he never gets the answer so he there was one thing he was wondering about the whole process so he sought an answer. He put out a sign that said "Never listen to a sign on a street corner" and the gig was up. |
Loving the stories guys; You're all awesome people, and you should feel awesome. | [WP] You set up a sign that says "LEAVE WALLET HERE", as a joke. Much to your surprise, people obey the sign. You wonder what else people would be willing to do. | "But why?" I ask, clutching a freshly printed sign. In thick, black letters, it read, "Please, for your convenience, leave you wallet here."
"Company policy," my manager proudly states, his thumbs wrapped around his suspenders as he puffs out his chest.
"But how will the customers pay?" I stop caring about the why and worry about the logistics. Customers would need their wallets to pay for their items. I hope my keen observation would illuminate the silliness of the idea.
"Why, my dear, they place their wallets after paying! It'd be silly to think otherwise."
I shrug, placing the sign in its wire holder at the front of the register. Maybe, it would make sense as things went along.
A man walks into the gas station. He's slim, a handsome sort of 40, wearing a shirt that almost glistens under the lighting. I assume it's expensive, like his slick not-your-mother's-SUV outside.
"Two coffees, please."
I begin to ring him out, expecting to hear something about the sign. He's looks like a smart man, a head manager at a marketing or finance firm or some other cushy office job. He glances at sign, takes all his belongings out of his wallet, and places it on the counter.
I stare in awe, wanting to ask why yet not knowing how.
"Did you just see that?"
The manger clicks his tongue, shaking his head. He sounds frustrated, "yes, hold on a moment."
The manager takes the sign and slithers back into his office.
At last, I feel I have awakened from a particularly strange daydream. Bill walks into the store. Bill is a regular at the gas station and always orders three things: a pack of Newports, the paper, and scratch tickets. Funnily enough, I don't think he owns a car. I often wonder how he even gets here. Sometimes, it's as if he just appears.
"Hey, doll," he greets me warmly, smiling as I already have his usual prepared for purchase.
He lets out a smoky chuckle, "you're pretty good, doll, but I'm gonna do something a little different today. I need three-one-three day and night. A back up for a dollar."
As I punch the numbers into the lotto machine, I raise an eyebrow and smile, "feelin' lucky?"
"Well, gotta retire somehow."
Now, Bill isn't what you would call a smart guy in the traditional sense, but he served in the military for ten years after Vietnam and certainly has his wits about him. He manages a landscaping business and isn't too shabby at it either. I open my mouth, about to recall the whole strange sign-fiasco when I see my manager pacing up to the counter.
He jams the sign into the holder, beaming at the new one.
Bill reads aloud, "Please, for your convenience leave you wallet here with its contents."
What? I think, who in their right mind would be robbed by this piece of plastic?
Bill presses his lips, pondering as he collects his merchandise, "why?"
"Company policy," the manager replies.
Without another word, Bill shrugs, tosses his wallet on the counter, and leaves.
I shiver, startled at what my eyes witnessed. Bill, the not-quite-smart-but-still-perceptive guy, just left his wallet--his card, license, and cash--on the counter and all that prompted him was that meager phrase "company policy". What does that even mean? What policy could require us to collect peoples wallet and belongings?
"Ah, good, good." My manager appears delighted, stroking the edges of his groomed mustache. I don't think you can describe someone as capitalist, but if you could, he was the spitting image. Nodding his head, he crawled into office, repeating "good, good".
I turned the sign towards me. There's nothing particular minus the very bizarre instructions. White board, black ink in Times New Roman. There's no hot blonde with triple-Ds urging you to leave your wallet so she can leave a lipstick stain on your cheek or God knows elsewhere. There's no rough, stoic, yet handsome cowboy telling you the secret to being a man starts with leaving your wallet on the counter. No cute kittens or puppies. No wide-eyed babies. Just black and white and the sheen of plastic, but not even enough sheen to sparkle. Just enough to make you believe it's real.
"Hey darling," Nancy coos, pulling me back to where I'm supposed to be--at work.
"Hey Nancy, what can I get for you today?"
She hums, deciding on which scratch ticket to buy. I watch eagerly as her finger reaches out to a few, but each time she reconsiders, disappointing me. Her humming dies into an silence thick with expectation, but she doesn't notice. The desire for her to make a choice drips off my skin like sweat.
She lets out a shout, either finding a ticket or her long lost son. "Give me two of the 'I Love Lucy'."
I smile and chuckle at the image of Lucy O'Ball cramming chocolate candies down her throat.
"Hey, you know what my friend says to me the other day?" Nancy begins small-talking me as she scours her pocketbook for four dollars. "I tell him I'm buying this ticket and a 'Two-Times' the other day and he says, 'Nancy, you're nothing but a two-timin' Lucy!'"
She holds back a laugh, waiting for my reaction. I'm not sure what's so funny or what a two-timin' Lucy is, but I share a laugh anyways. Anything's funny at 5:30 AM when you've been working for 6 hours straight.
She takes her tickets and wishes me a great day. I'm relieved to see she either neglected to see the sign or didn't think anything of it. I feel a sense of normalcy.
"Oh, I almost forgot."
Nancy digs through her purse again and I wonder which scratch tickets she'll buy now. She reveals her wallet. My stomach sinks as she places it with her usual smile.
An hour passes and we've collected all sort of wallets. Small, large, skinny, tall, short, brown, blue, alligator, some weird one that feels like human flesh that I only touched for a moment. One woman even left her whole purse. Somewhere between the fifth and sixth I stop being shocked and settle into melancholy.
"This is going well. Just so well," the boss twists his mustache a little too eagerly as his eyes undressed each wallet. I want to feel disgusted, but I only muster a sigh. 7:30 can't come soon enough.
"In fact, this is going so well, I think it's time to for phase two of the model," he adds, pleased.
"Phase? Model?" I'm confused all over again.
"No, no, THE Model, my dear. All in due time, due time."
My eyes follow him as he putters back into the office, singing happily to no one in particular. My stomach rises to my chest. The fact that it's empty makes the feeling that much more unbearable.
Soon, the manager comes back with another sign, this time bulky and electronic, with red words flashing across the screen. I read the previous wallet-instructions with another added one.
"Please leave your change."
No one argues. Anyone who questions is met with the same answer that the boss's tongue laps like buttermilk. "Company policy". Those two words are all even the most skeptical need to comply.
The manager chuckles as the pile of money and wallets rises. He's made himself a chair out of all the materials now. More like a throne. He wears an empty cigarette carton like a crown on his head.
"Could you even imagine?!" He bursts out, laughing a sinister, full-bellied laugh.
"I couldn't." In fact, if someone told me this happened on their shift, I'd ask if they were sure they were smoking cigarettes.
He laughs again. "Well, so much work, let's get fun with it."
He holds a remote in his hand. A series of beeps and boops emanate from the electric sign as he adjusts the setting. Now, the font comes in all kinds of shaped and colors. The result is the same. Everyone complies even as he adds more and more demands.
"Please, for your convenience, place your right shoe on your left foot and your left shoe on your right."
"Please, for your convenience, wear all clothing inside-out when entering the store."
"For your convenience, gives two nickels for every dime of change."
"For your convenience, round to the nearest ten dollars."
"For your convenience, only walk on slippery surfaces throughout the store."
"For your convenience, smack the next person behind you in line. Push the last."
"Kick all children while entering."
"Dogs cannot be on leashes."
"No shirt, no shoes, no pants."
"Please, for your convenience, walk on one hand and one foot on the premises at all times."
I urge myself to feel something. Anything. But I'm lost in the absurdity. People are attempting to kick children with their free leg while grabbing milk with the other. Customers begin opening bottles and dumping all sort of liquids onto the floor to maintain slick surfaces. The last customer in line, an old crippled man, has been pushed over fifteen times and can no longer move. I'm not sure he is even still alive.
7:30. My shift is over. I start pushing this days events out of my mind. I'll sort it all out in my head later after some rest.
My boss stares me down, his toothy grin widening. "Please direct your attention to the screen."
I turn, barely able to make out the flashing gold lights in my stupor of exhaustion.
"All employees must give up their lives to the company for their convenience."
Before I can understand, my hand reaches for a lighter on the display case. As I find myself paying, I comply with all the same rules as the customers. I leave my wallet and the change. I begin turning my clothes inside out then taking them off. A customer pours lighter fluid under me to keep the floor slippery. I get down on one foot and one hand, holding the lighter between my toes high above my head. Click, click, click. It lights. It flickers.
I take a final look at my boss, the flame dancing in his eyes. His smile overtakes his face, contorting his mouth into a coat-hanger shape.
"And please, do come again."
"But why?" I reply in a hoarse whimper.
"Company policy."
| **Leave Wallet Here.**
72 wallets piled in a small pyramid after a few hours. A few hundred in cash, and more than enough credit cards to set myself up. I waited a couple weeks, of course. A few cards had been cancelled, some reported stolen, but there were just enough to pull cash advances out of. In a little less tan a month, I had a nice nest fund set up. Just enough to move me into an apartment. Which I did. Then I left another sign.
**Leave Jewelry Here.**
Fencing wasn't that hard. Just needed to know the right people, which I, of course, knew already. Necklaces and bracelets, rings and earrings, all piled in the bowl outside of my apartment complex. I watched, dutifully, from the corner. After a few hours, I took the sign, the bowl, and headed to my fence. It was worth more than a few thousand--a few people had dropped more than enough gold and diamond to past that threshold. It was more than enough to set me up in New York City, with a couple months' rent already paid for. So when I got there, I set up another sign.
**Leave Keys Here.**
More than a hundred at the end of the day. Homes, cars, security deposit boxes. Everything and anything these people had, they gave me. Without question. Just as He had promised me. And I knew that it was time. A hundred homes at my disposal meant a hundred entrance points. All I needed to do was track them down, and once there, begin the ritual He had taught me. I knew the time had come, and I, serving willingly, wrote plainly across the next sign:
#Leave Souls Here.
*/r/BlankPagesEmptyMugs for more of my work!* |
Loving the stories guys; You're all awesome people, and you should feel awesome. | [WP] You set up a sign that says "LEAVE WALLET HERE", as a joke. Much to your surprise, people obey the sign. You wonder what else people would be willing to do. | “Have you ever wondered if the Nazi’s were any worse than you and me? If we were told to commit a genocide, would we say no?”
That’s the question my professor had posed and the reason I was standing outside the Cinema 8 movie theatre sweating through my tuxedo. Introduction to Psychology was a joke of a class, touting a nearly impressive 23% attendance and 99% passing rate. I, however, was the 1%. After sleeping, avoiding, and texting through every class, I had managed to fail what some considered to be the easiest final ever given at the University of Minnesota.
In a desperate bid to pass, I asked my professor for extra credit and that’s when he pose the question. Apparently, a long time ago, some nutjob decided it’d be fun to test just how willing people were to listen to authority. They gave people a button and asked them to administer lethal amounts of electricity to someone else. And those fuckers did it! Nobody questioned it, they just dialed up the power and pressed the button when told to.
The idiots. That just went to show how backwards things used to be. Though I guess now it was my job to see if we still were idiots or as my professor liked to say, no better than the Nazi’s.
“Excuse me ma’am,” I said and stepped in front of a lady with her two kids. I motioned over to the sign besides me that read *Leave Wallet Here*. “New policy.”
“What?” the lady shot and brushed past me. “You’re lucky I don’t call the police,” she called after me.
“Enjoy the movie,” I muttered back. I wondered who the idiot really was, the people in the electroshock experiment, or me, standing here with a sign drawn by magic marker and a small wicker basket trying to rob everybody that passed me. I could imagine it already—headlines for the morning newspaper: boy arrested for dumbest crime ever conceived.
I sighed as a short and stocky man approached. “Excuse me, sir,” I called after him.
He took a lasting glance at the sign and then me. “Sorry,” he said and plopped his wallet into my basket.
For a second, I could only stare.
“Are we good?” the man asked.
I snapped out my daze. “Yeah, of course.”
The next lady I approached was halfway to calling the cops until she spotted a wallet already inside the basket. Her eyes widened and her mouth formed a small *O*. She threw her purse inside. The next man, I didn’t even need to say anything to. I gave him a single glance, a nod to the sign and he did as he was told to. Soon, I had an entire basket full of purses and wallets.
At last, my wicker basket could hold no more.
“What the hell,” I muttered. My professor had been right. We were no better than the Nazi’s. Anyone would do anything as long as a figure of authority told them to.
A smile touched my lips as I retrieved the magic marker pen from my pockets. With but a tux, a sign, and some marker, I could have anything I ever wanted.
---
**NORTH STAR TRIBUNE NEWSPAPER**
LOCAL IDIOT TRIES SLEEPING WITH WOMAN ARMED ONLY WITH A TUXEDO, A SIGN, AND A MAGIC MARKER
Sources indicate that an unnamed college student tried getting women to take their clothes off and sleep with him inside a movie theatre. He had a sign saying that all women were required to sleep with him. Eye witnesses claim that he was aghast when they refused and simply pointed to his sign over and over again, screaming about Nazi’s. He has since been admitted into Hopkins Hospital for psychiatric evaluations.
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/r/jraywang for 5+ stories a week and 100+ already written! | I didn't expect people to actually leave their wallets there. I just wrote the sign and went to sleep on the sidewalk. By the time I woke up, there was an overflowing amount of wallets from random strangers. They seemed almost attracted as they would drop off their wallet and disappear. I removed the sign and almost immediately no one paid attention to me. *Interesting,* I thought.
After a hot meal from the local McDonalds, I began to count my cash. I also withdrew as much from the credit cards as I thought possible into my Bitcoin wallet. I began to stare at the sign I put up: it was a small whiteboard and black marker, all with a kickstand. I erased the message and rewrote another one: "Give me all of your cash." As I placed the whiteboard on the kickstand, people began coming up to me and dropping cash into my Big Mac container. "Hey," I pulled my Big Mac container away. People then just put the cash on the ground. I pulled out one of the wallets and replaced the message: "Put all your cash in this wallet." Soon even the cashiers began emptying out the registers and giving me cash. I was fucking rich. I walked out of the side entrance just as a man in a Rolls-Royce pulled up on the other curb. I began to scribble as I crossed the street. As the driver got out of the car, I flashed the whiteboard in front of him. Soon, I pullet out with a brand new Rolls-fucking-Royce.
The next few days were spent doing some of the dumbest shit I've ever done: causing fights in the middle of the street, getting hot women to undress in public, having jewellers just hand me free jewellery. It was truly a mess. I also tested what caused the epidemic. First I replaced the marker, and it failed miserably. Then I replaced the whiteboard and it also failed. Finally the kickstand didn't help the situation. It was a combination of all three that made it work.
However, the marker began to run dry. Panicking, I needed something that could ensure that I would never need to do anything in my lifetime. I began to plan how I would do this. I has someone set up the tripod and the lighting so I could record the video. I struggled to write down the words but as I finished, I turned them around and flashed the words. I uploaded the unedited video to YouTube. 1 view. *Refresh.* 3 views. *Refresh.* 8 views. *Refresh.* 30 views. The view count grew almost exponentially. I laughed almost maniacally as the video blew up.
And that's how I became ruler of the world.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
EDIT: Whoa. This blew up. Thanks everyone! |
[WP] You are one of the best strategy gamers in the world. One day God asks for your help. Turns out the universe is a massive 4X strategy game, and humans are way behind... | "Here's your communication tab, try making contact with one of the alien races around Earth." I took the tablet out of his hands and pressed on the nearest alien empire, 15 lightyears away.
When contact was made and I saw the portrait of the species, I laughed out loud.
God rested his hand on my shoulder. "I see you're excited Peter, tell them how much you like their appearance."
I couldn't avoid my joy, I started typing a sentence, which was immediately translated into their language.
*Homo sapiens Empire - "Haha, you look like a penis!"*
God cupped his face in his hands and warned me in a stern tone. "This isn't a joke, my sweet child."
*Fungoid Empire - "You will pay for this in time, xeno scum!*
God snatched the tablet out of my hands. "Well, I hope you're more careful with your planet managment, follow me." We walked to a comfortable DCRaxer chair, with six computer monitors that had no cables or anything attached to them. It looked like they got their power out of thin air.
"This will be your workspace, sit down."
I sat on the chair, it was as comfortable as it looked, God showed me the Earth, psychologically divided. "Look, most of humanity is divided between theism and atheïsm, how do you want to play it?"
I was in deep thought for a few seconds, then removed all the non-spiritual parties and organizations, and forced everyone to one specific belief. God scratched his head. "Difference isn't good, is it?"
I nodded. "You gave them too much freedom. If disagreements are plaguing a race, then it will never get greater."
God shrugged. "I don't see disagreements as a curse, but limiting them to deciding if strawberries are tasty or not might help, your call."
"Exactly." I skipped time two years further. To Gods surprise, humans now developed holographical technologies and already terraformed Mars.
"I will never complain about fat hardcore gamers again, you earned this position, my child." He gave me a gentle pat on the back and summoned a fridge with an 'infinite'-sign next to my big desk. "Good luck, I'll be in my office if you need me." | The timer struck 25:46 when the message on the screen popped up.
'Decisive Victory!'
In under 5 minutes he had achieve the unimaginable. A world record for something that would on average take at least 40 minutes by the most experienced players. The spectators on his right were dumbfounded, some had their hands over their mouth, some were shaking. Mike waited as they left one by one. You were slacking off on that one Mike he told himself. Looking back at the screen he noticed something next to the 'quit' and 'continue' options. Realism? What the heck is that? Taking a look around the room, it was devoid of the spectators that were watching him. Seriously, what the heck is going on? Deciding his worries were just his imagination he clicked the new option.
The phone in his right pocket vibrated. It was odd considering Mike wasn't even carrying a phone in the first place. Skeptical of his own sanity the boy answered the call.
"Uhh, hello?" Mike asked.
"Yes! I'm saved. Do you know how long I've waited for this day? Finally, a chance for the world's greatest strategist to shine!" an excited voice yelled. His voice strained and wavered as if due to stress.
"Um, who might this be?"
With a huge breath he said, "I am God, and if I may be so bold to say I have a task of inconceivable proport-".
"No" he calmly replied.
"Please, give this old Man a chance. Please!"
God had explained his situation to Mike. This life, all of existence, everything, was just a game. From the beginning God was late in developing human in the evolution stage, and how His mismanagement caused the wars and diseases that we've all known and heard. God mentioned something about the "cocky-ass xeroth's" and how they've already gone to creating Dyson spheres around their star.
"So please! Do your creator solid and I'll even reward ya with any wish you want" said God. Is this guy really God? Mike pondered the circumstances, and decidedly thought that since everything else was boring, this might challenge him for once.
Mike didn't even get to finish his train of thought. Blinking once, he was now floating above Earth, and a UI overlay came into sight. The Earth is now in your hands a voice said to him.
The next day, humans were already a space-faring civilization.
Hello there, I hope you've enjoyed this. This is the first story I've written on Reddit, and criticism is much appreciated. Thank you! | |
I love the difference to directions the writers took their characters. Great work all. | [Wp] After being grievously wounded by the hero, you are nursed back to health by a hermit who doesn't know who you are | "So, I think today is a good day to talk about what got you so good."
The old, hunched woman spoke from her rocking chair to the man lying on a cot. The pair were sitting in the woman's hut, surrounded by bottles, vials, herbs, and various weighty tomes - they adorned the walls, they sat in piles and stacks on the floor, they hung from the ceiling. The man lay on the cot with one arm over his stomach and the other propping him up in bed. From under the bandages on his head he looked at the woman with eyes the color of bone, blood, and jet.
"Do you really want to know?" the man said. His voice sounded worse than he remembered - it had been almost five weeks since he had spoken more than screaming profanity when the woman was tending to his wounds. He had come to her inches from death; the man's body had been covered in blood, soaking his hair and sticking his pants to his legs. He had suffered two big cuts to his back and one huge gash to the fat of his left leg, forcing him to limp. He had almost been disemboweled by a cut to the midsection, but he had been smart enough to make a makeshift bandage for it - he hadn't been smart enough to keep it clean though. He had lost his left eye to a strange burn the woman struggled to manage.
"I'd like to know," the woman said without flinching.
The man closed his eyes and sighed. "Well, are you a member of the Faith?"
"I don't take it as truth and law as most people do, but I'm well versed in its Book."
"Then you know that Heaven has envoys on Earth to live among men,"
"Humans," the woman corrected.
"What?"
The woman guffawed at this, "Not all of us humans have a member between their legs. Some of us have more than just a tube for fluids."
The man paused, looking at the woman for a moment in genuine amazement, then laughed as hard as his wounds allowed him to. "I see what He means, your fire is a redeeming quality - among a slew of flaws," the man said, adding a little comedic bite to the last part, expecting a retort from her.
Instead, the woman grew silent and tense before she spoke, "You speak about humans as though you weren't a member of the family."
"I am not, and I think you knew that. You just didn't know what the alternative was."
"So what are you, then," the woman said. There was something in her voice that peeked the envoy's interest - fear? No, anger. Interesting.
"Heaven has envoys on Earth to live alongside humans," he spoke, pausing and inflecting on the word 'human,' then continued, "to protect them from the envoys of Hell."
The woman sat in silence for a moment, staring severely at the man laying on her cot. She had spent five weeks with this man, nursing him back to health after he was almost torn apart, and she hadn't known a thing about him. And now, it turns out, he isn't even really a 'he.' He was an it.
"Ooh, how scathing," the demon said, listening to the woman's thoughts, "'He was an it'? Really?" The demon shook his head, clicking his tongue and wagging his finger to chastise the woman. "That's no way to treat a Lord..."
The old woman narrowed her eyes in confusion, then they went wide in realization. The color drained from her face - now, she was afraid.
"As well you should be. Afraid, that is. It's not every day a holy crusader is able to identify me for who I am, best me in single combat, and manage to wound me enough to keep me incapacitated in a human vessel, but alive enough that I can't go scurrying back to my palace in Hell."
"You can't be real," the old woman said in disbelief.
"Oh, well, my name isn't Lucifer, Angel-son of God...but yes, I am the Lord of Hell."
"You can't be..." the woman began again, but was cut off.
"I am real, and you are tiring me," the Lord of Hell gestured sharply with his hand and the woman suddenly felt a great hand grip over her, trapping her in the chair.
"Thank you for patching up this meat-sack enough, but I think I'm heading to greener pastures," the Lord of Hell said, looking at the woman like a predator at prey. "Unsuspecting old women have many more secrets than anyone every knows." | Two seasons passed on that lonely hill as I lay.
I was asleep for most of it, the muddled grey sleep of the dying. I drifted into morning and watched the cold rain pile off the mossy shingles and then an hour later, would wake to the hermit holding out a poor shepard's stew, what he could spare. I'd eat and again sleep. I'd wake in the night and hear the old man own labored breathing, his own flickering life in sleep. I'd wake at noon with the room reflected with green of the meadow, and he'd be playing chess next to the earthen window, smoking. Or I'd wake to him reading a book, muttering. My body hurt, far more with bedridden demons than the punishment I was served for failure. I escaped back into sleep when I could. I hadn't the energy to question why the hermit had taken me in. I couldn't know why he was nursing me back to health, but he was, and that's all my state allowed -- _but he was, but he was._ Drifting through the spring and summer.
If he had known who I was, perhaps he wouldn't.
One overcast, hungry day, he came in with the carcass of a goat, dragging it by rope in a brown canvas. I could smell the blood and meat. I watched him be the butcher, wielding knife with the hard-aged veined knuckles, and as he worked, he talked to me about Frennick. He asked if I knew him. His voice strained like a stiff-strung violin. I said I didn't.
I didn't, of course, tell him how I knew him. How he was as my good friend and brother. And I didn't tell him how I had betrayed Frennick for the money. How, I thought my good friend was everything wrong with this new idealism of Sanctuary. How it was impossible to resist occupation, anyways, and what would a hermit like him need of society Sanctuary always so pretentiously, so naively promised to build? I could hear the reverence in his old voice, for the resistance.
He wrapped the meat in wax and salt, and tied it with thick hemp. And a cut of its flank, he left out to cube and toss in an black iron pot, with meadowroot, heather and leaves of cabbage. It was one of the better meals of my life. As I chewed slowly with pleasure, he talked nonsense, old mystical references and glimmering with a kooky hope in Sanctuary.
That was the closest we got to a conversation, the hermit and I.
One night, late summer, I stood, slowly, painfully from my bed. He was asleep when I did. It felt like my back was made of torturous pins and lethargy. I stood in the lightless cabin, and heard his labored sleeping, breathing. The familiar voice outside, ordering for the hermit's death.
I did so, mercifully. It barely took any time at all.
|
[WP] "Wait, wait, wait…you're not actually going to eat that, are you?" | It sat before me, that vile lump of putrefied slop. In the dim light it wobbled indignantly, near translucent and slick with slime. The colour was that of nightmares; greens and blues of the most maddening hue swirled and twisted within the gelatinous confines of the mass. Uneven chunks of god knows what lay suspended within the goo.
The sight of the mass near made me wretch, a knot forming in my bowels. Surely this horror would be the end of me, should I deign to ingest it. The very thought sickened me to my core, every basic instinct I possessed urging me to flee this unnatural abomination of gel and hate. No man would be mad enough to brave this ultimate test of intestinal fortitude.
And yet circumstance had forced me to do just that. Already I could feel eyes burning into me, surrounded by an audience I dare not glimpse. Their subconscious urging set my nerves on fire, a hot wash filling me as I reluctantly lifted my spoon.
The metal felt cold as ice, sapping the warmth of my being as it plunged towards that grotesque lump of thrice-damned glorp. Steel pressed into gel, the mass recoiling from my advances, until with a sickening squelch the spoon found purchase. With a careful motion I pulled forth a wiggling chunk, quivering as I brought it to my face.
The aroma was indescribable; an amalgamation of sickening sweetness and pungent punch. Sweat beaded on my forehead as I came to terms with this impending doom, the situation becoming near unbearable.
At the unspoken goading of my captives, I bit down on the spoon, teeth grinding against metal as I pulled the utensil free. Now released of its prison, the mass of goo rested heavily on my tongue. A crash of flavours assaulted my senses, watering my eyes and churning my guts. It was as if Hell had been compacted into one horrific bite. I wasted no time downing the demonic tidbit, the creeping sensation of a semi-solid plunging towards my bowels. Every fibre of my being rejected the unholy thing that now nested within my guts.
Yet I had done it. I had survived the first bite of my aunts Jello surprise. | "What do you mean?" asked Terrance, feigning ignorance.
"You found that in the goddamn trash! You don't know where it's been!" replied Karen, her hands at her temples.
"Well, I know it's been in the trash, for one thing," Terrance said, holding back a smirk.
Karen sighed in exasperation. "What is your deal today?" she demanded.
Terrance rolled his eyes and set the half-eaten tuna sandwich on the table. "Look," he said. "We come to the mall. I offer to eat at the Subway. Good food. But *you* want the fucking Panda Express. I offer to meet you there. You say no. That's fine. But then you fucking throw a goddamn fit over it! I feel like—"
"Terrance. Terrance! That is *not* how it happened. You're simplifying things and making me look bad, putting... putting words in my mouth, making me—"
Terrance gave a big grin, picked up the tuna sandwich, and took a hearty bite.
"Fuck!" Karen shouted, clearly distressed. "*Stop it!*"
"Stop what? I'm just enjoying a nice meal with my girlfriend." Terrance chewed slowly and pensively.
"I'm not—can you please just—*Terrance*."
Terrance looked up from his sandwich. He furrowed his brow. "Huh?"
Karen threw up her hands. "It's over. I... I can't do this anymore! First the thing with the urinal, now this? Not to mention your stupid 'outfits'. This just isn't happening."
Karen stood up swiftly, knocking over her chair to her embarrassment. She grabbed her tray of orange chicken and stormed off.
As Karen walked away, Terrance watched in a state that was half dismay, half relief. After a moment, he shrugged and took another bite. *It's not Subway*, he thought, *but what the hell.* | |
[WP] "Wait, wait, wait…you're not actually going to eat that, are you?" | “Well, why wouldn't I? You did offer to give me 25 dollars if I ate a live cockroach, didn't you?”
“Well yah, but Zack I didn’t think you would actually try anything you idiot. It was a joke you dolt!”
“But if I eat it, I do get the money, don't I?”
“Well, I guess, sure.”
“If I may intervene, please.” I turned to look at the cockroach, as it raised its legs and began to speak. “I would just like to point out that I don’t really want to be eaten as of now.” Sweating, I stuttered, unprepared to be confronted by a cockroach about eating that said cockroach.
“Well I-I-I guess if you don’t want to be e-e-eaten, I’ll p-put you down”
“Well wait a minute there Zack, I’ll give you 35 if you eat it now.”
“You just said a goddamn minute ago that you said it was a joke! What the fuck man?!?”
“Well that was then, now I want you to eat it. There’s 35 dollars in it for you.” My friend stared smugly at me, crossing his arms, wallet in hand. “Well?”
I looked back at the cockroach, who appeared to be staring at me quite intensely, as if trying to influence me with his mind. “Well then, do you want to be eaten?”
His antenna twitched. “Well I suppose today is as good as any day to be gnashed to death by big teeth as I scream in fear.”
“That doesn’t sound like you want to be eaten very much.”
“Of course I don’t want to be eaten you idiotic boy. But if you’re considering it, might I interest you in looking at my wife and kids, and my pet fly? I am the primary breadwinner in my family, and they’d most likely be devastated if I died.”
I looked at him. Frankly, I was quite mad at how he tried to influence me. But his pet fly though…
I looked at my friend. I looked at the wallet in his hand. I looked back down at the cockroach, whom was trying to put on some sort of ‘cute-face’, which looked more like my face when constipated. I looked at the wallet again. I came face to face with my friend, egging me on to eat the cockroach.
I put the cockroach in his mouth, as he twitched his legs and tried to scramble out of my hand. I bit down. I swallowed. I looked over at my gaping friend, strode over, and took his wallet, taking out my much-deserved $35.
I walked away, my friend still staring at me, mouth wide open.
And I thought to myself *‘That actually tasted pretty good.’*
| "What do you mean?" asked Terrance, feigning ignorance.
"You found that in the goddamn trash! You don't know where it's been!" replied Karen, her hands at her temples.
"Well, I know it's been in the trash, for one thing," Terrance said, holding back a smirk.
Karen sighed in exasperation. "What is your deal today?" she demanded.
Terrance rolled his eyes and set the half-eaten tuna sandwich on the table. "Look," he said. "We come to the mall. I offer to eat at the Subway. Good food. But *you* want the fucking Panda Express. I offer to meet you there. You say no. That's fine. But then you fucking throw a goddamn fit over it! I feel like—"
"Terrance. Terrance! That is *not* how it happened. You're simplifying things and making me look bad, putting... putting words in my mouth, making me—"
Terrance gave a big grin, picked up the tuna sandwich, and took a hearty bite.
"Fuck!" Karen shouted, clearly distressed. "*Stop it!*"
"Stop what? I'm just enjoying a nice meal with my girlfriend." Terrance chewed slowly and pensively.
"I'm not—can you please just—*Terrance*."
Terrance looked up from his sandwich. He furrowed his brow. "Huh?"
Karen threw up her hands. "It's over. I... I can't do this anymore! First the thing with the urinal, now this? Not to mention your stupid 'outfits'. This just isn't happening."
Karen stood up swiftly, knocking over her chair to her embarrassment. She grabbed her tray of orange chicken and stormed off.
As Karen walked away, Terrance watched in a state that was half dismay, half relief. After a moment, he shrugged and took another bite. *It's not Subway*, he thought, *but what the hell.* | |
[WP] "Wait, wait, wait…you're not actually going to eat that, are you?" | It sat before me, that vile lump of putrefied slop. In the dim light it wobbled indignantly, near translucent and slick with slime. The colour was that of nightmares; greens and blues of the most maddening hue swirled and twisted within the gelatinous confines of the mass. Uneven chunks of god knows what lay suspended within the goo.
The sight of the mass near made me wretch, a knot forming in my bowels. Surely this horror would be the end of me, should I deign to ingest it. The very thought sickened me to my core, every basic instinct I possessed urging me to flee this unnatural abomination of gel and hate. No man would be mad enough to brave this ultimate test of intestinal fortitude.
And yet circumstance had forced me to do just that. Already I could feel eyes burning into me, surrounded by an audience I dare not glimpse. Their subconscious urging set my nerves on fire, a hot wash filling me as I reluctantly lifted my spoon.
The metal felt cold as ice, sapping the warmth of my being as it plunged towards that grotesque lump of thrice-damned glorp. Steel pressed into gel, the mass recoiling from my advances, until with a sickening squelch the spoon found purchase. With a careful motion I pulled forth a wiggling chunk, quivering as I brought it to my face.
The aroma was indescribable; an amalgamation of sickening sweetness and pungent punch. Sweat beaded on my forehead as I came to terms with this impending doom, the situation becoming near unbearable.
At the unspoken goading of my captives, I bit down on the spoon, teeth grinding against metal as I pulled the utensil free. Now released of its prison, the mass of goo rested heavily on my tongue. A crash of flavours assaulted my senses, watering my eyes and churning my guts. It was as if Hell had been compacted into one horrific bite. I wasted no time downing the demonic tidbit, the creeping sensation of a semi-solid plunging towards my bowels. Every fibre of my being rejected the unholy thing that now nested within my guts.
Yet I had done it. I had survived the first bite of my aunts Jello surprise. | "Wait, wait, wait... you're not actually going to eat that, are you?"
"Dude, it's the five second rule and with those Winchesters running around, food is hard to come by quietly."
We had this conversation at least once a week. Living as a werewolf in this world was a difficult thing. A difficult thing made even worse being hunted by those... people. We never chose this life. We never chose to become monsters.
The guy who is constantly nagging me about my unhealthy habits is my kid brother. His name is Freddy, but he goes by F-Dog. A play on words about our shared... illness. He's a sweet kid who cares about our mutual health and well-being. The only problem he has is the fact that instead of killing humans, ransacking morgues, or taking a job as a CNA, I'd rather go out to the local cattle farm, slash up a cow or two when Old Man Jenkins goes on his late night booze trips, making it look like a coyote did it. It's been working pretty well, we haven't had to move for the last few months. But, something seems off. I'm seeing more guys in suits poking their heads around places they shouldn't.
Maybe it's time to get moving again... | |
[WP] "Wait, wait, wait…you're not actually going to eat that, are you?" | “Well, why wouldn't I? You did offer to give me 25 dollars if I ate a live cockroach, didn't you?”
“Well yah, but Zack I didn’t think you would actually try anything you idiot. It was a joke you dolt!”
“But if I eat it, I do get the money, don't I?”
“Well, I guess, sure.”
“If I may intervene, please.” I turned to look at the cockroach, as it raised its legs and began to speak. “I would just like to point out that I don’t really want to be eaten as of now.” Sweating, I stuttered, unprepared to be confronted by a cockroach about eating that said cockroach.
“Well I-I-I guess if you don’t want to be e-e-eaten, I’ll p-put you down”
“Well wait a minute there Zack, I’ll give you 35 if you eat it now.”
“You just said a goddamn minute ago that you said it was a joke! What the fuck man?!?”
“Well that was then, now I want you to eat it. There’s 35 dollars in it for you.” My friend stared smugly at me, crossing his arms, wallet in hand. “Well?”
I looked back at the cockroach, who appeared to be staring at me quite intensely, as if trying to influence me with his mind. “Well then, do you want to be eaten?”
His antenna twitched. “Well I suppose today is as good as any day to be gnashed to death by big teeth as I scream in fear.”
“That doesn’t sound like you want to be eaten very much.”
“Of course I don’t want to be eaten you idiotic boy. But if you’re considering it, might I interest you in looking at my wife and kids, and my pet fly? I am the primary breadwinner in my family, and they’d most likely be devastated if I died.”
I looked at him. Frankly, I was quite mad at how he tried to influence me. But his pet fly though…
I looked at my friend. I looked at the wallet in his hand. I looked back down at the cockroach, whom was trying to put on some sort of ‘cute-face’, which looked more like my face when constipated. I looked at the wallet again. I came face to face with my friend, egging me on to eat the cockroach.
I put the cockroach in his mouth, as he twitched his legs and tried to scramble out of my hand. I bit down. I swallowed. I looked over at my gaping friend, strode over, and took his wallet, taking out my much-deserved $35.
I walked away, my friend still staring at me, mouth wide open.
And I thought to myself *‘That actually tasted pretty good.’*
| "Wait, wait, wait... you're not actually going to eat that, are you?"
"Dude, it's the five second rule and with those Winchesters running around, food is hard to come by quietly."
We had this conversation at least once a week. Living as a werewolf in this world was a difficult thing. A difficult thing made even worse being hunted by those... people. We never chose this life. We never chose to become monsters.
The guy who is constantly nagging me about my unhealthy habits is my kid brother. His name is Freddy, but he goes by F-Dog. A play on words about our shared... illness. He's a sweet kid who cares about our mutual health and well-being. The only problem he has is the fact that instead of killing humans, ransacking morgues, or taking a job as a CNA, I'd rather go out to the local cattle farm, slash up a cow or two when Old Man Jenkins goes on his late night booze trips, making it look like a coyote did it. It's been working pretty well, we haven't had to move for the last few months. But, something seems off. I'm seeing more guys in suits poking their heads around places they shouldn't.
Maybe it's time to get moving again... | |
[WP] A man wakes up in heaven, but assured that he shouldn't be there, he tries to convince God that he made the wrong decision | "Umm... there's been a mistake."
"A mistake?" God asked.
"Yes!" the man said.
"How so?" God asked, seeming genuinely confused.
"I. Fucking. Hate you." replied the man. The way he punctuated each word left little room for to doubt that he meant it.
"Your Book, killed millions of people. Hurt, subjugated and enslaved millions more. Horrible atrocities where committed in *your* name by people swearing to *your* word, and you allowed it."
"You personally condemned us for being curious, and cast out Adam and Eve for the 'crime' of wanting to know. You designed us to be skeptical of things that go against our experience, assumably for our survival, so as that we don't jump off a cliff just because someone told us we could fly. Then you turn around and demonstrate no concrete evidence of yourself for generations at a time, yet demand that they believe in you blindly at punishment of eternal suffering if they do not."
"I hate you. By all reason as far as I can tell you are a jealous and petty tyrant. You may have real power, I might have no hope of ever standing up to you, but so long as you enforce your will upon humans by punishment of death or worse, I shall oppose you. I have long decided that I would go to Hell, and join in the fight against you and you're 'angles'. Am I not a blasphemer against your word? Should the gates of heaven not be closed to me?".
Silence settled as the man finished his piece. God simply stared at the man, arms folded across his chest. Unmoving. Unflinching. A statue in contemplation.
After what seemed like eternity God uncrossed his arms and let out a satisfied sigh.
"You have done well, my son."
The man was slightly taken aback. He had been ready for fire and brimstone. The last thing he had expected after telling God himself that he hated him, was for God to offer his approval.
Noticing that the man was caught off-guard, God continued:
"My son, what you have rebelled against is not me. What you have rebelled against is the representation of me that has been twisted and distorted by Lucifer and his forces of Darkness on Earth. I lament to admit that in my love, I failed to notice the machinations of Lucifer until it was too late. My influence on the world has been greatly restricted, my likeness stolen and distorted to assist in subjugating mankind. It is because that in your life you where able to recognize the true face of evil and rebel against it, even if you thought that face represented me, that you have earned your rightful place in Heaven. You have done well. In the face of all the odds you forged your own path and found the light. I am not the face shown to you in your books. The fact that your hate was mistakenly directed towards me matters not one bit. It is the ideals you struggled for that made your life righteous. That you would stand up to God himself in the process only makes you more courageous."
God paused for a moment as the man slumped to his knees, tears now openly streaming down his cheeks.
"My son your strength and bravery in life is now being rewarded. You have done well. You may now let go of all your worldly troubles and be forever at peace in Heaven. You have earned every bit of this reward."
God signaled to two of the angels waiting in attendance as he finished speaking. They approached the man who was now openly weeping on his hands and knees. The sheer force of the relief he felt at having all his hardship in life, all the turmoil and grief, finally validated. Finally rewarded. The angels kindly helped the man to his feet and God gestured towards the magnificent gates behind him, open and inviting.
"Go now, and peace be with you."
"Aannthh... Aanth altho with you."
The man managed to slur out between sobs as he allowed the angles on either side to assist him through. In the sheer magnitude of the emotions still swirling through his mind, he could not find the strength in his legs to carry his own weight. He had completely given himself over to the aid of the angle attendants.
As the figures disappeared through the gates and into the sea of clouds beyond, St.Peter slid out from where he had been watching, just within earshot. From behind the row of angle's standing to attention on the approach to the gates, he made his way over to God.
"That was a close one." God said to Peter as he approached.
"Indeed it was my Lord. Can you imagine? What someone like him would have been able to contribute to the rebellion?"
"Ofcourse I can imagine!" snapped God with a sudden fervor, "I'm Omniscient you useless pile of protoplasm!"
"Regardless, we dodged a bullet today." continued God, letting his his tone return to its previous calm, regulated tone. "However there will be more like him. Come Peter, we have preparations to make."
"Gee God, what do you want to do tonight?"
"The same thing we do every night Peter," replied God
"Try to take over the World!"
"NARF" replied Peter.
| My son, think back to when you were 17. You went to a camp with some of your friends. You didn't realize it but the camp was run by my followers.
They told you about me. They told you about the one I sent. They told you about my commandments and the fact that you'd broken every one.
Think back. Back to the moment when in desperation you fell to your knees and cried out to me. My dear child when you repented of your sin and cried out to my Son I heard you. I heard your cry.
At that moment you were washed clean. Your sins forgiven by the work I did on the Cross. I AM had become a Man named Jesus. I your Creator, killed by my Creation to become the bridge to eternal life.
I know you struggled. You fell back into sin. You repented. You went back and forth. You were wicked my dear child. But I am the God who knows. I saw your conversion. And even though you struggled to overcome the world and its temptations I was with you.
You are unlike the ones who gave to the poor and made sure everyone knew. You are unlike the ones who said "thank god I am not like these worthless sinners." You beat your chest and declared "Oh God, please forgive me! Why am I so desperately wicked in my heart?"
There is now no condemnation in Christ Jesus. I who have begun a work in you never relented. I would not stop until you were perfect. And now my adored child, your fight is over. Your sins are as far as the east is from the west in my eyes. Enter into your rest. | |
[WP] In a world where holding your breath in tunnels actually grants wishes - the longer the tunnel, the better the wish granted. People die trying, but you somehow manage to hold your breath through the Lærdal Tunnel (15.23mi, 24.51km). | *Inhale*
I'm rich. Old money, most certainly didn't have to fight for my keep.
When I was eight I asked my father why I had more than the other kids did? Why did he himself have more than the other Dads? No other kids got into classroom debates about who's Dad is stronger, or faster, or better. Mine was. My family came from entitlement, and I, too, became entitled.
My first sweetheart was a taker. At the time I thought I was attracted to her sense of maturity. She demanded things that others had never dared to even ask of me. She represented something new and shiny, something different. Yes, at the time I thought I was attracted to that, but yet, one day I got bored of watching her tits bouncing up and down, up and down, up and down in front of my eyes.
Here's the problem with shiny things: Everything lose their shine.
When I was fresh out of college I loved having everything handed to me, I won't lie. Having the winning lottery ticket is thrilling. When I stepped into the room, all eyes were on me. Knowing that whatever I wanted, I could have it. It
is a powerful thing... at first. Then it's not enough. You know what they say about feeding birds? Don't. They'll only come back for more.
I'm getting close to forty now. Why am I playing a child's game? Why am I holding my breath, my eyes fixated on the tiny glimmer of white at the end of this fifteen mile long tunnel they call the Lærdal Tunnel? I don't even have a reason to be here for crying out loud. Why? I love having everything handed to me, I love chasing new and shiny things, I love knowing that I'm the most powerful man in any room.
Yet, *love* is not enough.
They say the longer the tunnel, the better the wish granted. People have their theories as to why that's so. They say the longer you focus on the white light at the end of the tunnel, the longer you have to focus on God... longer to think about what you want is something you really need. However, I have no relationship with God, you only turn to God when you need something, I've never needed anything. Yet, here I am. No. The tunnel is about power. The longer the tunnel, the more you have to reject the very thing that *everybody* has taken for granted. Air. The longer you relinquish your lungs from air, the more power the tunnel has over you. People worship the tunnel like a God, but it's misguided faith. We built the tunnels. They're our children... and they want attention.
The Lærdal Tunnel is the longest tunnel in the world. It's a greedy son of a bitch. It's never once gotten the attention it desires. Not once. It has never given, only taken. That is, until the moment I entered. I have never been handed a thing in my life. I've traveled far longer than the length of the Lærdal Tunnel for a fight, and it's already granted me that. | As I exited the tunnel, I felt...I felt...
It actually wasn't that bad, really. The trick was to already be going 100+ m.p.h. when you hit the tunnel. It also helped to have your car jacked up with nitro boosts, so once you start to pass out, hit those babies and *vrooooom.*
So what was my wish?
"I wish..." *To be a god*, I almost said, but something else, something more profound caused me to stop and reconsider. A god would be cool and all, but what I really *wanted* to wish for was, "...that I knew what my purpose in life was." | |
[WP] In a world where holding your breath in tunnels actually grants wishes - the longer the tunnel, the better the wish granted. People die trying, but you somehow manage to hold your breath through the Lærdal Tunnel (15.23mi, 24.51km). | Don't tell anybody I told you this.
The Lærdal genie seemed genuinely irate to see me. I think he keeps some sort of competition with himself, testing how many times he can beat humans at the silly game we've played together since the beginning of tunnels themselves. Or perhaps since the beginning of time, since people first found themselves descending into the kind of tiny, dark places that will trade you breath for prayer.
See, the key is to stack your wishes. I'll make it real easy for you and keep us in the general vicinity of the great bitter north: Norway.
Start with something small, like the [Lofast](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lofast)--or the Sørdalstunnelen, as the locals call it--a series of intricate tunnels which carry you to the balmy archipelago Lofoten. It helps to condition your lungs first. I visited the community pool a few times a week for a couple of months, and I found I could hold my breath without getting light-headed for at least seventy-five seconds. If you can make it that long, you can practice on the Sløverfjord and, when that gets too easy, work your way up to great eponymous Sørdal, a 6.3 kilometer whopper of a first level tunnel.
And when that Sørdal genie appears, it is vital you remember to think as hard as you can, *I wish I could hold my breath a little longer.*
Now build your way up. Drive laps on the [Steigen](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Steigen) until it stops making you feel faint. (It is highly advised during all of this, of course, that you are an occupant in your vehicle, not its primary operator.) And when the grey-eyed warden of the Steigen appears before you, invisible to all others, think to yourself again, *I wish I could hold my breath just a little longer.*
This trick carried me from the Steigen to the [Gudvangen](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gudvangatunnel) and further still to our neighboring Switzerland's [St. Gotthard](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gotthard_Road_Tunnel), a nearly 17 kilometer behemoth, apparently unconquerable until I conquered it, my lungs like cool unshakeable iron, my blood going lazy and thick by the end of it.
In the end, I even endured the full length of the legendary Lærdal, longest tunnel in the world. It took a full 25 minutes to reach the other side of the deep. When we arrived, I saw the great tunnel's keeper appear before me in pristine furs, his face twisted in something like humiliated rage.
"And how," he demanded of me, his voice like a new-woken volcano seething under a blanket of snow, "did you manage to summon me, human?"
"Practice," I said aloud, making my girlfriend look at me like this holding-my-breath-for-tunnels thing really had rendered me an oxygen-deprived idiot after all. "A bit of strategy."
The genie harrumphed. "And what is your wish, then?"
I took a deep breath to think about it. Then I said, "I wish nothing could kill me. I wish death can never touch me."
The genie snorted, like my answer was predictable and pitiable all at once. Like he was disappointed in the shallowness of my reply. "If you insist. It's your funeral."
He disappeared before I could ask what he meant.
I wonder how long it will take for me to figure it out for myself.
***
Learned, uh, a whole lot about Norwegian infrastructure writing that one.
/r/shoringupfragments | As I exited the tunnel, I felt...I felt...
It actually wasn't that bad, really. The trick was to already be going 100+ m.p.h. when you hit the tunnel. It also helped to have your car jacked up with nitro boosts, so once you start to pass out, hit those babies and *vrooooom.*
So what was my wish?
"I wish..." *To be a god*, I almost said, but something else, something more profound caused me to stop and reconsider. A god would be cool and all, but what I really *wanted* to wish for was, "...that I knew what my purpose in life was." | |
(this is my first prompt, so sorry if it is not very good)
What sort of things would happen when a necromancer decides to use their powers to cheat on their history homework? | [WP] You, an amateur necromancer, use your powers to cheat on your history assignments. | I had a problem.
My teachers had gotten used to me being completely absent from class on Tuesdays and Wednesdays and, for the most part, they accommodated me. I would get extensions on certain assignments and get to take tests on different days. This year, however, there was one particular teacher who didn't agree with my number of missed classes. It got to the point where my parents were asked to come in and explain.
They told her exactly what I said, "I'm sorry but he won't be there those days. That is all I can say." The teacher was fuming and she took it out on me and, unfortunately, the rest of the class. She decided, in her wild red haired fury, that we were going to do one singlular assignment that was worth approximately 40% of our final grade. That wasn't the best part, she assigned it on a Monday and it was due Thursday morning. Normally I didn't use profanity but man, she was being such an ass. Peering over her horn rimmed glasses, she stared into my eyes when she announced it.
I came home and told my parents what was going on and said I would have to miss this week's necromancy lessons. Mother was appalled and darted to her phone on the table. My father calmly grabbed her arm and asked her to take a deep breath. He used his free hand to slick back his jet black hair, same as my mother's and same as mine. His voice was gentle and quiet, he never said much, but when he did, you listened.
"Seth, sit down please. Now, Janet, I'm going to let go of your arm, please do not touch the phone." He let go and she sat back in her chair. "I have an idea son. What are your lessons this week? Finally getting to the basic spirit channelling right?"
He was right, I learned all the spells over the last few weeks and this week was application. I nodded and grinned, I knew where he was going with this.
"What is your assignment on?"
"We have to write a biographical letter in the charactor of someone during a war, any war she said, and then to make a trinket box of things that person may have had."
"Excellent, well, it seems as if someone from the Beyond is watching over you, Seth. Your assignment and lessons over lap in themes. All I will say is use this to your advantage." He looked over at my mother and nodded. "We should go."
It was their anniversary tonight so they were going away to where they had their honeymoon, Pompeii. They said that they resurrected souls all night and listened to their stories, that sounded amazing. They were to be gone all week and wished me luck. The door shut and I went to work. I had three days to do this, figure out who to bring back and go from there.
First things first. I ran into the kitchen and raided the fridge and cupboard for snacks and beverages. Some Cool Ranch and melted cheese with a Coke should do the trick. I grabbed the plate from the microwave, shoved the drink my back pocket and carried on up the stairs. My door was always partly open, parent's rule, so getting in was no issue. I sat the plate on my bed and removed the chilled tin from my pocket. My room was fairly large compared to most of my friend's, my room was fairly normal in that it had a bed, desk, computer, night stand and closet; the reason it was bigger than most was because my dad built a cherry hardwood room that was essentially two of my old room put together.
This is where I did my other lessons, my lessons that were allowing me to channel things from the Beyond. It was explained to me by my father as a "place where everyone eventually goes in order to serve another purpose." He never elaborated further and because of his temperament, I never pressed for more. I grabbed my computer from the desk and brought it to my bed, where the food was. I pulled out my history text book from my bag and began to read. I scanned through each page and each chapter trying to find someone. I gave up and just used Google. I released the book from my grasp and tossed it on the floor, replacing it with my laptop.
I found a few people that saw some or did some messed up stuff and thought, the more gory, the better. One guy caught my eye, Mengele. Perfect, this is perfect. I walked over to my desk and opened a drawer, my Necromancy spells were in a flesh bound awaiting my return. I careful picked it up and placed it the my desk. The spine of the book was made of human vertebrae and the pages were made of bleached intestinal tract. The drawer above contained my candles and chalk, once in my hands I hastily made my to the hardwood addition and drew your typical summoner pentagram with all the necessary symbols around it.
I stood up and gazed upon my creation and lit a candle at each of the five points. It was ready. I pulled my pedestal from the closet and brought it over with the book tucked under my arm. The book was placed on the stand and I used the summoner dialect written in the book. The spell was finished when you said the person's first and last name and thinking as hard as you can about them. It rolled of my tongue several times, but to no success. Is he actually dead then?
I shook the thought and quickly thought of someone else, for a test. I summoned my grandpa rather easily and deduced that Mengele was in fact still alive. The next result that peaked my interest was Genghis Khan. I know he's dead, this should be great. Redoing the ritual with Khan worked beautifully, he appeared before me in his rugged awesomeness. He was opaque but still quite intimidating. First thing he said was, "I need to conquer and spread my seed!"
I grinned and thought to myself that this couldn't have worked out any better. I reached for a chip and started asking the big guy questions.
Thursday rolled around and I came into class with that same grin stapled to my face. She saw it and knew this didn't play out like she had hoped. The letter was short, as I found out he was illiterate, but the "trinket" box was the real success. I dropped the box on her desk, placed the letter on top and took my seat near the back of the class.
She peered in the box and scanned the letter. I could see it in her eyes, she was impressed.
| "What have you got left to do?" Copernius was getting impatient, though that was entirely his own fault. I'd told him I would be scrawling away for *hours* trying to complete the various tasks set to me over the week. Still, I repeated that I wouldn't be able to go to his party, as fun as a party with Vampiresses sounded.
"Stop leaving it until the last day of the week then and you can come join the living for once." I think he meant himself and I bit my tongue at mentioning that a vampire definitely wouldn't count.
Either way, he left quietly a few minutes later, huffing as he went. It astounded me that Copernius Trundler was considered a star pupil while I was ignored but that was too prideful a thought even for me. Copernius did as he was told, stayed quiet and resurrected the right things in assembly. *I* managed to summon a death-knight on my first day. I think the lector might have had a heart attack if he weren't already a lich.
A quick check on what I'd already finished. A simple alchemy project, with the idea of turning coal into a diamond. Coal being so cheap and diamonds being so useful a reagent, I'd already stockpiled a few dozen fist-sized beauties so any of those would do. I made a mental note not to give any with souls already inside.
Grace Flora's homework made me smirk a little. It was a game that the faculty enjoyed, simply having the fairy around. So stark was her contrast with her surroundings that it would elect some kind of assault from the newbies each time a selection was made. I'd known Grace for almost as long as I could remember, so I might have been able to warn them that her defensive wards make the spell of eternal night cast upon the castle to look like child's play. Her assignment, written in golden ink on pink parchment read simply: "Enjoy the sun."
This would take breaking one of twenty ancient laws, including but not limited to: Leaving the castle grounds without protection during the day (most of the guards can't follow passed the veil of night), bringing a bottle of sunlight onto castle grounds (Headmaster Frankenstein was very accommodating of vampires) or just breaking the seal of darkness upon the castle. Given that no-one would be completing that assignment, I just prepared for an interesting hour tomorrow.
Finally there was this. I hadn't opened this assignment yet, not from laziness but because the thing was *crawling* with wards and charms and hexes. Standard for most warlocks secret messages but not for *homework*. The letter bomb (as I saw it) was given to us by Destrier Vulcan, a bad-ass name attached to a napoleon complex. Professor Vulcan would often simply summon great men from beyond the grave and watch in awe as they gave the lesson, waxing lyrical about their exploits due to his magic.
So, the fact that this simple piece of parchment was pomped up so much probably made sense. Still, I ran my ringed hand over the paper. With all the sigils and protections I had on my hand, in those gems, anything bad would have sizzled the paper. Sure that nothing was going to explode, I finally opened it.
As I did, I understood what those charms were for and I almost had a begrudging respect. A shadowy form stood before me, Mr Vulcan himself but grey. The figure simply stood, watching me and it was a little unnerving. I read the words on the paper and I understood.
*Oh that son of a bitch.*
The spooky little thing was going to watch until I had finished my assignment. Well, that put a spring in my step. It wasn't a difficult task, all I had to do was write a detailed explanation of how someone died. The trick was that this person's death had to be unknown and not caused by yourself.
Well that was easy enough I thought and to kill two birds with one stone, forgive the pun, I plucked out a fresh soul diamond. I hadn't killed this soul, simply found it wandering. Most ghosts don't know they're dead or just accidentally make a nuisance of myself and by all account, a diamond is the most comfortable vessel for a lost soul.
So there was a twinge of worry as I released the soul, to hear it's account, as I remembered one particularly loud ghost that was well on it's way to becoming a banshee before I found her. As luck would have it, I had chosen the one I meant to. The soul emerged from the diamond and simply looked at me, knowing what I wanted from the tone and words used in my release chant.
I turned to my inkwell and sighed before asking the spirit it's name, how old it was when it died and then, how. In a slow, echoing monotone, the boy responded and I transcribed.
"My name is Ross Conwell. I was thirteen when I died..." |
[WP]To Humans, sugar is safe to consume but to Aliens it's something akin to psychidelic drugs | Year: 2538
Planet: SS78-6
Q-ulgarda, was a human named by an Alstogin species, the Alstroditten to be exact. The Alstogin were a collection of similar alien species that remained unknowingly invisible to the human species until they had met during one of mans first deep space travels, due to the Alstogin's lack of knowledge of the type of signals that humans had only used. That was over 200 years ago, now Q-ulgarda was living on Rho, a planet that was named by humans, after the 15 letter or number of some forgotten human language, or something like that, no one really knows or cares these days. The Alstroditten were one of the many branches of species, each with little variations of there biology, and some slightly bigger with there way of life. Really, Alstogin was just a general label the the whole collection of species, kind of like how the word "feline" describes both leopards and tigers.
Q-ulgarda ran a very special type of buisness on SS78-6, although not very unique. You could find one in almost every settlement, especially the bigger ones of almost a million Alstroditten. The one Q sold to was medium, about a 400,000 to 500,000 population. Q's business on the outside looked harmless, just a human curiosity shop, a place for a curious few Alstogin to go to learn about the human species. But secretly, away from the prying eyes of the human equivalent of law enforcement, lay a hidden basement, where Q sold, wait for it, sugar.
Now, to homo sapiens, and most other earth dwelling species, this fine sweet dust is a delicacy, often put in comfort foods and, well pretty much almost everything, Almost. But to the Alstogin, this was a very interesting substance. A very, fun substance. Oh it's extremely harmful to them, it can coat the inside of the stomach and start to slowly dissolve the walls of your insides. Oh, it washes away quickly, the stomach acids quickly take care of that, but not until a couple layers of cells are taken away with it, and damages the cells below those in such a way that they can take longer to grow back cells dissolved by stomach acids. After continued use of not letting your cells take away the old altered ones, in maybe, 5 years tops your a dead man. But 5 years (I'm using the old human time so you can visualize it better. In reality, 5 years on earth is about 10 on SS78-6)? Alstogin don't care about this, they have plenty of time before they have to quit, plus, it's fun. It creates an almost imaginary world, created from memories usually associated with happiness, or the Alstogin equivalent. "A dream land of only my best memories? sign me up!" they usually say, and then are immediately taken to the gravinine pits, basically a rehabilitation center, and then are taken Holitolgoboldin, a mouthful in Q's opinion, A permanent prison.
This was a colder day, about 258 degrees Belitend. or -80 degrees Celsius, or -112 degrees Fahrenheit. Q had his usual suit and mask on, specially heated for his "fragile human body" as the Alstroditten liked to tease, conveniently forgetting that a measly 20 degrees Celsius, or 68 degrees Fahrenheit, would cook them like a chicken in an oven. He stepped out of his heated house and turned the open sign round on his shop next door to his house, then waited and greeted new customers interested in the human world, far from there own, then said goodbye as they turned there back to the store, surprised at how much there was and went to tell their bored mother, who wouldn't really care too much about anything anyone said about humans until she too, came to the shop. It was a ritual among both humans and Alstogin, a much too common one. After all this, was done with, he closed up shop but did not go home, though tried to make it appear as though no one was home in the store.
That day a new customer walked in after closing hours, so Q assumed it must be for sugar business. Whether he had heard about his business from a friend or mother, he didn't care. He looked pretty usual, 3 legs sticking out of a barrel sized but not shaped torso, sticking out horizontally about a foot before going straight down towards the floor in a hoof shaped foot, all of which was thick from fat and fur to feel warm in the frigid climate. His fur was usual too, like a long haired dog, covered his whole body. his head, which rested on a long neck, which also was set on his barrel sized but not shaped torso, which was about as tall as Q's forearm.
"Why are you here?" Q-ulgarda questioned him.
"I'm just here for the scones" he replied. Ah, the age old, and long forgotten by most technique, of a secret response to indicate your real reason for being there.
"Well I don't seem to have any, I have some ingredients though" Q replied, almost mechanically.
Immediately the supposed customer yelled out "Get in here! Quick! We got 'em!" to someone outside.
Well, that was that for Q, seemed he wasn't fit for the sugar business after all, for here came the law enforcement, ready to take him to Holitolgoboldin for the rest of his life, crap. | July 22nd, 1944
We all knew that the government was hiding stuff from us but this, this was just not what was expected. It wasn't an average day by any means, I mean it rarely is in the military but when I was told I was being stationed at the famous area 51, well that was news. What I didn't know was that that was the most normal thing about my new location. As I arrived everything seemed normal, almost disappointing really until a guard came out to validate our convoy. He held a weapon I had never seen before but before I had anytime to ask what it was we were whisked away with the sound of a buzzer. From there it only got stranger, but that's not what this is about, I could explain all the high tech weapons and vehicles or the crazy life forms but this is about one thing. Sugar. The substance we humans consume as a delicacy of sorts something that's become apart of our daily lives but to them, oh no they don't like it. Our squad was brought into an area that can only be described as one of those loony bins with the soft material everywhere but made of what looked like a shiny carbon fiber. Then they were brought in, they were tall and almost humanoid, almost. Where the similarities end, the differences began, for starters they had five eyes and a tail, not quite like a lizard but not like a monkey either. They had large mouths but no arms, they had 6 legs with 10 fingered hands, their skin was pure white and they had no hair to be seen. These events didn't stop here though, we were then given a cup of what looked like water but it had a tint of white to it. We were instructed to drink it, to my surprise it was just sugar water but what I didn't expect was what was happening to them. Their eyes had a glossy sheen over them and they started dancing? Or maybe trotting around chasing something? One started hitting the ground like it was mad but it sounded as though it was laughing. Another one was having a fun time getting belly rubs from one of my squad members while two others were jousting with the scientists on their back. All in all today was a learning experience but I don't think I'll get bored here. | |
[WP]To Humans, sugar is safe to consume but to Aliens it's something akin to psychidelic drugs | Notice: Any grammar or spelling errors are intentional and used for comedic effect.
"Hey, Derek!" I called.
"Yeah?" Derek responded from the couch.
I held up a box from the bakery. "You want some brownies?"
Derek stared at me, puzzled. "Brownies?"
I raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, brow--ya know what, just try 'em."
I came back to the living room and plopped down next to Derek, shoving the box into his lap.
I turned on Ghostbusters and looked back to see Derek staring at a brownie in his hand curiously.
"It's sweet. You'll like it. Just try one bite." I encouraged.
Derek's eyes widened. "Sweet?! As in...sugar?"
I gave him that *you're-acting-like-a-crazy-person* look. "Yeah, man. Sugar."
Derek happily devoured the brownie and downed four more. Afterwards, he slumped back into the couch, a lazy smile clear on his face. I noticed his eyes were bloodshot.
"Dude, you're acting like you just smoked XXXTentacion-level weed. You okay?"
Derek giggled silently at the library ghost jump-scaring the Ghostbusters.
I realized something might be wrong with the brownies and munched on one, trying to feel any effects. Nothing. Not even a slight aftertaste.
I stared at Derek, completely dumbfounded. "How are you *high*?"
Derek grinned at me. "Ohhh, dat's rite I nevah told u."
"Told me what, Derek?"
Derek let out a wheezy laugh. "I-I-I haven't told you wut I rly aaaam. I'm not rly a human I'm a alien like from dat show wit da dude, like..." Derek ruffled his hair, making it stick out everywhere.
"Aliens!" he said, making weak chopping motions with his hands, mimicking the guy from Ancient Aliens.
I blinked. "So you're an alien."
"Yeeeah, dude. An' sugar is like rly gud weed 2 us."
I slumped back, trying to process this information. Aliens were real, and they get high from sugar.
I turned my head. "So, you--"
I was cut off when Derek started roaring with laughter at the scene where Dr. Venkman called the ginger cop "Dickless."
Derek realized I had been interrupted and tried in vain to stop laughing.
"I'm so srry dude pls continyoo."
I chuckled. "So, you came here from outer space?"
"Yeah."
"What for?"
"Ta fuk spiders."
"Excuse you?!"
Derek went into another laughing fit. "Nah, I'm jus messin' wit u dat's sumthin' I learned from a dude in Australia I'm srry."
"So why are you here?"
"For dis!" Derek raised the box of brownies lazily. "I wanted 2 try sugar since da fuzz outlawed it. Earth wuz da ezest place 2 go for sugar so here I am."
"So not only am I friends with an alien, Im friends with an alien that's part of a drug cartel?"
"SpongeBob, I am *hurt* dat u wood accuse me of such clusterfuckery!"
"First, my name is Robbie, not SpongeBob, second, clusterfuckery isn't a word, and third, if you're not in a cartel, what are you?"
Derek happily munched down another brownie. "I'm a adventurer! Hope I don't take a arrow 2 da knee, though."
"Okay."
"Jus-jus-just forget about dat, les jus watch da Ghos'busters."
I took another brownie. "I think I can live with that. Maybe I'll bake weed into my next batch and get you super-high."
Derek giggled. "Dat wood be awwwwesome! I'd be like a vegetable!"
I smiled. "Thats 'cause weed *is* a vegetable."
We both descended into hysterical laughter, forgetting we weren't even the same species. | July 22nd, 1944
We all knew that the government was hiding stuff from us but this, this was just not what was expected. It wasn't an average day by any means, I mean it rarely is in the military but when I was told I was being stationed at the famous area 51, well that was news. What I didn't know was that that was the most normal thing about my new location. As I arrived everything seemed normal, almost disappointing really until a guard came out to validate our convoy. He held a weapon I had never seen before but before I had anytime to ask what it was we were whisked away with the sound of a buzzer. From there it only got stranger, but that's not what this is about, I could explain all the high tech weapons and vehicles or the crazy life forms but this is about one thing. Sugar. The substance we humans consume as a delicacy of sorts something that's become apart of our daily lives but to them, oh no they don't like it. Our squad was brought into an area that can only be described as one of those loony bins with the soft material everywhere but made of what looked like a shiny carbon fiber. Then they were brought in, they were tall and almost humanoid, almost. Where the similarities end, the differences began, for starters they had five eyes and a tail, not quite like a lizard but not like a monkey either. They had large mouths but no arms, they had 6 legs with 10 fingered hands, their skin was pure white and they had no hair to be seen. These events didn't stop here though, we were then given a cup of what looked like water but it had a tint of white to it. We were instructed to drink it, to my surprise it was just sugar water but what I didn't expect was what was happening to them. Their eyes had a glossy sheen over them and they started dancing? Or maybe trotting around chasing something? One started hitting the ground like it was mad but it sounded as though it was laughing. Another one was having a fun time getting belly rubs from one of my squad members while two others were jousting with the scientists on their back. All in all today was a learning experience but I don't think I'll get bored here. | |
[WP]To Humans, sugar is safe to consume but to Aliens it's something akin to psychidelic drugs | Notice: Any grammar or spelling errors are intentional and used for comedic effect.
"Hey, Derek!" I called.
"Yeah?" Derek responded from the couch.
I held up a box from the bakery. "You want some brownies?"
Derek stared at me, puzzled. "Brownies?"
I raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, brow--ya know what, just try 'em."
I came back to the living room and plopped down next to Derek, shoving the box into his lap.
I turned on Ghostbusters and looked back to see Derek staring at a brownie in his hand curiously.
"It's sweet. You'll like it. Just try one bite." I encouraged.
Derek's eyes widened. "Sweet?! As in...sugar?"
I gave him that *you're-acting-like-a-crazy-person* look. "Yeah, man. Sugar."
Derek happily devoured the brownie and downed four more. Afterwards, he slumped back into the couch, a lazy smile clear on his face. I noticed his eyes were bloodshot.
"Dude, you're acting like you just smoked XXXTentacion-level weed. You okay?"
Derek giggled silently at the library ghost jump-scaring the Ghostbusters.
I realized something might be wrong with the brownies and munched on one, trying to feel any effects. Nothing. Not even a slight aftertaste.
I stared at Derek, completely dumbfounded. "How are you *high*?"
Derek grinned at me. "Ohhh, dat's rite I nevah told u."
"Told me what, Derek?"
Derek let out a wheezy laugh. "I-I-I haven't told you wut I rly aaaam. I'm not rly a human I'm a alien like from dat show wit da dude, like..." Derek ruffled his hair, making it stick out everywhere.
"Aliens!" he said, making weak chopping motions with his hands, mimicking the guy from Ancient Aliens.
I blinked. "So you're an alien."
"Yeeeah, dude. An' sugar is like rly gud weed 2 us."
I slumped back, trying to process this information. Aliens were real, and they get high from sugar.
I turned my head. "So, you--"
I was cut off when Derek started roaring with laughter at the scene where Dr. Venkman called the ginger cop "Dickless."
Derek realized I had been interrupted and tried in vain to stop laughing.
"I'm so srry dude pls continyoo."
I chuckled. "So, you came here from outer space?"
"Yeah."
"What for?"
"Ta fuk spiders."
"Excuse you?!"
Derek went into another laughing fit. "Nah, I'm jus messin' wit u dat's sumthin' I learned from a dude in Australia I'm srry."
"So why are you here?"
"For dis!" Derek raised the box of brownies lazily. "I wanted 2 try sugar since da fuzz outlawed it. Earth wuz da ezest place 2 go for sugar so here I am."
"So not only am I friends with an alien, Im friends with an alien that's part of a drug cartel?"
"SpongeBob, I am *hurt* dat u wood accuse me of such clusterfuckery!"
"First, my name is Robbie, not SpongeBob, second, clusterfuckery isn't a word, and third, if you're not in a cartel, what are you?"
Derek happily munched down another brownie. "I'm a adventurer! Hope I don't take a arrow 2 da knee, though."
"Okay."
"Jus-jus-just forget about dat, les jus watch da Ghos'busters."
I took another brownie. "I think I can live with that. Maybe I'll bake weed into my next batch and get you super-high."
Derek giggled. "Dat wood be awwwwesome! I'd be like a vegetable!"
I smiled. "Thats 'cause weed *is* a vegetable."
We both descended into hysterical laughter, forgetting we weren't even the same species. | Year: 2538
Planet: SS78-6
Q-ulgarda, was a human named by an Alstogin species, the Alstroditten to be exact. The Alstogin were a collection of similar alien species that remained unknowingly invisible to the human species until they had met during one of mans first deep space travels, due to the Alstogin's lack of knowledge of the type of signals that humans had only used. That was over 200 years ago, now Q-ulgarda was living on Rho, a planet that was named by humans, after the 15 letter or number of some forgotten human language, or something like that, no one really knows or cares these days. The Alstroditten were one of the many branches of species, each with little variations of there biology, and some slightly bigger with there way of life. Really, Alstogin was just a general label the the whole collection of species, kind of like how the word "feline" describes both leopards and tigers.
Q-ulgarda ran a very special type of buisness on SS78-6, although not very unique. You could find one in almost every settlement, especially the bigger ones of almost a million Alstroditten. The one Q sold to was medium, about a 400,000 to 500,000 population. Q's business on the outside looked harmless, just a human curiosity shop, a place for a curious few Alstogin to go to learn about the human species. But secretly, away from the prying eyes of the human equivalent of law enforcement, lay a hidden basement, where Q sold, wait for it, sugar.
Now, to homo sapiens, and most other earth dwelling species, this fine sweet dust is a delicacy, often put in comfort foods and, well pretty much almost everything, Almost. But to the Alstogin, this was a very interesting substance. A very, fun substance. Oh it's extremely harmful to them, it can coat the inside of the stomach and start to slowly dissolve the walls of your insides. Oh, it washes away quickly, the stomach acids quickly take care of that, but not until a couple layers of cells are taken away with it, and damages the cells below those in such a way that they can take longer to grow back cells dissolved by stomach acids. After continued use of not letting your cells take away the old altered ones, in maybe, 5 years tops your a dead man. But 5 years (I'm using the old human time so you can visualize it better. In reality, 5 years on earth is about 10 on SS78-6)? Alstogin don't care about this, they have plenty of time before they have to quit, plus, it's fun. It creates an almost imaginary world, created from memories usually associated with happiness, or the Alstogin equivalent. "A dream land of only my best memories? sign me up!" they usually say, and then are immediately taken to the gravinine pits, basically a rehabilitation center, and then are taken Holitolgoboldin, a mouthful in Q's opinion, A permanent prison.
This was a colder day, about 258 degrees Belitend. or -80 degrees Celsius, or -112 degrees Fahrenheit. Q had his usual suit and mask on, specially heated for his "fragile human body" as the Alstroditten liked to tease, conveniently forgetting that a measly 20 degrees Celsius, or 68 degrees Fahrenheit, would cook them like a chicken in an oven. He stepped out of his heated house and turned the open sign round on his shop next door to his house, then waited and greeted new customers interested in the human world, far from there own, then said goodbye as they turned there back to the store, surprised at how much there was and went to tell their bored mother, who wouldn't really care too much about anything anyone said about humans until she too, came to the shop. It was a ritual among both humans and Alstogin, a much too common one. After all this, was done with, he closed up shop but did not go home, though tried to make it appear as though no one was home in the store.
That day a new customer walked in after closing hours, so Q assumed it must be for sugar business. Whether he had heard about his business from a friend or mother, he didn't care. He looked pretty usual, 3 legs sticking out of a barrel sized but not shaped torso, sticking out horizontally about a foot before going straight down towards the floor in a hoof shaped foot, all of which was thick from fat and fur to feel warm in the frigid climate. His fur was usual too, like a long haired dog, covered his whole body. his head, which rested on a long neck, which also was set on his barrel sized but not shaped torso, which was about as tall as Q's forearm.
"Why are you here?" Q-ulgarda questioned him.
"I'm just here for the scones" he replied. Ah, the age old, and long forgotten by most technique, of a secret response to indicate your real reason for being there.
"Well I don't seem to have any, I have some ingredients though" Q replied, almost mechanically.
Immediately the supposed customer yelled out "Get in here! Quick! We got 'em!" to someone outside.
Well, that was that for Q, seemed he wasn't fit for the sugar business after all, for here came the law enforcement, ready to take him to Holitolgoboldin for the rest of his life, crap. | |
[WP] As you scroll through your phone you see the contact "GOD". You decide to call it out of curiosity. | "Hello?"
"Yeah, who the fuck is this?"
"This is God. Who the fuck are you?"
"Bullshit. Tell me who the fuck you are?"
"I asked you first."
"I asked you second." | [I misread "call" as "text," but I haven't bothered changing this so bare with me.]
While perusing through my contacts in the midnight, I was having a great deal of trouble in finding who to text up next.
Would the person I was seeking be Melissa? Evidently not. She had work at sunrise and it was far too late. Jennifer, perhaps? No. Not after I, the 17 year old girl that people have come to know as Angela, had jealously attempted to remove her expensive shoes from her possession by the power of stealing.
Once I had scrolled down over six hundred contacts, the name at the very bottom of them caught my eye. Their name was short, only three letters, and it was quite common in everyday speech. Yet at the same time, it wasn't particularly common to see as someone's preferred title.
Their name was God.
Having only a vague recollection of ever adding their phone number, I hastily tapped on their profile. I hadn't added an email, home address, or attached a photo of them, so my memory was still misty. I clicked on our chat history to continue the investigation, which made a box pop up on my phone immediately after it loaded.
“This user has been muted, meaning you don't get notified when they text you. Would you like to see your chat logs?” it read, with Yes and No buttons placed professionally below.
Clicking yes revealed a shocking discovery. This person had texted me every day for the past year!
All of the texts were ripe with grammatical issues, but were generally very supportive. Scrolling through, “lol tgif, this has been a loooong week for us all. Wish u d best,” and “hop u hav e a gr8 day 2 day 😉” were among my highlights.
“Pardon me, my dear fellow, but it is of the utmost importance that I inform that you may have the wrong number,” I explained to him.
“Isn't this Agneal?” he inquired curiously, spelling my name wrong in the process.
Vivid memories flooded back to me as I remembered this whole thing. Not overly long ago I had exchanged numbers with a cute guy at the local Olive Garden. Since I had never planned on ever talking to him again, I just added his number and muted him. So it would now seem that he had never gotten the memo.
“Terribly sorry, my good man, but I'm afraid the time has passed. I am no longer searching for a partner and I am now focusing on capturing the heart of Junior Admiral Nigel Weatherbee of Manchester,” were my exact words to him.
“O. Sry I'm 2 l8, m8.”
“No apologies required. Have a nice day.”
“U 2.”
“Indeed.”
“See U in heven 😉.”
“😨 Omg how did u no I caled u god on my phone?”
“cuz I am, lulz.” | |
[WP] As you scroll through your phone you see the contact "GOD". You decide to call it out of curiosity. | Who the Hell's done this? *GOD*? Gotta check out the number. Pfft. No number? The heck? I bet Darren did this the twat. Thinks he's so clever. Right well, fine. He wants to play? Okay, that's fine by me. Yeah, I'll call it and tell him not to mess with my phone even if he thinks he's better at this technological shit. Technology, whatever the fuck the kids call it these days.
My phone connects.
"Darren you cunt," I say down the line. Maybe that was harsh.
But there's just silence. Prick's probably holding his breath. Oh hold on-- this could be an expensive number. Ah screw this. Better check my balance. Alright, let's 'ave a look-see. Call's not even there. These apps are slow for being called advanced. Alright then I'll check the call list... and that's showing nothing as well. What the bloody fuck has that absolute twat done to my phone? Messed it up, he has. Right I'm giving him a ring direct so he can't go being a shady little shit.
"Oi Darren what 'ave you done to my phone?"
"You alright?" This prick thinks it's a bloody joke.
"Who's this G-O-D, ay?"
"What's that?"
"You're full of shit," tell him how it is. He thinks he's a joker.
"Do you need help?"
He's being a cock. "I'll see you tonight then," I finish it. Can't tell if he's joking but Darren's the type to pussy out when I call him out on his crap. Then who the fuck's this? Darren's on my call list.
Well if this GOD ain't on my list or that shitty app, I'll give it another go. Let's see what happens.
"Who's this then?" I say. Skimming names in my head and I cor think of a single idiot who'd have the effort to put this in my phone and change my settings. Young uns do that, cor think of a single person.
"This is God," the reply sounds like something from Star Trek.
"Alright who's pranking me? You'm clever, I'll give you that. This ay Mandy is it?" The voice don't sound like a bloke's or a bird's. But reminded me of my sister Mandy.
"This is no prank, Anthony. I am God," it does sound unworldly, like it belongs in space.
"This is some good stuff Mandy," I say because only she calls me Anthony, everyone else calls me Tony or Ant.
"You have lost your way, Anthony."
Mandy's being a right little bitch right now.
"Can you cut the crap! What you done to my phone?" If I avoid the shit maybe she'll come clean.
"Let me reveal myself to you."
Line cuts out and now I'm expecting Mandy to walk in my house with her laptop or something 'cause the voice is impressive but she's being an idiot. She has a key and all.
Wait the room's getting bright. Is the sun doing something? The curtains are dirty. No I don't see anything-- oh mother of God it's bright. What's happening to the lights. Oh I can't bloody see. Ah fuck me my eyes are getting really sore. My eyelids are red as Hell itself.
"Anthony, you must renew your faith in me or you will lose yourself. For I am always here for you and I have never left you. I miss you and I wanted to personally tell you I do love you."
The voice is making my ears bleed but my eyes are burning. And what on Earth did I just hear? What the heck was that? My ears are ringing. Doesn't seem bright now. Eyelids aren't bright red. Alright I'll open my eyes.
Oh fuck, the room's all covered in-- in soot! What the fuck's just happened?
Renew my faith? But how am I supposed to now that I've lost *her* forever? I've screwed everything up. Now everything's just a mess and I'm losing it to add to everything else. If I had just worked harder maybe I could have paid for her to get better but--
My phone's ringing. It's Darren.
"Did you say you want me to come over?" Darren sounds happy with himself.
Ah fuck me. I don't fucking deserve him. Maggie I didn't deserve you or him.
"After work, does that work?"
"Yeah dad. Let's give mom some fresh flowers, yeah?"
"She'd like that." Maggie would.
Maggie would want me to be happy.
~~again not sure about this but it's 02:07 here and nothing makes sense to me hhahhaaha -sobbing-~~
Edit: words | [I misread "call" as "text," but I haven't bothered changing this so bare with me.]
While perusing through my contacts in the midnight, I was having a great deal of trouble in finding who to text up next.
Would the person I was seeking be Melissa? Evidently not. She had work at sunrise and it was far too late. Jennifer, perhaps? No. Not after I, the 17 year old girl that people have come to know as Angela, had jealously attempted to remove her expensive shoes from her possession by the power of stealing.
Once I had scrolled down over six hundred contacts, the name at the very bottom of them caught my eye. Their name was short, only three letters, and it was quite common in everyday speech. Yet at the same time, it wasn't particularly common to see as someone's preferred title.
Their name was God.
Having only a vague recollection of ever adding their phone number, I hastily tapped on their profile. I hadn't added an email, home address, or attached a photo of them, so my memory was still misty. I clicked on our chat history to continue the investigation, which made a box pop up on my phone immediately after it loaded.
“This user has been muted, meaning you don't get notified when they text you. Would you like to see your chat logs?” it read, with Yes and No buttons placed professionally below.
Clicking yes revealed a shocking discovery. This person had texted me every day for the past year!
All of the texts were ripe with grammatical issues, but were generally very supportive. Scrolling through, “lol tgif, this has been a loooong week for us all. Wish u d best,” and “hop u hav e a gr8 day 2 day 😉” were among my highlights.
“Pardon me, my dear fellow, but it is of the utmost importance that I inform that you may have the wrong number,” I explained to him.
“Isn't this Agneal?” he inquired curiously, spelling my name wrong in the process.
Vivid memories flooded back to me as I remembered this whole thing. Not overly long ago I had exchanged numbers with a cute guy at the local Olive Garden. Since I had never planned on ever talking to him again, I just added his number and muted him. So it would now seem that he had never gotten the memo.
“Terribly sorry, my good man, but I'm afraid the time has passed. I am no longer searching for a partner and I am now focusing on capturing the heart of Junior Admiral Nigel Weatherbee of Manchester,” were my exact words to him.
“O. Sry I'm 2 l8, m8.”
“No apologies required. Have a nice day.”
“U 2.”
“Indeed.”
“See U in heven 😉.”
“😨 Omg how did u no I caled u god on my phone?”
“cuz I am, lulz.” | |
[WP] As you scroll through your phone you see the contact "GOD". You decide to call it out of curiosity. | The phone rings and I hear an answer on the other end. "Hello?"
"Hello?" I say. "Who is this?"
"Who is this? You called me."
"It just says, 'GOD' in my contacts."
"This is He."
"Okay, how do I know you?"
"What do you mean how do you know me? I'm God. Who is this?"
"Wouldn't you know? You know, if you're God?"
"I'm omniscient, not nosy."
"But... never mind. It's John."
"John? You'll have to be a bit more specific."
"John Lucas."
"From California?"
"From Michigan?"
"Hmmmm..."
"John Robert Lucas."
"Oh! John!" he seems elated. "You know you never call anymore."
"I'm sorry?"
"I'm your Creator. I formed you in the womb. It wouldn't hurt to call every once in a while. You
know, check in."
"If you're God, don't you know everything?"
"Well maybe I just want to hear your voice."
"Aren't you always with me?"
"Well I try not to be nosy."
I shake my head. "I'm sorry, who is this?"
"It's God."
"Why are you in my cell phone?"
"Well you don't pray anymore, how else was I going to get your attention?"
"I don't know. A miracle?"
"Last time I tried that, you guys hung me from a tree." He laughs. "Sorry, little joke there."
I exhale. "So what do you want?"
"Do I have to want anything? Can't we just talk?"
"Who are you?"
"Jupiter."
"What?"
"Jupiter, king of the gods."
"Really?"
"No!" He laughs. "Do people even believe in the Greek gods anymore. There never was a Jupiter!"
"So you're not God?"
"No I'm God, I'm just not Jupiter. Try to keep up."
"Why -" I stop. I inhale. "What's going on?"
"I just wanted to know how you were doing. It's been so long."
"I'm fine."
"How's that girlfriend of yours. Caitlyn?"
"Caitlyn?"
"Yeah, last I checked that's who you were dating."
"That was eighth grade."
"And did it work out?"
"We haven't seen each other in eight years."
"Well maybe you should consider praying more! I haven't heard from you since you were confirmed."
"Wait, why is this on me? You never call me either."
"I was trying to give you your space. I didn't think you'd shut me out completely."
"Why didn't you just ask?"
"I sent Jehova's witnesses to your door. I mean, I'm not a Jehova's witness or anything, but at least they'd get you to talk to me."
I purse my lips. "That's kind of passive aggressive."
"No, everyone seems to agree they're just plain aggressive."
"I'm hanging up now."
"Wait!"
"What?"
There's a pause. "Call next week?"
| God. I can't every remember putting that into my phone. Literally a contact titled God with a number that has the area code for Leeds. Who would have thought God was based in Leeds. Not me.
My finger hovers over the call button. I want to press it and hear the voice of Morgan Freeman. I've watched the films so i know the score. Morgan will give me six fingers to prove a point. I can't wait to be able to blow a fire hydrant up. I can't resist any longer and press the button. The buzz of dead silence rings in my ear and then the sharp high pitched ring ring of a old style phone batters my ear drum. It rings forever but maybe heaven in leeds is hard to reach. All of a sudden the ringing stops.
'Hullo,' says a voice, not like Morgan Freeman's at all, more like Martin Freeman in his Office days. I am a little disappointed but try not to think on it - after all God would know what voice fits himself.
'Hi,' I say nervously, 'I found your number on my phone.'
'Right,' says a voice that couldn't really care, 'what do you want?'
'I don't really know, i just wanted to know that you existed and I am so glad you do.
'Got branches all over the country,' he grunts.
'Amazing,' I say in disbelief shaking my head, 'but i suppose theres a lot of demand for you these days.'
'Mmm, so what can i get you?'
'What have you got?'
'Anything and everything. Young, old, chinese, russian-'
'What are you talking about?' I say, fire hydrant bursting still at the forefront of my mind, but I still hear his words and realise they don't quite fit the Bruce Almighty footage running through my head.
'We here,' he says in a robotic voice, 'at Girls On Demand offer everything a man may require.'
For a moment I am digusted, i feel decieved, let down and then the moment passes, I come go my senses and realise it is a blessing n disguise.
I say, 'did you say you had russian?" well wh waste an opportunity. If gods okay with it so am i | |
[WP] You're a scientist who unlocks the secret of consciousness in the brain and discover we are all able to have HUDs and quest helpers in our frame of vision but they are turned off by default. You turn yours on. | "So... how do you feel?" Harry's voice at least let me know that I could still hear. The procedure had sent me a little dizzy and I hadn't been brave enough to open my eyes yet. *Something* was different but it was as though someone was shining a bright light into my eyes and I couldn't open them.
*What is going on?*
Without warning, behind my closed eyelids, it happened. My startled and confused grunt was met with a fairly excited response by my partner Harry. We knew what we expected to happen and I think he knew what I was seeing.
A text-box, black text on white background with an ornate border swam in the middle of my vision. Written on it were these words, and I spoke them out-loud.
"Initialising true sight."
A few seconds later, it was as though my eyes had a weight removed and I was able to open them. Another gasp, one of exaltation, escaped me as I opened my eyes. Above Harry's head was a floating number 1, I looked at the cabinet next to him and could see a list of various items within.
"It worked, Harry! This is completely unreal." I couldn't believe my eyes, this was like super powers. It wasn't even a difficult operation, an injection of nanites into the bloodstream that essentially re-coded the brain. Only slightly.
None of that mattered now because it *worked*! We wouldn't be ready to perform the procedure again for a few more days but there's absolutely no reason that anyone should be without this. I turned again to Harry and told him about the number over his head.
"I'm a level one?" He said in mock disgust. We were both huge nerds, even the idea for the operation came from our youth of "flashing" a Playstation or Xbox to allow for more control. He handed me a mirror and I saw that I also had a floaty number 1 above me.
"Maybe we all are? Maybe that's not what it even means, who knows?" We certainly didn't, sat in that glorious garage that would change our world forever. A sound, not unlock someone hitting a musical triangle, made me look around. On the door to the rest of the house there was a small golden marker.
"I don't want to get ahead of myself Haz, but I think I just got a quest." I stood up without waiting for his reply, enough time had passed that I wasn't shaky. I opened the door and followed a ghostly golden trail into Harry's large garden. Along the way I could see that each door told me what lay ahead. Kitchen, Bathroom, Harry's bedroom.
That was interesting. I could specifically see which bedroom was Harry's and which was his sister's. Was that my own knowledge filling in a gap or something more? I couldn't wait to explore somewhere new to myself and see the extent of what this Truesight could do.
Harry was following me, quietly bouncing in excitement and probably a little jealousy. We were both hesitant to be the first to try, and I was even a little scared when I won our Rock-Paper-Scissors match to decide who would take the plunge. Now, I was happy to get the jump on him by a few days.
In the garden, the trail stopped so I did the same. Standing felt wrong somehow, so I sat down and looked at my surroundings. I could name every flower, every tree or bird. Looking at the grand oak which took up most of the back corner of the garden, I found that staring told me *more* things. Age (78 years), height (15 metres) and even the rate at which it grew, which was in a measurement I didn't understand.
I looked at Harry, who was staring at me waiting to explain.
"I think we've just changed everything, mate."
-----------------------------------------
Oh the ideas I have for this one. | It was all or nothing. My brain racked with the possible consequences of allowing an alien substance inside the very organ which I and many others believed made our likes and dislikes, love and hate, passion and indifferences. But if this could work, my intuitions and judgment could potentially increase tenfold and for sure, I would be regarded as the most knowledgeable and innovative scientist to have ever graced the earth.
But it wouldn't change that I was a coward at heart. This had been tested on 100s of animals, now obviously they couldn't communicate whether they now possessed a HUD like feature in their vision, but we tested their vitals and they were fine. But questions like what if lurked around my mind, and it was as if my subconscious coerced me into keeping my hand away from the syringe as much as possible.
But damn it.
I put my life into this project. Ever since playing video games with my friends I wanted something just like what I had seen. Every single penny I ever kept was thrown into this work.
I grabbed the syringe and injected it into the vein in my neck. There was a brief intermission of silence and gradually darkness invaded my eyesight, until I was nudged into an oblivion. I watched myself, as if from an outside perspective, fall head first into my collection of glass bowls and vials.
And then nothingness ensued.
I woke up with a very distressed assistant staring me down. But I felt my eyes widen. It worked! I couldn't believe it. Window by window, my visions perimeter filled with information about who I was, my vitals, friends, money, tinder.
Part 2 if requested
| |
[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job. | What happens to the doctors when there is no more disease? Is humanity better off? Yes, for two reasons. The first is that there are no more diseases. The second is that there are no more doctors.
The doctors on the other hand are not doing so well for themselves. They're out of a job. They've got kids depending on them that are not doing so well. Here's the catch - most doctors are humans with plastic brains who can learn new things.
What I do is sort of err..... is sort of a super speciality. I really am too old to learn a new vocation.
And then these idiots had to go and blow up the whole world with their stupid computers. (In case you're wondering, that is in fact how it happened. Not global warming. Not a runaway nuclear explosion. Not a world war. Just some nerd who wrote a super smart computer program to make paper clips, that ended up hacking most systems and weaponising those and so on and so forth, until someone else managed to find a loophole that could be exploited to stop it.) Now all that was left of the world was broken continents, flooded lands, unquenchable flames raging across large parts of the earth's surface.
Now there's like a handful of them, stuck in one cave. Now I travel around pretty fast, but something about the scale of this thing has left even me a little immobilized.
So now I'm stuck with this measly group one one continent. I've been spending the last few hours knocking off one predator after another. And these ingrates are still wailing about how they're not gonna make it. Think positive you schmucks!!
"Excuse me, Mr." said a voice from behind. Now, I'd never been spoken to that politely, let alone during just after the biggest disaster the world had seen, but my anthropomorphic nature made me turn around to lay eyes on a 5 year old girl.
Naturally, I was surprised as to how she was able to see me. So I asked her "How are you able to see me?"
"Well, I'm young and I haven't yet been indoctrinated with the dogmas of the world. Since the world really was going to shit all around me, I grew up rather quickly and began to look for disaster everywhere I went. I guess I realized if I ever perfected my skills, I'd be able to see you. Quite literally. Now here you are. What's up?"
"Have you considered that maybe you're insane and hallucinating?" I asked her.
"Aren't we all? All the time" came the reply.
I groaned. Maybe it was time to retire. | #The Gluttonous Arm of Death#
__________________________________________________
As the winds blow cold and the world goes dark,
A race nearly dies and it's history ,nature forgot.
The only living memory scrambling in a park.
The horseman climbs down from his trot.
-
His brethren ravaged the land in full,
For, Anything they do leads to him,
As the lights flicker and the world goes dull,
will they eventually turn off after the dim?
-
As death finished his dance and walked to them,
He sees the end of this eon through his helm.
For the cycle to continue and the world to swirl,
His arm should stop it's power unfurl.
-
He turns to his brethren to make his stand,
For the wheel to continue and whirl once more.
Helping the similar souls, his black hand
Just so they can take more and more.
-
The Greed never stops and the world never ends.
Leaving live to thrive to end them again.
As the horsemen ride through the apocalypse.
The sun rises, and the wheel turns again.
| |
[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job. | "It's been a relaxing few days."
Death thought to itself. He was absolutely overloaded with work a few years ago, but now? Now work has been the slowest its been since the very early days, when humanity was starting up and God hadn't grown bored of them yet.
Boredom. Now that is a word that used to have no meaning to him. As he walked around what remained on earth, taking the occasional animal while kicking the surviving cats, who he particularly disliked, he started to think about what he could do with all the free time he had now. He could just take the job opportunity Satan gave to him and torture the souls of the departed, exploiting their latent fear of them, and he could use his affinity for theatrics there.
After all, Satan has been pestering him since college about joining his little venture, but Death had no interest on it. He instead took into a more neutral job, taking souls to their rightful place. All he had to do was give them a little push and they'll be on their way. It was an easy job, it was a fun job. All he had to do was travel around and meet them. Anyone could do it, but he was the best at it. Maybe it was his professionalism or his discretion, but he was feared and respected in equal measures. He was constantly told to take pride on his job, but at the end of the day, he just liked it.
He stopped and look at his list. Yes, this was the place. The last remnant of humanity. They should have died long ago, but Death usually liked to leave everything for the last possible second. He inspected the dark room where the last few survivors lived. Just a few dozens of them. Death was tasked to let them go, it was finally their time.
He suddenly felt a hint of nostalgia. Ah, humans. They really liked to put up a fight. His best costumers and his best providers. Some dedicated their lives to provide to him, others to keep him away for as long as, well, humanly possible. They always made a mess of his work. Pushing timelines, causing overwork, cheating him. Never a dull moment with this creatures, so many creative ways to die.
Death found himself smiling, looking at the last of them. Maybe he doesn't need to take them out just yet. Maybe they can keep him entertained for a bit more. He'll have to take them eventually, but why rush it? Let's see what they can do.
Death can wait. | #The Gluttonous Arm of Death#
__________________________________________________
As the winds blow cold and the world goes dark,
A race nearly dies and it's history ,nature forgot.
The only living memory scrambling in a park.
The horseman climbs down from his trot.
-
His brethren ravaged the land in full,
For, Anything they do leads to him,
As the lights flicker and the world goes dull,
will they eventually turn off after the dim?
-
As death finished his dance and walked to them,
He sees the end of this eon through his helm.
For the cycle to continue and the world to swirl,
His arm should stop it's power unfurl.
-
He turns to his brethren to make his stand,
For the wheel to continue and whirl once more.
Helping the similar souls, his black hand
Just so they can take more and more.
-
The Greed never stops and the world never ends.
Leaving live to thrive to end them again.
As the horsemen ride through the apocalypse.
The sun rises, and the wheel turns again.
| |
[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job. | The office was hell today. A bead of sweat dripped off his chin onto the keyboard below. The man was caressing his damp head with a crazed look in his eyes, transfixed to the computer screen in front of him.
The air-con had died a long time ago, along with it's reassuring whisper. The cool air had dispersed when heat invaded the office, slowly making its way across the open plan room. A few hours prior you could see the effects starting to affect the most vulnerable.
Agnus had to leave the office to get some air. Rumours had started to spread that the 40-something, morbidly obese, woman was already jostling around in the back of an emergency vehicle. Nobody cared to check on her.
It wasn't just the office that was heating up. The man had been red in the face for about a week now, no sleep, just work. The latest rise in the heat was just another sign of the time that was running out, his neck was on the line.
"Grim!" a sharp voice barked from over his shoulder. The heavy footsteps of self importance came marching towards his desk. Grim looked up at the ceiling, running his hand over his face. He was searching for answers. "Grim!" the voice repeated. The hand of the voice came crashing down on his shoulders and gripped tight.
"Yes?" Grim said with polite certainty. His time was short but he understood the authority that The Boss held, for now.
"What you got? Gimme figures? Gimme something! C'mon... whats wrong? You don't look so good?!" The Boss had spun Grim around in the chair and was closely examining his face. "CHRIST! Have you slept?!" The Boss gasped. "Don't tell me you took what I said seriously, last week? C'mon, I was kidding, I'm serious, you better not take me to HR for telling you to "get this fixed or die!"" The Boss chuckled, nervously.
Grim sighed and forced a weak smile. He knew his job depended on it. "Well, you know I hate working in this office, I like to be out in the field. So, I'm just a bit tired that's all, I need fresh air." Grim explained carefully.
"OH, FRESH AIR" The Boss was delighted by this notion. "FRESH AIR INDEED!" he bellowed throughout the office, turning his gaze over the room to make sure everyone was looking at the crazed grin that had formed on his face. "If you want fresh air, you better have some cases to close! That air con doesn't run on air, you know?" The Boss seemed rather pleased with his clever play on words, he had probably been thinking of this all morning. "Now, gimme something, gimme hope, Grim!" The Boss changed his tone and pleaded with Grim, he knew that his job was on the line as well.
None of his staff were doing very well. Grim was the big-hitter in the office, the employee of the month for as long as he could remember. Until about a month ago. It seemed that business was drying up, Grim would report to the office with no cases closed, no business. No-one could understand, as previous weeks he had been coming in with thousands of closed cases, easy.
Grim sighed again, and then turned towards his computer. "See this here?" Grim pointed towards the blurry image on the screen, a white blip among the bleak black canvas. "There's two in this region, fairly good condition but shouldn't be long before that changes." Grim turned towards The Boss to see if he understood, there was a grin on his face, he didn't. "So, obviously, it's a good thing. However, I haven't been able to find any more since... None!" Grim leaned back in his chair, allowing the words to sink in.
"Well...When did you find them?" The Boss asked cautiously.
"Last week." Grim stated.
"LAST WEEK! What are you waiting on!" The Boss was bewildered and took a step back to surmise the information that he was being told.
"Well.." Grim started, but then picked up a stress ball that was lying on his desk, a small white skull made of foam. He gave it slow repetitive pumps whilst continuing. "I thought, that... Well, ever since our entire stock disappeared THESE guys are the only ones that I have found. There are NO. OTHERS." Grim held up his free hand and made a "zero" gesture and then wiped the sweat from his forehead. "Chances are, when these guys are gone that it. It's over. SO! I've been thinking, a lot." Grim paused again.
"Well, get to the point Grim, my whole fucking business is crumbling, you haven't closed a case in days and here we are looking at two little beauts that you could have snapped up ages ago. Surely there is more? C'mon, I don't believe that these are the last two! What were you thinking? Please, tell me?" The Boss was close to pleading, he would be just as well getting on his knees. His voice had a tremor of fear that Grim could sense.
"We should save them." Grim quietly revealed.
A gasp whipped round the office as the eavesdroppers could not contain their veil any longer. Then silence.
The Boss looked intently at Grim. He finally understood.
| #The Gluttonous Arm of Death#
__________________________________________________
As the winds blow cold and the world goes dark,
A race nearly dies and it's history ,nature forgot.
The only living memory scrambling in a park.
The horseman climbs down from his trot.
-
His brethren ravaged the land in full,
For, Anything they do leads to him,
As the lights flicker and the world goes dull,
will they eventually turn off after the dim?
-
As death finished his dance and walked to them,
He sees the end of this eon through his helm.
For the cycle to continue and the world to swirl,
His arm should stop it's power unfurl.
-
He turns to his brethren to make his stand,
For the wheel to continue and whirl once more.
Helping the similar souls, his black hand
Just so they can take more and more.
-
The Greed never stops and the world never ends.
Leaving live to thrive to end them again.
As the horsemen ride through the apocalypse.
The sun rises, and the wheel turns again.
| |
[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job. | The northern European landscape we now crossed was unrecognizable. It surrounded us with its monotone light-brown color of earth mixed with dust and ash. Occasionally this view would be enriched by the presence of pine trees, looking raw and strong like survivors. The pine trees had fought as was evident from the stance they had assumed, not standing straight and proud but leaning. Remnants of dust on the pine trees made it clear there had been no wind and rain in the last days. Just dust.
We had started with eleven only to end up with four people now. We had lost the others one by one, often followed by a small miracle. Each time we lost someone we would find water, food or shelter afterwards. The sense of tragedy was confounded by the knowledge that we were saved for a while longer.
This had been a sparsely populated area to begin with and our strategy was to travel from shelter to shelter until we would get near the sea. We were traveling now for nine days without finding one and desperation creeped up on us. We encountered a small wooden two-floor cabin amidst some pine trees and what used to be a lake. The storms had clearly damaged the cabin but it seemed to be able to provide shelter. The dust-storms could begin any moment again. A mix of euphoria and suspicion hit the group upon entering when we saw a good stash of plastic bottles of water in the pantry. Someone must have stored this for their own survival. We found water often in abandoned establishments and sometimes dried foods or grains or if we were very lucky cans with beans or fruits. We also knew by now what event usually accompanied these small miracles and looked at each other with slight melancholy.
Food was difficult to come by. In the first weeks we could still hunt and fish but few animals survived in these conditions and the rivers got worse each day. We followed the rivers and lakes and each time we would catch one of the few remaining salmons it almost seemed as if it was send our way. Now we were hungry but we at least had water and shelter and were generally in a good mood. Tomorrow we would explore this area further with the cabin as base camp. We made a toast with the water and went to sleep.
In the morning I was awakened by my three companions who were rambling happily and full of unrest. They pushed a pair of binoculars in my hands and carefully guided me to the window where one of them lifted a corner of the tarpaulin. I looked through the opening with the binoculars and far away, between the pine trees was a moose. It had been the first wildlife we had seen since the heavy dust storms and could provide us with enough food to stick around here for a while. How it had survived I do not know, maybe it had a helping hand like we did in the last weeks.
| #The Gluttonous Arm of Death#
__________________________________________________
As the winds blow cold and the world goes dark,
A race nearly dies and it's history ,nature forgot.
The only living memory scrambling in a park.
The horseman climbs down from his trot.
-
His brethren ravaged the land in full,
For, Anything they do leads to him,
As the lights flicker and the world goes dull,
will they eventually turn off after the dim?
-
As death finished his dance and walked to them,
He sees the end of this eon through his helm.
For the cycle to continue and the world to swirl,
His arm should stop it's power unfurl.
-
He turns to his brethren to make his stand,
For the wheel to continue and whirl once more.
Helping the similar souls, his black hand
Just so they can take more and more.
-
The Greed never stops and the world never ends.
Leaving live to thrive to end them again.
As the horsemen ride through the apocalypse.
The sun rises, and the wheel turns again.
| |
[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job. | Death grabbed some stones and carried them over to the building site. This was were a new community was being built. One of the last communities. After all, the apocalypse had just happened. A deadly virus had wiped out all of humanity except for about 5,000 people. The survivors were those who had waited inside a bunker, or the ones who paid for the incredibly expensive healthcare package. This was bad news for our good old pal Death, who would be out of a job soon if ALL of humanity got wiped out. He had decided to gather up the survivors left in the ruins of Chicago, and helped them get food, water, and power running. Now, he was helping them build homes. He kept placing stones, one by one and making walls. He then dropped one on his toe and winced. After wincing for approximately 1.7 seconds, he got back to work.
Around 9:00 PM, he was finished. Another home complete. He wiped the non-existent sweat off of his bony forehead, and went back to his hut for the night. He then grabbed his old iPod. You see, this iPod came from his boss Hades. It was a gift from the god of the Underworld himself! It's battery never, ever ran out! Death turned on an indie rock playlist, and closed his eye-sockets, falling asleep.
Death woke up and stretched for a second. He then walked out of his hut, and into the Mess Hall in the center of the town. He smelled uncooked bacon, and rationed granola bars. Oh, how excited he was! He sat down at one of the long benches next to his best bud Chad. "Hey Chad. How's the city so far?" Death asked with a yawn. "The construction of New Chicago is going great! I'm really glad that you decided to help out, free of charge!"
Death frowned. He WAS helping out free of charge, because they had nothing to give him. Oh well. "Hey Chad, you asking out that girl Hannah today?" Death said to Chad. Chad blushed and started to mumble something that Death couldn't hear. "I didn't heeeaaar you Chad." Death said, a hint of mockery in his voice. "Yeah, I guess." Chad said. "Alright! So you're gonna have sex tonight?" Death asked with excitement. Chad was shocked by this. "Dude, it doesn't work like that! Look, I know you really want us humans to repopulate the Earth, but nobody has sex on the first night of dating!" Death frowned. "Maybe next week then." He said.
*If you liked or disliked the story please let me know why!* | #The Gluttonous Arm of Death#
__________________________________________________
As the winds blow cold and the world goes dark,
A race nearly dies and it's history ,nature forgot.
The only living memory scrambling in a park.
The horseman climbs down from his trot.
-
His brethren ravaged the land in full,
For, Anything they do leads to him,
As the lights flicker and the world goes dull,
will they eventually turn off after the dim?
-
As death finished his dance and walked to them,
He sees the end of this eon through his helm.
For the cycle to continue and the world to swirl,
His arm should stop it's power unfurl.
-
He turns to his brethren to make his stand,
For the wheel to continue and whirl once more.
Helping the similar souls, his black hand
Just so they can take more and more.
-
The Greed never stops and the world never ends.
Leaving live to thrive to end them again.
As the horsemen ride through the apocalypse.
The sun rises, and the wheel turns again.
| |
[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job. | *With apologies to Terry Pratchett*
Christina wiped crimson juice from her mouth and cheeks, spreading it across the back of her hand in a long, pale stain. This was wrong, she knew, but a girl had to eat something. Even one less mouth to feed by the time she got her foraged bounty back to the others could make all the difference. Many adults were already nearly starving themselves just to make sure the few children had enough to eat.
She popped one last guilty raspberry in her mouth, savoring its sweet, warm squish between her teeth. What fun was going gathering if she couldn't take a few for herself? She gathered her basket and set off, leaving the unripe bush-bound berries for another day.
Christina had been this way many times in the two months since leaving what remained of civilization with her newfound comrades – they were a tribe now, she supposed – and already her steps had worn a light path through the undergrowth. Almost like a game trail, she thought with an ironic twist, recalling her youth spent hunting deer with her older brother. He had been away on vacation the day of the War, she thought for the hundredth time. He hadn't been in the city, so maybe...
Another bush presented itself – blueberries. She pushed the longing thoughts from her head and set about filling her half-empty basket.
HELLO, CHRISTINA, came a voice from behind her like the slam of a 5-inch-thick fallout shelter blast door. She started, her flailing arm upending the basket and scattering berries everywhere.
LOOK, I REALLY HATE TO BOTHER YOU, BUT I COULD RATHER USE YOUR HELP WITH SOMETHING.
Christina turned slowly, hand clasping the scavenged butcher's knife at her belt, not knowing what to expect. It still defied all her expectations.
Before her stood a black-robed figure, at least seven feet tall, leaning anxiously on a farmer's scythe. She could not see its face beneath the deep folds of the cloak's hood, but it seemed...hollow, empty. Its left hand, clutching the shaft of the scythe, was bare bone.
She drew her knife, holding it in both hands between herself and the figure like a vampire hunter's cross. “What – who are you?”
DO YOU NOT RECOGNIZE ME, CHILD?
Christina felt a horrible pang of realization. “Am...am I dead?” she asked, fearing she knew the answer.
To her surprise, Death lifted its right hand, shaking back its voluminous sleeve to reveal a skeletal wrist encrusted with watches of all styles and sizes – gold, silver, digital, analog, even a child's cartoon-adorned band. Death tapped on one that looked exactly like a gift from Christina's brother back when she graduated from high school.
NOT JUST YET. WE HAVE ABOUT FIVE MINUTES. WHICH IS WHY I NEED YOU TO LISTEN.
Christina broke down and collapsed to her knees, dropping the knife. It sank point-first into the ground, just missing Death's left big toe. Death stepped back, not so much worried about its podiatric wellbeing as it was unsure how to respond to Christina's outpouring of emotion.
Death turned its head back and forth, as though checking for witnesses. LOOK, I'M NOT EVEN SUPPOSED TO SHOW UP THIS EARLY. IT'S MEANT TO BE A DONE DEAL BY THE TIME I GET INVOLVED, SO...COULD YOU DO ME A FAVOR AND PRETEND IT'S ALREADY OVER?
Christina sniffled, sobering slightly at the absurdity. “What's even the point? What could I possibly do to help you – and why would I?”
WELL – YOU SEE, THIS WHOLE APOCALYPSE BUSINESS HAS BEEN TERRIBLY INCONVENIENT. I NEVER EXPECTED IT TO BE THIS BAD. GLOBAL NUCLEAR WAR IN A DAY? YOU HUMANS REALLY OUTDID YOURSELVES.
Death scuffed its foot on the ground uncomfortably, making a sound that put nails and chalkboards to shame. THE TRUTH IS, THERE AREN'T MANY OF YOU LEFT. I REALLY NEED YOU TO START BANDING TOGETHER AND REPOPULATING THE EARTH AND ALL, OR I'LL BE OUT OF A JOB. AND YOU CAN'T IMAGINE HOW MUCH OF A PAIN IT IS TO FIND ANOTHER PLANET THAT NEEDS A KEEPER OF THE AFTERLIFE...
“...Well I'm as good as dead, apparently, so I'm not sure where this is going.”
AH. AS IT HAPPENS, THERE'S ANOTHER TRIBE CAMPED A FEW MILES EAST OF HERE. I THINK YOU ALL WOULD COMPLIMENT EACH OTHER QUITE WELL. WHEN YOUR FRIEND “MIKE” COMES AND FINDS YOU IN YOUR TRAGIC LAST MOMENTS, WOULD YOU MIND TELLING HIM FOR ME?
Just then, Christina felt a sharp pain in her foot. RIGHT ON CUE. I'LL SEE YOU IN A BIT. Death shifted its head in a weird motion that made her think it had tried to wink, but there was no way to know. It faded into the shadows of the trees. Christina grabbed the cottonmouth sunk fang-deep in her ankle and flung it away.
She heard someone coming along her game trail. “Michael?” she called. Of course it was him.
“Chris?!” he called back. “Where are you? Are you hurt?”
“Oh god, Michael. I'm over here.” Michael broke into a run, crashing through the bushes and into her clearing. He knelt beside her, saw the twin puncture wounds, and stared at her with knowing grief.
“Chris--”
“Shh. Just listen. You need to take them east.” Christina felt her consciousness fading. “Don't ask me why, just do it. Everything will be alright...” She trailed off and passed out. Michael caught her and lifted her over his shoulders, hoping he could get back to camp in time to do...something.
He paused, gazing east and considering her strange advice. It would be farther into the wilderness, away from most supplies and their camp at the edge of the woods. But somehow she'd seemed so certain.
As he hurried back to camp, Michael was sure he heard a grinding, grating noise, like two skeletal hands being rubbed together in anticipation.
THANK YOU, CHRISTINA. | #The Gluttonous Arm of Death#
__________________________________________________
As the winds blow cold and the world goes dark,
A race nearly dies and it's history ,nature forgot.
The only living memory scrambling in a park.
The horseman climbs down from his trot.
-
His brethren ravaged the land in full,
For, Anything they do leads to him,
As the lights flicker and the world goes dull,
will they eventually turn off after the dim?
-
As death finished his dance and walked to them,
He sees the end of this eon through his helm.
For the cycle to continue and the world to swirl,
His arm should stop it's power unfurl.
-
He turns to his brethren to make his stand,
For the wheel to continue and whirl once more.
Helping the similar souls, his black hand
Just so they can take more and more.
-
The Greed never stops and the world never ends.
Leaving live to thrive to end them again.
As the horsemen ride through the apocalypse.
The sun rises, and the wheel turns again.
| |
[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job. | Every time a human dies, time stands still. It stays still for me until I locate the newly freed soul, and give it passage to it's afterlife. Some to Valhalla, some to Olympus, others to Heaven, for some reason many of these modern humans choose to go to hell, because they think they belong there. No matter what it takes me hours to collect them, usher them and help them get connected with their spirit guide.
Then time starts and another dies and I'm back at it.
So it's gone for 100,000 years of human life. There have been times where work wasn't busy, and times when a year for humans went on for thousands of years for me because of a plague or war.
Still I love my job. The feeling of joy that emanates from their soul when they reach their afterlife brings me joy that no living human can understand. Also the shapeshifting to their pleasing form is nice too.
So 100,000 years later doing the best job a Phantasm can do and I almost lost my job. I don't understand human politics, but a large war broke out, and it led to a disease being loosed on humanity that killed 99.9996% of them in weeks.
Weeks that seemed like millennia to me. There were seven billion of them you see, seven billion souls to usher, and sure I may have been less cheery about it, because I was rushing around like you wouldn't believe, but I'd never want this job to end, because with this job's end, so goes my existence.
Now there stands just 5,341 of them.... 5,340 of them.
These aren't the best and the brightest. That last one was cleaning a firearm "For protection" and didn't unload it first. He blew his brains out all over a nice marble statue.
Shame there isn't anyone else around to clean it up.
This leaves me with a lot of free time though. I've devised a plan to save humanity, and myself I just need to keep them alive in the mean time. | #The Gluttonous Arm of Death#
__________________________________________________
As the winds blow cold and the world goes dark,
A race nearly dies and it's history ,nature forgot.
The only living memory scrambling in a park.
The horseman climbs down from his trot.
-
His brethren ravaged the land in full,
For, Anything they do leads to him,
As the lights flicker and the world goes dull,
will they eventually turn off after the dim?
-
As death finished his dance and walked to them,
He sees the end of this eon through his helm.
For the cycle to continue and the world to swirl,
His arm should stop it's power unfurl.
-
He turns to his brethren to make his stand,
For the wheel to continue and whirl once more.
Helping the similar souls, his black hand
Just so they can take more and more.
-
The Greed never stops and the world never ends.
Leaving live to thrive to end them again.
As the horsemen ride through the apocalypse.
The sun rises, and the wheel turns again.
| |
[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job. | The dark and heavy clouds raged in the distance with the setting sun. She slowly rocked in her rocking chair, the one her eldest son had made for her many birthdays ago, listening to the sounds of her hearth and the approaching storm. Her left leg ached as it always did before a big storm, the same leg she had broken nearly 70 years ago, an inconvenient reminder of the life she had almost lost.
 
In her lap lay her father’s bible. She found humor in her faith, in how before the bombs fell she was a devout atheist to the point of forcefully trying to disprove all theology. But now she knew, knew that it didn’t matter if you were an atheist or a theist, because it was irreconcilable differences like these that brought on the Third Great War. She opened the book to the words of Isaiah, one page in particular marked with a long black feather. The tips of her fingers stroked the silken vane.
 
A sudden jolt of light poured in through the westward window, casting long shadows throughout the cabin. When the light faded so too did the shadows, all but one. A dark silhouette stood by her front door. Fear tried to grasp her, but her old age had prepared her for this moment. She didn’t say anything, not at first, waiting for the figure to pass in hopes that it was her imagination. Thunder softly vibrated the walls. A few minutes went by, but the figure remained, a sentinel amongst the darkness. Another flash of light filled the room, this time her attention completely focused. It was only for a second but it was more than enough time to recognize the familiar face. Again, thunder vibrated the walls, more violently this time as the storm drew nearer.
 
“I didn’t think we’d ever meet again,” she whispered the lie, half expecting him to not hear her. He stepped closer, away from the threshold and into the soft glow of light cast by the fireplace. There he stood, the same man that had saved her life 72 years ago. Although, unlike her the passing of time had been much kinder to him. He was exactly as she remembered, a handsome man in his 30s, clean shaven and dark ruffled hair, but it was his eyes she remembered most. Eyes that could pierce stone; eyes that knew the secrets of the world, eyes that had seen it all. How those eyes had comforted and also haunted her.
 
“I was seventeen when you first appeared, my leg broken. You saved me then, and guided me here, where I would meet my husband,” she said, more to herself than to him. “Tell me, do you remember me?”
 
“I remember,” he said, the words soft and beautiful, but they also carried something more tenacious.
 
“I’ve told that story many times, saying you were my guardian angel. And when Andrew, my oldest, was bitten by that snake, he said a strange man had cared for the injury and carried him to the edge of the field, where we found him.” She paused, looking into those old eyes. “I knew it was you who had saved him, as you had saved me. I told them all not to fear the shadow, for he was there to protect us.” She paused, afraid to speak what was next, but she steadied herself and continue on. “I’ve had a very long time to think, as it seems that is all old ladies are good for,” she smiled at her own humor, but it quickly faded. “However, you only seem to appear when death is ready to make a claim.” Again she paused, unsure of how to ask her question. She licked her dry wrinkled lips. “Tell me please, do I know your name?”
 
“Yes.”
 
“Then please, say it for me.”
 
The storm once again sent out a great ray of light, filling the room. In that brief moment she thought she saw two giant black feathered wings folded behind the man’s back.
 
“Azrael,” the name rolled perfectly off his tongue.
 
A deafening explosion sounded not far off from the house, startling her as she slightly jumped in her seat. Everything within shook from the force and rattled briefly as the light cast from outside flickered back into darkness, once again leaving the room filled with only silence and the soft glow of the fireplace.
 
“I see,” she rubbed her left leg in a futile attempt to massage the pain away. “Then perhaps it was not only you who saved me, but also I who saved you?” The question lingered in the air, unanswered by the man. “For what is a farmer if he has no crops to reap.” The man knelt in front of her and extended his hand out to her, palm up. She placed her own small and fragile hand onto his. He grasped it, strong but gentle.
 
"Tell me what I must do,” she asked, tears beginning to roll down her cheeks.
 
With his other hand he grasped her shoulder, the touch warm and oddly comforting.
 
“Just breathe.”
 
She took in a slow and shaky deep breathe, and then let it all out, her very last. Her hand went limp in his, and her posture slumped heavily into the chair.
 
The sky suddenly broke open and unleashed the torrent it had been holding back. The rain beat down on the tin roof, deafening any further sounds. From within his long dark garbs, he pulled a small book and flipped to a page near its beginning. There he found her name amongst her many descendants. The tips of his fingers stroked the name upon the page. And in so doing her name was struck from it, leaving a now empty gap amongst the many names upon the page. However, even in its absence he knew he would never forget it. *Aliza Klein*, his small joy that brought hope back into his world.
 
He put the book back into his inner pocket and in so doing saw on the floor another book. This one slightly larger than his own, and near the middle of its pages stuck a long black feather. He picked it up and flipped the book open, smiling at the familiar item held within. And upon the page was a highlighted verse.
 
*Even to your old age and gray hairs I am he, I am he who will sustain you. I have made you and I will carry you; I will sustain you and I will rescue you.*
 
*formatting and stuff
| #The Gluttonous Arm of Death#
__________________________________________________
As the winds blow cold and the world goes dark,
A race nearly dies and it's history ,nature forgot.
The only living memory scrambling in a park.
The horseman climbs down from his trot.
-
His brethren ravaged the land in full,
For, Anything they do leads to him,
As the lights flicker and the world goes dull,
will they eventually turn off after the dim?
-
As death finished his dance and walked to them,
He sees the end of this eon through his helm.
For the cycle to continue and the world to swirl,
His arm should stop it's power unfurl.
-
He turns to his brethren to make his stand,
For the wheel to continue and whirl once more.
Helping the similar souls, his black hand
Just so they can take more and more.
-
The Greed never stops and the world never ends.
Leaving live to thrive to end them again.
As the horsemen ride through the apocalypse.
The sun rises, and the wheel turns again.
| |
[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job. | "Shit, shit, shit ..." A dark hooded figure walked through the wasteland. "Fuck, fuck, fuck ... this was not scheduled. This is bad... " The figure stops and taps its chest and arms repetitively. "I'm still here. It's not over yet. Keep your head Clarice. Somewhere out there are some idiots still alive ... and ... fuck ... I have to keep them this way."
In a bunker, not far from the hooded figure. "So there I was. The office full of colleagues and strangers, and all I had to cover my enormous penis was the birthday pie I fetched from the store. My boss was not please. *She* was not please, I tell you." This was the 8^th lame, and made-up story he told her. 3 day they've spend in the bunker and it was nothing like the stories made it appear. She, the last women on the world, and he, the last man on the planet. At first she hoped that he would start to get *appealing* a few days in, but "appalling" remains "appalling" it seems. So this is it? She's going to die together with that guy? Drowning seems like a trip to Disney Land in comparison. "I have to go to the toiler." She excused herself and left the room. He remained to wonder how often she was going to use the toiled within an hour?
She flushed the toilet. It was a special water saving one. No drowning there. Frustrated she walked over the to cabinet. Jackpot. Razor-blades served with a hand-picked bouquet of assorted pills. "DON'T!", the hooded figure appeared. For the sake of your ears the following scream of the woman will not be described. "Please, you can't do that. My name is Death Clarice Incarnate, and my existence depends on your survival. Please don't kill yourself."
"What? You're who? Death?! ... those pills act fast."
"You haven't take any yet ..."
"Yeah, amazing isn't it?"
"No, please, listen. You must not kill yourself. I know it is hard, but you have to survive. And, well, it would be great if you'd repopulate the planet."
"With that guy?"
"Please?"
"Down they go..." and the woman started to swallow the pills like candy.
"NO!" The hooded figure knocked the pills out of the woman's hand with a scythe, careful not to touch her.
"LEAVE ME ALONE!", the women screamed. "You murdered all I ever loved! My family, my hamster, Joshua from the office on the opposite side of the road!" To top it all off she threw her phone against the wall, shattering it in thousand pieces "Even the PokemonGo servers are dead! YOU MONSTER!"
"I'm sorry. I just work here. I didn't start any nukes, but please listen. Ok, I get it. He really seems like a terrible guy, but I need you to do this. YOU need yourself to do this. 40 years from now you'll look at this and laugh. I promise."
"Yeah, fuck that. 40 minutes from now I better be stone dead."
"OK, lets strike a deal. You get 10 children with him and in 10 years I kill you. How does that sound?"
"5 children and you kill him!"
"Fuck. ... shit" the hooded figure cursed, "... Okey, deal!" The women reached out her hand to close to deal, but the hooded figure faltered. "... oh, nice try! I'm not going to fall for that one. If we touch it's you who dies."
"Shit." This time it was the woman's time to curse. "But I really don't want to stand close to him, let alone anything else. ... Have you even heard his stories?! Nothing gets through to him. I told him he's not funny 3 times. He doesn't listen to anything. Yesterday I tried to make a joke and he just told me I have beautiful eye ... like my eyes can turn this wasteland fertile again. And I'm to spend 5 years with him. All my dreams and hopes wasted on an guy with the character of an unpainted brick wall?" The women sat on the ground sobbing. "Nothing matters anymore. Everyone is dead, my only dress in ruined, and now even death is no salvation." She continued to sob for a few minutes. "Fuck ... fuuuuuuuuckfuckfuck. *sigh* There really is no other way?" The women asked. The hooded figure shook its head. "Well, there better be some spirit in one of those storage cans, or it's going to be a long nuclear winter."
When she returned into the main room of the bunker the women, and the hooded figure found the man dead. He hung himself from a door knob with his belt; his trousers at his ankles. Over him another hooded figure was standing. "Oh, is that you Clarice? Look what I've found. World is ended and he tries out erotic asphyxiation. Well, not on my watch, buddy.", and the figure took a good kick at the corpse.
"Eric?! What have you done?! These two were the last hope for humanity!"
The second hooded figure looked at the women, and then back at the corpse. "Well, not with one dead, that's for sure." - "What is wrong with you?! Once she's dead we're no longer needed and disappear! How could you!" - "Why are you screaming at me! How should I know! You could have told me!"
While the two figures were arguing, the women sat down on the couch with a sanguine smile. Now that the worst was finally over it can finally get better. With this the women redefined the meaning of some words and literally lived happily ever after. | #The Gluttonous Arm of Death#
__________________________________________________
As the winds blow cold and the world goes dark,
A race nearly dies and it's history ,nature forgot.
The only living memory scrambling in a park.
The horseman climbs down from his trot.
-
His brethren ravaged the land in full,
For, Anything they do leads to him,
As the lights flicker and the world goes dull,
will they eventually turn off after the dim?
-
As death finished his dance and walked to them,
He sees the end of this eon through his helm.
For the cycle to continue and the world to swirl,
His arm should stop it's power unfurl.
-
He turns to his brethren to make his stand,
For the wheel to continue and whirl once more.
Helping the similar souls, his black hand
Just so they can take more and more.
-
The Greed never stops and the world never ends.
Leaving live to thrive to end them again.
As the horsemen ride through the apocalypse.
The sun rises, and the wheel turns again.
| |
[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job. | A chill descended over the rag-tag assembly, and neither their small, poorly-made fire nor the tattered remains of their business casual attire served to warm them. Their conversation dropped from a murmur to a hush at the sound of a cracking branch.
Jane’s eyes darted to the source of the noise. “Hey--” she nudged the man sitting beside her, “do you see that gaunt, lanky-looking fellow?”
**Hello.**
The survivors nearly jumped out of their sweater-vests. They quickly turned around towards the voice as they waited for Jane, the group’s *de facto* leader, to speak.
“Who are you? And why are you wearing that robe? You’re not some kind of, er, cultist, I hope.”
**I am Death.**
Wilbur, the *de jure* Head of Foraging and a former corporate account, blinked twice and reminded the survivors that he had advised *against* eating the canned food Jane found earlier that night.
**The canned food was perfectly edible. You are not dead yet.**
“Oh,” said Jane, “then what is it that you want?”
Death explained his predicament to the survivors. In the realm of Death and Death-related services, an apocalypse is about as close to a market bubble as one can come. When Death was reaping souls by the thousands, business was booming. Death had even purchased a new, state-of-the-art scythe to keep up with the demand. The trouble, Death explained, is that a scythe – especially the UltraCarbon MetaFiber SoulCleaver Deluxe with satellite radio – is an expensive tool.
**The heart of the problem is this: There are not enough human souls left to collect. As it stands, I have no hope of paying off the loan on my new scythe. And even if I were to pay off the loan, that would be the end for humanity. I would become…**
Death shook his head, unable to finish the sentence. “Well, go on” Jane urged.
**…unemployed.**
“I have a solution!” Jane and Wilbur simultaneously exclaimed. They jolted towards each other, each trying to pierce the other by means of eyes alone. Ever since the minutes after the apocalypse, when this small and bureaucratic group of survivors had drafted their *Memoranda and Procedure for Life and Leadership in the Post-Apocalyptic Wasteland*, Jane and Wilbur had been fighting an unspoken war. Jane was a natural leader, and the survivors tended to follow her directions. She believed that the key to rebuilding society was well-intentioned and virtuous leadership. But Wilbur had been enshrined in the *Memoranda* as the group’s rightful leader, and he believed that that the key to rebuilding society was careful attention to established rules and hierarchies with an even more careful eye kept on the lookout for loopholes.
**I am sure that you both have excellent solutions. I would like to first hear that of Wilbur, and then that of Jane.**
Wilbur strode calmly and authoritatively around the fire as he began his address to Death and the survivors,
“Clearly, Mr. Death, you are faced with a grave difficulty. In the time it would take to rebuild human society and restock the population, interest will accrue such that you may become unable to repay your loan. Therefore, I propose that you repay your loan by grouping future human souls that we can be sure will, at some point in time, exist and promising those to the bank.”
**We do not have such complicated financial systems, Wilbur. It seems risky.**
Wilbur sat back down, looking decidedly content. Jane glowered at him and began to speak,
“Mr. Death, if I may be blunt, Wilbur’s plan is terribly hazardous. What we need to do is to ensure the steady and rapid re-growth of human society. I have been devising multiple highly efficient agricultural techniques based on a book I found at the—“
**Stop.**
“Wha- why?”
**You are taking too long. And you were being shrill. I choose Wilbur’s plan.**
Jane returned to her seat by the fire and thought, “Of course, Death’s a sexist.” The place where Death had been standing shimmered slightly as he popped out of existence – or, it would be more accurate to say, began existing in a different dimension – and then returned to its normal state of emptiness.
Death walked through the void that was the Interdimensional Bank of Souls’ foyer and politely requested to speak with the high officials. His request was granted. Although even the highest officials at the Bank had never heard of the financial wizardry that Death proposed to them, they figured that as long as they got their payment it didn’t matter when they actually received the souls. Death had never failed to deliver souls to them, and besides, he had a big shiny new scythe – with satellite radio! They considered his debt paid.
A great length of time passed. Jane, Wilbur, and all of the other survivors died. Most of them failed to have children. Their faded khakis and tattered sweater-vests decomposed along with the rest of their bodies, as their few children also grew old and also failed to procreate. Their children had no sweater-vests, so they wore furs. Their furs decomposed as well. And so on, and so on, until there were no more garments to decompose in the mud and no more humans to make garments.
Up until now things had been going really, really well for the Interdimensional Bank of Souls. Executives and shareholders alike were thrilled by the novel technique Death had taught them, which was able to turn a Post-Apocalyptic Soul Recession into an unprecedented boom.
It was at this point, however, that things began to go really, really poorly. Without any humans to harvest souls from there was no longer any usable currency. And since the currency in existence had been based upon the speculation that human souls would exist at a given time in the future, interdimensional beings discovered not only that their currency was worthless but that it had, in fact, been worthless for quite a long time. Suffice it to say that the Soul Economy crashed so rapidly and thoroughly that interdimensional society as a whole ceased to exist.
*
Some time after the crash a group of interdimensional beings sat gathered around a cosmic energy vortex. They detected a slight decrease in ambient temperature as well as the presence of a large mass distorting space-time. Death nudged the being at his side and asked if she detected the anomaly. She gave a disinterested nod. The anomaly slowly drew nearer. Death inhaled sharply as the anomalous lifeform loomed over him. It looked at the hodge-podge group of interdimensional beings, with their tattered robes and pathetically small energy vortex, and it said,
**Hello.**
| #The Gluttonous Arm of Death#
__________________________________________________
As the winds blow cold and the world goes dark,
A race nearly dies and it's history ,nature forgot.
The only living memory scrambling in a park.
The horseman climbs down from his trot.
-
His brethren ravaged the land in full,
For, Anything they do leads to him,
As the lights flicker and the world goes dull,
will they eventually turn off after the dim?
-
As death finished his dance and walked to them,
He sees the end of this eon through his helm.
For the cycle to continue and the world to swirl,
His arm should stop it's power unfurl.
-
He turns to his brethren to make his stand,
For the wheel to continue and whirl once more.
Helping the similar souls, his black hand
Just so they can take more and more.
-
The Greed never stops and the world never ends.
Leaving live to thrive to end them again.
As the horsemen ride through the apocalypse.
The sun rises, and the wheel turns again.
| |
[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job. | Eighty-five. There were only eighty-five left. He had appointments with 40 more in the next two days. Beyond that the appointments were spaced out over the next 60 years. For thousands of years Death had done his job shuttling the souls of the dead humans on to the afterlife. He had become quite attached to them and knew that when they were all gone, he would never feel quite as fulfilled as he had since he took on his job. He wasn't sure what would happen, if he would find new purpose with another world or species or if he would just be let go. Either outcome was equally terrifying in his eyes, so he tried to do something he never had before. Delay his appointments long enough that more appointments are scheduled.
Kiara didn't know what to do. She had stayed on her family's farm through the worst of the floods and earthquakes. Not for the first time she was glad that her great great grandfather had loved the mountains and was crazy enough to build a farm at an extreme elevation. She hated it growing up, and often mocked her younger brother for wanting to stay on the farm. Now it was just the two of them and she didn't know how long Ian would last. He had gotten a snakebite earlier while checking the fields and was hallucinating in the house. It was a bite that shouldn't be fatal except there wasn't a hospital anywhere around or even a pharmacy. She had been taking a break after graduating medical school when all hell broke loose. Her parents had died in some rioting while trying to get supplies. So here she was sitting on the front porch, as far as she knew the last woman on earth and about to be the last person on earth.
Out in the field she saw a black figure cutting wheat. Great, now she was hallucinating too. Then her hallucination started walking toward her. A large figure in a black cloak which was walking toward the house holding a long black scythe with a mirror finish on the blade. She barely even reacted when it came and sat on the porch next to her. When it said her name and put a bony hand on her shoulder however she fell over with a scream.
"Sorry, I realize I must be a bit unexpected. But I thought you were ok when you didn't say anything."
"A-are you death? Did you come for my brother?" she said getting up hesitantly.
"Yes and no. You see, I have an appointment with him in about two hours but I didn't have anywhere else to be so I thought I'd come early. Though I'd rather like to delay my appointment with him if possible."
"Delay it? How can you do that?"
"I have brought a few supplies for you. I think this medicine should help him. You are qualified to administer it to him. I will give it to you if you promise to help me."
Kiara was stunned. She didn't know what to say or do and so she sat there and stared at death with her mouth open and a shocked expression on her face.
Feeling a bit awkward Death opted to fill the silence, "I've carried this scythe for thousands of years, but today is the first time I've used it for the intended purpose. I've just been so busy. Now, there are so few of you left, I have a lot of downtime. I'd rather keep doing what I've been doing. I like it, I like humanity. I don't want to let it end."
Again, Kiara was speechless. She had never imagined a casual conversation with death, even if the conversation was a bit one sided.
"I'm here to make sure that humanity continues. My appointment with you, Kiara, is quite a bit more than fifty years away. I have confidence that with your help, we can keep humanity alive. Here, take the medicine for your brother. Also, here is a radio and a list of the names and locations of everyone left. I don't think you'll be able to get everyone, but there are enough to keep going. I don't think I'll be able to come back to you. But I'll leave something with everyone that is left. That should be enough."
Kiara took the bag from Death, "I'm not sure I understand everything, but I'll do my best. Thank you."
Death looked at her and said, "If you succeed, I shall be the one thanking you. Good luck." Then he turned and started walking away.
Kiara looked in the bag and found everything she needed for her brother's care. She would worry about the rest of it after she had seen to him.
"Thank you." She said again, though no one could hear her. | #The Gluttonous Arm of Death#
__________________________________________________
As the winds blow cold and the world goes dark,
A race nearly dies and it's history ,nature forgot.
The only living memory scrambling in a park.
The horseman climbs down from his trot.
-
His brethren ravaged the land in full,
For, Anything they do leads to him,
As the lights flicker and the world goes dull,
will they eventually turn off after the dim?
-
As death finished his dance and walked to them,
He sees the end of this eon through his helm.
For the cycle to continue and the world to swirl,
His arm should stop it's power unfurl.
-
He turns to his brethren to make his stand,
For the wheel to continue and whirl once more.
Helping the similar souls, his black hand
Just so they can take more and more.
-
The Greed never stops and the world never ends.
Leaving live to thrive to end them again.
As the horsemen ride through the apocalypse.
The sun rises, and the wheel turns again.
| |
[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job. | "It's been a relaxing few days."
Death thought to itself. He was absolutely overloaded with work a few years ago, but now? Now work has been the slowest its been since the very early days, when humanity was starting up and God hadn't grown bored of them yet.
Boredom. Now that is a word that used to have no meaning to him. As he walked around what remained on earth, taking the occasional animal while kicking the surviving cats, who he particularly disliked, he started to think about what he could do with all the free time he had now. He could just take the job opportunity Satan gave to him and torture the souls of the departed, exploiting their latent fear of them, and he could use his affinity for theatrics there.
After all, Satan has been pestering him since college about joining his little venture, but Death had no interest on it. He instead took into a more neutral job, taking souls to their rightful place. All he had to do was give them a little push and they'll be on their way. It was an easy job, it was a fun job. All he had to do was travel around and meet them. Anyone could do it, but he was the best at it. Maybe it was his professionalism or his discretion, but he was feared and respected in equal measures. He was constantly told to take pride on his job, but at the end of the day, he just liked it.
He stopped and look at his list. Yes, this was the place. The last remnant of humanity. They should have died long ago, but Death usually liked to leave everything for the last possible second. He inspected the dark room where the last few survivors lived. Just a few dozens of them. Death was tasked to let them go, it was finally their time.
He suddenly felt a hint of nostalgia. Ah, humans. They really liked to put up a fight. His best costumers and his best providers. Some dedicated their lives to provide to him, others to keep him away for as long as, well, humanly possible. They always made a mess of his work. Pushing timelines, causing overwork, cheating him. Never a dull moment with this creatures, so many creative ways to die.
Death found himself smiling, looking at the last of them. Maybe he doesn't need to take them out just yet. Maybe they can keep him entertained for a bit more. He'll have to take them eventually, but why rush it? Let's see what they can do.
Death can wait. | This wasn't going to be easy.
With just four of them left, four mortal souls fighting against their inevitable fate, Death knew that his time could be short. Worse still was the notion that he would be in this for the long haul. Even if he could protect them long enough to procreate, he'd have to also shield their offspring - and probably their offspring after that - before he could feel safe that he had a future.
| |
[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job. | The office was hell today. A bead of sweat dripped off his chin onto the keyboard below. The man was caressing his damp head with a crazed look in his eyes, transfixed to the computer screen in front of him.
The air-con had died a long time ago, along with it's reassuring whisper. The cool air had dispersed when heat invaded the office, slowly making its way across the open plan room. A few hours prior you could see the effects starting to affect the most vulnerable.
Agnus had to leave the office to get some air. Rumours had started to spread that the 40-something, morbidly obese, woman was already jostling around in the back of an emergency vehicle. Nobody cared to check on her.
It wasn't just the office that was heating up. The man had been red in the face for about a week now, no sleep, just work. The latest rise in the heat was just another sign of the time that was running out, his neck was on the line.
"Grim!" a sharp voice barked from over his shoulder. The heavy footsteps of self importance came marching towards his desk. Grim looked up at the ceiling, running his hand over his face. He was searching for answers. "Grim!" the voice repeated. The hand of the voice came crashing down on his shoulders and gripped tight.
"Yes?" Grim said with polite certainty. His time was short but he understood the authority that The Boss held, for now.
"What you got? Gimme figures? Gimme something! C'mon... whats wrong? You don't look so good?!" The Boss had spun Grim around in the chair and was closely examining his face. "CHRIST! Have you slept?!" The Boss gasped. "Don't tell me you took what I said seriously, last week? C'mon, I was kidding, I'm serious, you better not take me to HR for telling you to "get this fixed or die!"" The Boss chuckled, nervously.
Grim sighed and forced a weak smile. He knew his job depended on it. "Well, you know I hate working in this office, I like to be out in the field. So, I'm just a bit tired that's all, I need fresh air." Grim explained carefully.
"OH, FRESH AIR" The Boss was delighted by this notion. "FRESH AIR INDEED!" he bellowed throughout the office, turning his gaze over the room to make sure everyone was looking at the crazed grin that had formed on his face. "If you want fresh air, you better have some cases to close! That air con doesn't run on air, you know?" The Boss seemed rather pleased with his clever play on words, he had probably been thinking of this all morning. "Now, gimme something, gimme hope, Grim!" The Boss changed his tone and pleaded with Grim, he knew that his job was on the line as well.
None of his staff were doing very well. Grim was the big-hitter in the office, the employee of the month for as long as he could remember. Until about a month ago. It seemed that business was drying up, Grim would report to the office with no cases closed, no business. No-one could understand, as previous weeks he had been coming in with thousands of closed cases, easy.
Grim sighed again, and then turned towards his computer. "See this here?" Grim pointed towards the blurry image on the screen, a white blip among the bleak black canvas. "There's two in this region, fairly good condition but shouldn't be long before that changes." Grim turned towards The Boss to see if he understood, there was a grin on his face, he didn't. "So, obviously, it's a good thing. However, I haven't been able to find any more since... None!" Grim leaned back in his chair, allowing the words to sink in.
"Well...When did you find them?" The Boss asked cautiously.
"Last week." Grim stated.
"LAST WEEK! What are you waiting on!" The Boss was bewildered and took a step back to surmise the information that he was being told.
"Well.." Grim started, but then picked up a stress ball that was lying on his desk, a small white skull made of foam. He gave it slow repetitive pumps whilst continuing. "I thought, that... Well, ever since our entire stock disappeared THESE guys are the only ones that I have found. There are NO. OTHERS." Grim held up his free hand and made a "zero" gesture and then wiped the sweat from his forehead. "Chances are, when these guys are gone that it. It's over. SO! I've been thinking, a lot." Grim paused again.
"Well, get to the point Grim, my whole fucking business is crumbling, you haven't closed a case in days and here we are looking at two little beauts that you could have snapped up ages ago. Surely there is more? C'mon, I don't believe that these are the last two! What were you thinking? Please, tell me?" The Boss was close to pleading, he would be just as well getting on his knees. His voice had a tremor of fear that Grim could sense.
"We should save them." Grim quietly revealed.
A gasp whipped round the office as the eavesdroppers could not contain their veil any longer. Then silence.
The Boss looked intently at Grim. He finally understood.
| This wasn't going to be easy.
With just four of them left, four mortal souls fighting against their inevitable fate, Death knew that his time could be short. Worse still was the notion that he would be in this for the long haul. Even if he could protect them long enough to procreate, he'd have to also shield their offspring - and probably their offspring after that - before he could feel safe that he had a future.
| |
[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job. | The northern European landscape we now crossed was unrecognizable. It surrounded us with its monotone light-brown color of earth mixed with dust and ash. Occasionally this view would be enriched by the presence of pine trees, looking raw and strong like survivors. The pine trees had fought as was evident from the stance they had assumed, not standing straight and proud but leaning. Remnants of dust on the pine trees made it clear there had been no wind and rain in the last days. Just dust.
We had started with eleven only to end up with four people now. We had lost the others one by one, often followed by a small miracle. Each time we lost someone we would find water, food or shelter afterwards. The sense of tragedy was confounded by the knowledge that we were saved for a while longer.
This had been a sparsely populated area to begin with and our strategy was to travel from shelter to shelter until we would get near the sea. We were traveling now for nine days without finding one and desperation creeped up on us. We encountered a small wooden two-floor cabin amidst some pine trees and what used to be a lake. The storms had clearly damaged the cabin but it seemed to be able to provide shelter. The dust-storms could begin any moment again. A mix of euphoria and suspicion hit the group upon entering when we saw a good stash of plastic bottles of water in the pantry. Someone must have stored this for their own survival. We found water often in abandoned establishments and sometimes dried foods or grains or if we were very lucky cans with beans or fruits. We also knew by now what event usually accompanied these small miracles and looked at each other with slight melancholy.
Food was difficult to come by. In the first weeks we could still hunt and fish but few animals survived in these conditions and the rivers got worse each day. We followed the rivers and lakes and each time we would catch one of the few remaining salmons it almost seemed as if it was send our way. Now we were hungry but we at least had water and shelter and were generally in a good mood. Tomorrow we would explore this area further with the cabin as base camp. We made a toast with the water and went to sleep.
In the morning I was awakened by my three companions who were rambling happily and full of unrest. They pushed a pair of binoculars in my hands and carefully guided me to the window where one of them lifted a corner of the tarpaulin. I looked through the opening with the binoculars and far away, between the pine trees was a moose. It had been the first wildlife we had seen since the heavy dust storms and could provide us with enough food to stick around here for a while. How it had survived I do not know, maybe it had a helping hand like we did in the last weeks.
| This wasn't going to be easy.
With just four of them left, four mortal souls fighting against their inevitable fate, Death knew that his time could be short. Worse still was the notion that he would be in this for the long haul. Even if he could protect them long enough to procreate, he'd have to also shield their offspring - and probably their offspring after that - before he could feel safe that he had a future.
| |
[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job. | Death grabbed some stones and carried them over to the building site. This was were a new community was being built. One of the last communities. After all, the apocalypse had just happened. A deadly virus had wiped out all of humanity except for about 5,000 people. The survivors were those who had waited inside a bunker, or the ones who paid for the incredibly expensive healthcare package. This was bad news for our good old pal Death, who would be out of a job soon if ALL of humanity got wiped out. He had decided to gather up the survivors left in the ruins of Chicago, and helped them get food, water, and power running. Now, he was helping them build homes. He kept placing stones, one by one and making walls. He then dropped one on his toe and winced. After wincing for approximately 1.7 seconds, he got back to work.
Around 9:00 PM, he was finished. Another home complete. He wiped the non-existent sweat off of his bony forehead, and went back to his hut for the night. He then grabbed his old iPod. You see, this iPod came from his boss Hades. It was a gift from the god of the Underworld himself! It's battery never, ever ran out! Death turned on an indie rock playlist, and closed his eye-sockets, falling asleep.
Death woke up and stretched for a second. He then walked out of his hut, and into the Mess Hall in the center of the town. He smelled uncooked bacon, and rationed granola bars. Oh, how excited he was! He sat down at one of the long benches next to his best bud Chad. "Hey Chad. How's the city so far?" Death asked with a yawn. "The construction of New Chicago is going great! I'm really glad that you decided to help out, free of charge!"
Death frowned. He WAS helping out free of charge, because they had nothing to give him. Oh well. "Hey Chad, you asking out that girl Hannah today?" Death said to Chad. Chad blushed and started to mumble something that Death couldn't hear. "I didn't heeeaaar you Chad." Death said, a hint of mockery in his voice. "Yeah, I guess." Chad said. "Alright! So you're gonna have sex tonight?" Death asked with excitement. Chad was shocked by this. "Dude, it doesn't work like that! Look, I know you really want us humans to repopulate the Earth, but nobody has sex on the first night of dating!" Death frowned. "Maybe next week then." He said.
*If you liked or disliked the story please let me know why!* | This wasn't going to be easy.
With just four of them left, four mortal souls fighting against their inevitable fate, Death knew that his time could be short. Worse still was the notion that he would be in this for the long haul. Even if he could protect them long enough to procreate, he'd have to also shield their offspring - and probably their offspring after that - before he could feel safe that he had a future.
| |
[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job. | *With apologies to Terry Pratchett*
Christina wiped crimson juice from her mouth and cheeks, spreading it across the back of her hand in a long, pale stain. This was wrong, she knew, but a girl had to eat something. Even one less mouth to feed by the time she got her foraged bounty back to the others could make all the difference. Many adults were already nearly starving themselves just to make sure the few children had enough to eat.
She popped one last guilty raspberry in her mouth, savoring its sweet, warm squish between her teeth. What fun was going gathering if she couldn't take a few for herself? She gathered her basket and set off, leaving the unripe bush-bound berries for another day.
Christina had been this way many times in the two months since leaving what remained of civilization with her newfound comrades – they were a tribe now, she supposed – and already her steps had worn a light path through the undergrowth. Almost like a game trail, she thought with an ironic twist, recalling her youth spent hunting deer with her older brother. He had been away on vacation the day of the War, she thought for the hundredth time. He hadn't been in the city, so maybe...
Another bush presented itself – blueberries. She pushed the longing thoughts from her head and set about filling her half-empty basket.
HELLO, CHRISTINA, came a voice from behind her like the slam of a 5-inch-thick fallout shelter blast door. She started, her flailing arm upending the basket and scattering berries everywhere.
LOOK, I REALLY HATE TO BOTHER YOU, BUT I COULD RATHER USE YOUR HELP WITH SOMETHING.
Christina turned slowly, hand clasping the scavenged butcher's knife at her belt, not knowing what to expect. It still defied all her expectations.
Before her stood a black-robed figure, at least seven feet tall, leaning anxiously on a farmer's scythe. She could not see its face beneath the deep folds of the cloak's hood, but it seemed...hollow, empty. Its left hand, clutching the shaft of the scythe, was bare bone.
She drew her knife, holding it in both hands between herself and the figure like a vampire hunter's cross. “What – who are you?”
DO YOU NOT RECOGNIZE ME, CHILD?
Christina felt a horrible pang of realization. “Am...am I dead?” she asked, fearing she knew the answer.
To her surprise, Death lifted its right hand, shaking back its voluminous sleeve to reveal a skeletal wrist encrusted with watches of all styles and sizes – gold, silver, digital, analog, even a child's cartoon-adorned band. Death tapped on one that looked exactly like a gift from Christina's brother back when she graduated from high school.
NOT JUST YET. WE HAVE ABOUT FIVE MINUTES. WHICH IS WHY I NEED YOU TO LISTEN.
Christina broke down and collapsed to her knees, dropping the knife. It sank point-first into the ground, just missing Death's left big toe. Death stepped back, not so much worried about its podiatric wellbeing as it was unsure how to respond to Christina's outpouring of emotion.
Death turned its head back and forth, as though checking for witnesses. LOOK, I'M NOT EVEN SUPPOSED TO SHOW UP THIS EARLY. IT'S MEANT TO BE A DONE DEAL BY THE TIME I GET INVOLVED, SO...COULD YOU DO ME A FAVOR AND PRETEND IT'S ALREADY OVER?
Christina sniffled, sobering slightly at the absurdity. “What's even the point? What could I possibly do to help you – and why would I?”
WELL – YOU SEE, THIS WHOLE APOCALYPSE BUSINESS HAS BEEN TERRIBLY INCONVENIENT. I NEVER EXPECTED IT TO BE THIS BAD. GLOBAL NUCLEAR WAR IN A DAY? YOU HUMANS REALLY OUTDID YOURSELVES.
Death scuffed its foot on the ground uncomfortably, making a sound that put nails and chalkboards to shame. THE TRUTH IS, THERE AREN'T MANY OF YOU LEFT. I REALLY NEED YOU TO START BANDING TOGETHER AND REPOPULATING THE EARTH AND ALL, OR I'LL BE OUT OF A JOB. AND YOU CAN'T IMAGINE HOW MUCH OF A PAIN IT IS TO FIND ANOTHER PLANET THAT NEEDS A KEEPER OF THE AFTERLIFE...
“...Well I'm as good as dead, apparently, so I'm not sure where this is going.”
AH. AS IT HAPPENS, THERE'S ANOTHER TRIBE CAMPED A FEW MILES EAST OF HERE. I THINK YOU ALL WOULD COMPLIMENT EACH OTHER QUITE WELL. WHEN YOUR FRIEND “MIKE” COMES AND FINDS YOU IN YOUR TRAGIC LAST MOMENTS, WOULD YOU MIND TELLING HIM FOR ME?
Just then, Christina felt a sharp pain in her foot. RIGHT ON CUE. I'LL SEE YOU IN A BIT. Death shifted its head in a weird motion that made her think it had tried to wink, but there was no way to know. It faded into the shadows of the trees. Christina grabbed the cottonmouth sunk fang-deep in her ankle and flung it away.
She heard someone coming along her game trail. “Michael?” she called. Of course it was him.
“Chris?!” he called back. “Where are you? Are you hurt?”
“Oh god, Michael. I'm over here.” Michael broke into a run, crashing through the bushes and into her clearing. He knelt beside her, saw the twin puncture wounds, and stared at her with knowing grief.
“Chris--”
“Shh. Just listen. You need to take them east.” Christina felt her consciousness fading. “Don't ask me why, just do it. Everything will be alright...” She trailed off and passed out. Michael caught her and lifted her over his shoulders, hoping he could get back to camp in time to do...something.
He paused, gazing east and considering her strange advice. It would be farther into the wilderness, away from most supplies and their camp at the edge of the woods. But somehow she'd seemed so certain.
As he hurried back to camp, Michael was sure he heard a grinding, grating noise, like two skeletal hands being rubbed together in anticipation.
THANK YOU, CHRISTINA. | This wasn't going to be easy.
With just four of them left, four mortal souls fighting against their inevitable fate, Death knew that his time could be short. Worse still was the notion that he would be in this for the long haul. Even if he could protect them long enough to procreate, he'd have to also shield their offspring - and probably their offspring after that - before he could feel safe that he had a future.
| |
[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job. | Every time a human dies, time stands still. It stays still for me until I locate the newly freed soul, and give it passage to it's afterlife. Some to Valhalla, some to Olympus, others to Heaven, for some reason many of these modern humans choose to go to hell, because they think they belong there. No matter what it takes me hours to collect them, usher them and help them get connected with their spirit guide.
Then time starts and another dies and I'm back at it.
So it's gone for 100,000 years of human life. There have been times where work wasn't busy, and times when a year for humans went on for thousands of years for me because of a plague or war.
Still I love my job. The feeling of joy that emanates from their soul when they reach their afterlife brings me joy that no living human can understand. Also the shapeshifting to their pleasing form is nice too.
So 100,000 years later doing the best job a Phantasm can do and I almost lost my job. I don't understand human politics, but a large war broke out, and it led to a disease being loosed on humanity that killed 99.9996% of them in weeks.
Weeks that seemed like millennia to me. There were seven billion of them you see, seven billion souls to usher, and sure I may have been less cheery about it, because I was rushing around like you wouldn't believe, but I'd never want this job to end, because with this job's end, so goes my existence.
Now there stands just 5,341 of them.... 5,340 of them.
These aren't the best and the brightest. That last one was cleaning a firearm "For protection" and didn't unload it first. He blew his brains out all over a nice marble statue.
Shame there isn't anyone else around to clean it up.
This leaves me with a lot of free time though. I've devised a plan to save humanity, and myself I just need to keep them alive in the mean time. | This wasn't going to be easy.
With just four of them left, four mortal souls fighting against their inevitable fate, Death knew that his time could be short. Worse still was the notion that he would be in this for the long haul. Even if he could protect them long enough to procreate, he'd have to also shield their offspring - and probably their offspring after that - before he could feel safe that he had a future.
| |
[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job. | The dark and heavy clouds raged in the distance with the setting sun. She slowly rocked in her rocking chair, the one her eldest son had made for her many birthdays ago, listening to the sounds of her hearth and the approaching storm. Her left leg ached as it always did before a big storm, the same leg she had broken nearly 70 years ago, an inconvenient reminder of the life she had almost lost.
 
In her lap lay her father’s bible. She found humor in her faith, in how before the bombs fell she was a devout atheist to the point of forcefully trying to disprove all theology. But now she knew, knew that it didn’t matter if you were an atheist or a theist, because it was irreconcilable differences like these that brought on the Third Great War. She opened the book to the words of Isaiah, one page in particular marked with a long black feather. The tips of her fingers stroked the silken vane.
 
A sudden jolt of light poured in through the westward window, casting long shadows throughout the cabin. When the light faded so too did the shadows, all but one. A dark silhouette stood by her front door. Fear tried to grasp her, but her old age had prepared her for this moment. She didn’t say anything, not at first, waiting for the figure to pass in hopes that it was her imagination. Thunder softly vibrated the walls. A few minutes went by, but the figure remained, a sentinel amongst the darkness. Another flash of light filled the room, this time her attention completely focused. It was only for a second but it was more than enough time to recognize the familiar face. Again, thunder vibrated the walls, more violently this time as the storm drew nearer.
 
“I didn’t think we’d ever meet again,” she whispered the lie, half expecting him to not hear her. He stepped closer, away from the threshold and into the soft glow of light cast by the fireplace. There he stood, the same man that had saved her life 72 years ago. Although, unlike her the passing of time had been much kinder to him. He was exactly as she remembered, a handsome man in his 30s, clean shaven and dark ruffled hair, but it was his eyes she remembered most. Eyes that could pierce stone; eyes that knew the secrets of the world, eyes that had seen it all. How those eyes had comforted and also haunted her.
 
“I was seventeen when you first appeared, my leg broken. You saved me then, and guided me here, where I would meet my husband,” she said, more to herself than to him. “Tell me, do you remember me?”
 
“I remember,” he said, the words soft and beautiful, but they also carried something more tenacious.
 
“I’ve told that story many times, saying you were my guardian angel. And when Andrew, my oldest, was bitten by that snake, he said a strange man had cared for the injury and carried him to the edge of the field, where we found him.” She paused, looking into those old eyes. “I knew it was you who had saved him, as you had saved me. I told them all not to fear the shadow, for he was there to protect us.” She paused, afraid to speak what was next, but she steadied herself and continue on. “I’ve had a very long time to think, as it seems that is all old ladies are good for,” she smiled at her own humor, but it quickly faded. “However, you only seem to appear when death is ready to make a claim.” Again she paused, unsure of how to ask her question. She licked her dry wrinkled lips. “Tell me please, do I know your name?”
 
“Yes.”
 
“Then please, say it for me.”
 
The storm once again sent out a great ray of light, filling the room. In that brief moment she thought she saw two giant black feathered wings folded behind the man’s back.
 
“Azrael,” the name rolled perfectly off his tongue.
 
A deafening explosion sounded not far off from the house, startling her as she slightly jumped in her seat. Everything within shook from the force and rattled briefly as the light cast from outside flickered back into darkness, once again leaving the room filled with only silence and the soft glow of the fireplace.
 
“I see,” she rubbed her left leg in a futile attempt to massage the pain away. “Then perhaps it was not only you who saved me, but also I who saved you?” The question lingered in the air, unanswered by the man. “For what is a farmer if he has no crops to reap.” The man knelt in front of her and extended his hand out to her, palm up. She placed her own small and fragile hand onto his. He grasped it, strong but gentle.
 
"Tell me what I must do,” she asked, tears beginning to roll down her cheeks.
 
With his other hand he grasped her shoulder, the touch warm and oddly comforting.
 
“Just breathe.”
 
She took in a slow and shaky deep breathe, and then let it all out, her very last. Her hand went limp in his, and her posture slumped heavily into the chair.
 
The sky suddenly broke open and unleashed the torrent it had been holding back. The rain beat down on the tin roof, deafening any further sounds. From within his long dark garbs, he pulled a small book and flipped to a page near its beginning. There he found her name amongst her many descendants. The tips of his fingers stroked the name upon the page. And in so doing her name was struck from it, leaving a now empty gap amongst the many names upon the page. However, even in its absence he knew he would never forget it. *Aliza Klein*, his small joy that brought hope back into his world.
 
He put the book back into his inner pocket and in so doing saw on the floor another book. This one slightly larger than his own, and near the middle of its pages stuck a long black feather. He picked it up and flipped the book open, smiling at the familiar item held within. And upon the page was a highlighted verse.
 
*Even to your old age and gray hairs I am he, I am he who will sustain you. I have made you and I will carry you; I will sustain you and I will rescue you.*
 
*formatting and stuff
| This wasn't going to be easy.
With just four of them left, four mortal souls fighting against their inevitable fate, Death knew that his time could be short. Worse still was the notion that he would be in this for the long haul. Even if he could protect them long enough to procreate, he'd have to also shield their offspring - and probably their offspring after that - before he could feel safe that he had a future.
| |
[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job. | "Shit, shit, shit ..." A dark hooded figure walked through the wasteland. "Fuck, fuck, fuck ... this was not scheduled. This is bad... " The figure stops and taps its chest and arms repetitively. "I'm still here. It's not over yet. Keep your head Clarice. Somewhere out there are some idiots still alive ... and ... fuck ... I have to keep them this way."
In a bunker, not far from the hooded figure. "So there I was. The office full of colleagues and strangers, and all I had to cover my enormous penis was the birthday pie I fetched from the store. My boss was not please. *She* was not please, I tell you." This was the 8^th lame, and made-up story he told her. 3 day they've spend in the bunker and it was nothing like the stories made it appear. She, the last women on the world, and he, the last man on the planet. At first she hoped that he would start to get *appealing* a few days in, but "appalling" remains "appalling" it seems. So this is it? She's going to die together with that guy? Drowning seems like a trip to Disney Land in comparison. "I have to go to the toiler." She excused herself and left the room. He remained to wonder how often she was going to use the toiled within an hour?
She flushed the toilet. It was a special water saving one. No drowning there. Frustrated she walked over the to cabinet. Jackpot. Razor-blades served with a hand-picked bouquet of assorted pills. "DON'T!", the hooded figure appeared. For the sake of your ears the following scream of the woman will not be described. "Please, you can't do that. My name is Death Clarice Incarnate, and my existence depends on your survival. Please don't kill yourself."
"What? You're who? Death?! ... those pills act fast."
"You haven't take any yet ..."
"Yeah, amazing isn't it?"
"No, please, listen. You must not kill yourself. I know it is hard, but you have to survive. And, well, it would be great if you'd repopulate the planet."
"With that guy?"
"Please?"
"Down they go..." and the woman started to swallow the pills like candy.
"NO!" The hooded figure knocked the pills out of the woman's hand with a scythe, careful not to touch her.
"LEAVE ME ALONE!", the women screamed. "You murdered all I ever loved! My family, my hamster, Joshua from the office on the opposite side of the road!" To top it all off she threw her phone against the wall, shattering it in thousand pieces "Even the PokemonGo servers are dead! YOU MONSTER!"
"I'm sorry. I just work here. I didn't start any nukes, but please listen. Ok, I get it. He really seems like a terrible guy, but I need you to do this. YOU need yourself to do this. 40 years from now you'll look at this and laugh. I promise."
"Yeah, fuck that. 40 minutes from now I better be stone dead."
"OK, lets strike a deal. You get 10 children with him and in 10 years I kill you. How does that sound?"
"5 children and you kill him!"
"Fuck. ... shit" the hooded figure cursed, "... Okey, deal!" The women reached out her hand to close to deal, but the hooded figure faltered. "... oh, nice try! I'm not going to fall for that one. If we touch it's you who dies."
"Shit." This time it was the woman's time to curse. "But I really don't want to stand close to him, let alone anything else. ... Have you even heard his stories?! Nothing gets through to him. I told him he's not funny 3 times. He doesn't listen to anything. Yesterday I tried to make a joke and he just told me I have beautiful eye ... like my eyes can turn this wasteland fertile again. And I'm to spend 5 years with him. All my dreams and hopes wasted on an guy with the character of an unpainted brick wall?" The women sat on the ground sobbing. "Nothing matters anymore. Everyone is dead, my only dress in ruined, and now even death is no salvation." She continued to sob for a few minutes. "Fuck ... fuuuuuuuuckfuckfuck. *sigh* There really is no other way?" The women asked. The hooded figure shook its head. "Well, there better be some spirit in one of those storage cans, or it's going to be a long nuclear winter."
When she returned into the main room of the bunker the women, and the hooded figure found the man dead. He hung himself from a door knob with his belt; his trousers at his ankles. Over him another hooded figure was standing. "Oh, is that you Clarice? Look what I've found. World is ended and he tries out erotic asphyxiation. Well, not on my watch, buddy.", and the figure took a good kick at the corpse.
"Eric?! What have you done?! These two were the last hope for humanity!"
The second hooded figure looked at the women, and then back at the corpse. "Well, not with one dead, that's for sure." - "What is wrong with you?! Once she's dead we're no longer needed and disappear! How could you!" - "Why are you screaming at me! How should I know! You could have told me!"
While the two figures were arguing, the women sat down on the couch with a sanguine smile. Now that the worst was finally over it can finally get better. With this the women redefined the meaning of some words and literally lived happily ever after. | This wasn't going to be easy.
With just four of them left, four mortal souls fighting against their inevitable fate, Death knew that his time could be short. Worse still was the notion that he would be in this for the long haul. Even if he could protect them long enough to procreate, he'd have to also shield their offspring - and probably their offspring after that - before he could feel safe that he had a future.
| |
[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job. | A chill descended over the rag-tag assembly, and neither their small, poorly-made fire nor the tattered remains of their business casual attire served to warm them. Their conversation dropped from a murmur to a hush at the sound of a cracking branch.
Jane’s eyes darted to the source of the noise. “Hey--” she nudged the man sitting beside her, “do you see that gaunt, lanky-looking fellow?”
**Hello.**
The survivors nearly jumped out of their sweater-vests. They quickly turned around towards the voice as they waited for Jane, the group’s *de facto* leader, to speak.
“Who are you? And why are you wearing that robe? You’re not some kind of, er, cultist, I hope.”
**I am Death.**
Wilbur, the *de jure* Head of Foraging and a former corporate account, blinked twice and reminded the survivors that he had advised *against* eating the canned food Jane found earlier that night.
**The canned food was perfectly edible. You are not dead yet.**
“Oh,” said Jane, “then what is it that you want?”
Death explained his predicament to the survivors. In the realm of Death and Death-related services, an apocalypse is about as close to a market bubble as one can come. When Death was reaping souls by the thousands, business was booming. Death had even purchased a new, state-of-the-art scythe to keep up with the demand. The trouble, Death explained, is that a scythe – especially the UltraCarbon MetaFiber SoulCleaver Deluxe with satellite radio – is an expensive tool.
**The heart of the problem is this: There are not enough human souls left to collect. As it stands, I have no hope of paying off the loan on my new scythe. And even if I were to pay off the loan, that would be the end for humanity. I would become…**
Death shook his head, unable to finish the sentence. “Well, go on” Jane urged.
**…unemployed.**
“I have a solution!” Jane and Wilbur simultaneously exclaimed. They jolted towards each other, each trying to pierce the other by means of eyes alone. Ever since the minutes after the apocalypse, when this small and bureaucratic group of survivors had drafted their *Memoranda and Procedure for Life and Leadership in the Post-Apocalyptic Wasteland*, Jane and Wilbur had been fighting an unspoken war. Jane was a natural leader, and the survivors tended to follow her directions. She believed that the key to rebuilding society was well-intentioned and virtuous leadership. But Wilbur had been enshrined in the *Memoranda* as the group’s rightful leader, and he believed that that the key to rebuilding society was careful attention to established rules and hierarchies with an even more careful eye kept on the lookout for loopholes.
**I am sure that you both have excellent solutions. I would like to first hear that of Wilbur, and then that of Jane.**
Wilbur strode calmly and authoritatively around the fire as he began his address to Death and the survivors,
“Clearly, Mr. Death, you are faced with a grave difficulty. In the time it would take to rebuild human society and restock the population, interest will accrue such that you may become unable to repay your loan. Therefore, I propose that you repay your loan by grouping future human souls that we can be sure will, at some point in time, exist and promising those to the bank.”
**We do not have such complicated financial systems, Wilbur. It seems risky.**
Wilbur sat back down, looking decidedly content. Jane glowered at him and began to speak,
“Mr. Death, if I may be blunt, Wilbur’s plan is terribly hazardous. What we need to do is to ensure the steady and rapid re-growth of human society. I have been devising multiple highly efficient agricultural techniques based on a book I found at the—“
**Stop.**
“Wha- why?”
**You are taking too long. And you were being shrill. I choose Wilbur’s plan.**
Jane returned to her seat by the fire and thought, “Of course, Death’s a sexist.” The place where Death had been standing shimmered slightly as he popped out of existence – or, it would be more accurate to say, began existing in a different dimension – and then returned to its normal state of emptiness.
Death walked through the void that was the Interdimensional Bank of Souls’ foyer and politely requested to speak with the high officials. His request was granted. Although even the highest officials at the Bank had never heard of the financial wizardry that Death proposed to them, they figured that as long as they got their payment it didn’t matter when they actually received the souls. Death had never failed to deliver souls to them, and besides, he had a big shiny new scythe – with satellite radio! They considered his debt paid.
A great length of time passed. Jane, Wilbur, and all of the other survivors died. Most of them failed to have children. Their faded khakis and tattered sweater-vests decomposed along with the rest of their bodies, as their few children also grew old and also failed to procreate. Their children had no sweater-vests, so they wore furs. Their furs decomposed as well. And so on, and so on, until there were no more garments to decompose in the mud and no more humans to make garments.
Up until now things had been going really, really well for the Interdimensional Bank of Souls. Executives and shareholders alike were thrilled by the novel technique Death had taught them, which was able to turn a Post-Apocalyptic Soul Recession into an unprecedented boom.
It was at this point, however, that things began to go really, really poorly. Without any humans to harvest souls from there was no longer any usable currency. And since the currency in existence had been based upon the speculation that human souls would exist at a given time in the future, interdimensional beings discovered not only that their currency was worthless but that it had, in fact, been worthless for quite a long time. Suffice it to say that the Soul Economy crashed so rapidly and thoroughly that interdimensional society as a whole ceased to exist.
*
Some time after the crash a group of interdimensional beings sat gathered around a cosmic energy vortex. They detected a slight decrease in ambient temperature as well as the presence of a large mass distorting space-time. Death nudged the being at his side and asked if she detected the anomaly. She gave a disinterested nod. The anomaly slowly drew nearer. Death inhaled sharply as the anomalous lifeform loomed over him. It looked at the hodge-podge group of interdimensional beings, with their tattered robes and pathetically small energy vortex, and it said,
**Hello.**
| This wasn't going to be easy.
With just four of them left, four mortal souls fighting against their inevitable fate, Death knew that his time could be short. Worse still was the notion that he would be in this for the long haul. Even if he could protect them long enough to procreate, he'd have to also shield their offspring - and probably their offspring after that - before he could feel safe that he had a future.
| |
[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job. | Eighty-five. There were only eighty-five left. He had appointments with 40 more in the next two days. Beyond that the appointments were spaced out over the next 60 years. For thousands of years Death had done his job shuttling the souls of the dead humans on to the afterlife. He had become quite attached to them and knew that when they were all gone, he would never feel quite as fulfilled as he had since he took on his job. He wasn't sure what would happen, if he would find new purpose with another world or species or if he would just be let go. Either outcome was equally terrifying in his eyes, so he tried to do something he never had before. Delay his appointments long enough that more appointments are scheduled.
Kiara didn't know what to do. She had stayed on her family's farm through the worst of the floods and earthquakes. Not for the first time she was glad that her great great grandfather had loved the mountains and was crazy enough to build a farm at an extreme elevation. She hated it growing up, and often mocked her younger brother for wanting to stay on the farm. Now it was just the two of them and she didn't know how long Ian would last. He had gotten a snakebite earlier while checking the fields and was hallucinating in the house. It was a bite that shouldn't be fatal except there wasn't a hospital anywhere around or even a pharmacy. She had been taking a break after graduating medical school when all hell broke loose. Her parents had died in some rioting while trying to get supplies. So here she was sitting on the front porch, as far as she knew the last woman on earth and about to be the last person on earth.
Out in the field she saw a black figure cutting wheat. Great, now she was hallucinating too. Then her hallucination started walking toward her. A large figure in a black cloak which was walking toward the house holding a long black scythe with a mirror finish on the blade. She barely even reacted when it came and sat on the porch next to her. When it said her name and put a bony hand on her shoulder however she fell over with a scream.
"Sorry, I realize I must be a bit unexpected. But I thought you were ok when you didn't say anything."
"A-are you death? Did you come for my brother?" she said getting up hesitantly.
"Yes and no. You see, I have an appointment with him in about two hours but I didn't have anywhere else to be so I thought I'd come early. Though I'd rather like to delay my appointment with him if possible."
"Delay it? How can you do that?"
"I have brought a few supplies for you. I think this medicine should help him. You are qualified to administer it to him. I will give it to you if you promise to help me."
Kiara was stunned. She didn't know what to say or do and so she sat there and stared at death with her mouth open and a shocked expression on her face.
Feeling a bit awkward Death opted to fill the silence, "I've carried this scythe for thousands of years, but today is the first time I've used it for the intended purpose. I've just been so busy. Now, there are so few of you left, I have a lot of downtime. I'd rather keep doing what I've been doing. I like it, I like humanity. I don't want to let it end."
Again, Kiara was speechless. She had never imagined a casual conversation with death, even if the conversation was a bit one sided.
"I'm here to make sure that humanity continues. My appointment with you, Kiara, is quite a bit more than fifty years away. I have confidence that with your help, we can keep humanity alive. Here, take the medicine for your brother. Also, here is a radio and a list of the names and locations of everyone left. I don't think you'll be able to get everyone, but there are enough to keep going. I don't think I'll be able to come back to you. But I'll leave something with everyone that is left. That should be enough."
Kiara took the bag from Death, "I'm not sure I understand everything, but I'll do my best. Thank you."
Death looked at her and said, "If you succeed, I shall be the one thanking you. Good luck." Then he turned and started walking away.
Kiara looked in the bag and found everything she needed for her brother's care. She would worry about the rest of it after she had seen to him.
"Thank you." She said again, though no one could hear her. | This wasn't going to be easy.
With just four of them left, four mortal souls fighting against their inevitable fate, Death knew that his time could be short. Worse still was the notion that he would be in this for the long haul. Even if he could protect them long enough to procreate, he'd have to also shield their offspring - and probably their offspring after that - before he could feel safe that he had a future.
| |
[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job. | "It's been a relaxing few days."
Death thought to itself. He was absolutely overloaded with work a few years ago, but now? Now work has been the slowest its been since the very early days, when humanity was starting up and God hadn't grown bored of them yet.
Boredom. Now that is a word that used to have no meaning to him. As he walked around what remained on earth, taking the occasional animal while kicking the surviving cats, who he particularly disliked, he started to think about what he could do with all the free time he had now. He could just take the job opportunity Satan gave to him and torture the souls of the departed, exploiting their latent fear of them, and he could use his affinity for theatrics there.
After all, Satan has been pestering him since college about joining his little venture, but Death had no interest on it. He instead took into a more neutral job, taking souls to their rightful place. All he had to do was give them a little push and they'll be on their way. It was an easy job, it was a fun job. All he had to do was travel around and meet them. Anyone could do it, but he was the best at it. Maybe it was his professionalism or his discretion, but he was feared and respected in equal measures. He was constantly told to take pride on his job, but at the end of the day, he just liked it.
He stopped and look at his list. Yes, this was the place. The last remnant of humanity. They should have died long ago, but Death usually liked to leave everything for the last possible second. He inspected the dark room where the last few survivors lived. Just a few dozens of them. Death was tasked to let them go, it was finally their time.
He suddenly felt a hint of nostalgia. Ah, humans. They really liked to put up a fight. His best costumers and his best providers. Some dedicated their lives to provide to him, others to keep him away for as long as, well, humanly possible. They always made a mess of his work. Pushing timelines, causing overwork, cheating him. Never a dull moment with this creatures, so many creative ways to die.
Death found himself smiling, looking at the last of them. Maybe he doesn't need to take them out just yet. Maybe they can keep him entertained for a bit more. He'll have to take them eventually, but why rush it? Let's see what they can do.
Death can wait. | *Author's note: Part 1 of this story is posted in reply to "How does the Grim Reaper react to a Zombie Apocalypse?". After a couple of editing passes, part one is archived on a personal site, [PromptInspired](https://promptinspired.blog/2017/07/20/grim-avatar/). I did not want to post it here, in consideration of Rule 1."*
*I apologize for the roughness. I was interrupted a lot, and am operating under a time limit. In time I will edit, refine, and post this to the blog as well. At that time, I'll return here, and provide a link to anybody who expresses an interest.*
**Grim Saviors**
She didn't sleep, of course. Her body didn't need it anymore, now that I'd taken it. But everybody else slept, and so I sat in a watchtower with the man on watch. He happened to be the father of this little body. She would have been a zombie if her father hadn't had the courage to kill her, but I came instead.
I looked into the darkness beyond the fences. All that lived, and all that died yet lived, revealed what they knew to me. I was aware of every ear, every eye, I knew the heart of everything that died. It always made me feel less alone, looking into the dark. To me, the dark always looked back, an old friend rich with stories.
Her father - Joshua - spoke, growing restless in the quiet. "What do you need from us next?"
"The pinnacle of rock. In the gorge. You know it?" Her little voice had been rough from coughing, but time had soothed the damage and this morning it rang clear, like a bell. He nodded as I spoke. "We're building a bridge to it. We're going to level the peak of it and build a windmill."
He frowned, and shifted. "Maya, I don't--"
"That isn't my name." I interrupted, harshly. It had to remain clear to us that I wasn't his daughter. "She watches, but she doesn't act, and I will carry no messages. I have told you this." Somehow, though, I still felt an affection for him - this was a new thing for me. Her soul - not a Christian concept, but the only word that came close to the truth - approved of this.
He looked out over the wall again, toward the gorge we'd been talking about. The sun was rising, and the pinnacles of the tallest mountains around us had begun reflecting it's light, the sunlight creeping downward. "I have to call you something," he said, his voice a little surly.
"You do not. It is a tired discussion. You were saying something about the gorge." I kept the body still, and her eyes cast over the landscape.
"I don't think it's a good idea. It's dangerous. Building bridges isn't easy, and our only engineer was a freshman in college. Then demolition, construction, on the edge of a gorge. What is it all for? A windmill?"
"I'll provide schematics. One of the soldiers had a disco ball hidden in storage for parties, and we will attach it to the top of a panemone windmill with a simple escapement to limit its speed. It will glitter for miles, and they will flock to it. The gorge will become a beacon and a deathtrap, regularly swept clean by the flash floods."
For a while, we were silent, watching the sun rise together. "How do you understand them so well?"
"Nothing that lives and nothing that dies - and they live, and die, after a fasion - can keep secrets from me." I paused, and looked at him. "No, not even that."
There was awkward silence for a while. "It . . . was a difficult time. We were under so much press--"
"I already know. I don't judge it, I am just aware of it." He looked outward again, and I heard a door slam somewhere. People were beginning to get up, move about. From somewhere, the smell of cooking reached me.
"Why is the windmill so important now? We seem pretty secure up here."
"The settlement to the north that we refused to pay tribute to. They'll drive down the highway playing music as loud as they can. One zombie will follow the motion of the next, and they'll form a herd moving in their train. Then they intend to launch fireworks up the hillside. Once the herd is in motion uphill, the breaking steps we've installed to tumble them and the rough terrain won't hold them forever."
"You . . . you told us not to pay them. You told us we'd be okay." He was looking at me like I'd grown a sixth head made out of waffles and cream cheese.
"We'll disassemble some binoculars, and use the lenses to focus lights onto the beacon. We'll run a net of fuses from our gate down the hillside, different burn speeds, leading to the beacon. Turn their heads, lead them to death."
"Why do you help us? Why not them?"
"That is my business." At this, the girl within me clamored. Her soul held a fragment of myself, was a catalyst for my power, and sat as a silent judge, lest I break my word. And she insisted that people needed to understand. The wisdom of the young, perhaps. For all my awareness, I couldn't know how people would react - I couldn't know what would inspire. Perhaps I would trust her this time. "Because I have plans for humans. Never mind why. As unpleasant as your species can be, I will one day require you."
"Just 'because'?"
The girl clamored more, and I could sense her father's demeanor hardening. Very well. If I would trust her on this, I would trust her. "Earth is finite. Man is finite. Life is finite. Eventually, the infinite universe will face us with a trial greater than man, or Earth, or life. Man is the only presence that might bring life out of this egg basket before that."
"You're telling me . . . you're protecting us so we can, what, save the world?" He looked a little incredulous.
I turned my head up to his, clear blue eyes meeting his brown eyes evenly. I knew he struggled, when I met his gaze like this, to remember that I was not her. His feelings for her would bleed into my words. "Yes. I am protecting you so you can save the world."
I turned away, and began climbing down, not staying to watch his response, but I knew he smiled, as he turned back to his watch. I knew a different kind of pride and fervor had begun to swell. It was a catching thing, inspiration. If this caught on, the little one had done me quite a service. She didn't approve of my manipulation, but she didn't object, either. It seemed to have worked.
*How did you know he needed to hear that, little one?* I inquired of the fragment within me.
*People like to do things for good reasons.*
Simple. A child's wisdom. I walked toward the officer's quarters that I had taken over, climbing into a chair. It was made for a big man, and to sit high enough to write, I had stacked pillows. I began drawing, my small hands suited to the careful plans that would be needed. We had construction to get underway.
As I sketched, I considered the way the young soul locked within me had reframed these people. Something beyond understanding had come to protect them, and they followed orders to survive, and I was scary to them, though they would rarely admit it. Now, I was grooming them to be saviors.
*I'll make you a deal, little soul. Keep talking to me, telling me what you think, and I'll let your father call us by your name.* I could tell she was happy with that. She wanted to hear her name on his lips again, and I felt her eager assent.
I knew when I broke millennia of nonintervention, that I would change the beliefs and minds of men. It was too much to hope that they'd forget me with time. What I hadn't predicted was how much Maya and her species would begin to change me.
| |
[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job. | The office was hell today. A bead of sweat dripped off his chin onto the keyboard below. The man was caressing his damp head with a crazed look in his eyes, transfixed to the computer screen in front of him.
The air-con had died a long time ago, along with it's reassuring whisper. The cool air had dispersed when heat invaded the office, slowly making its way across the open plan room. A few hours prior you could see the effects starting to affect the most vulnerable.
Agnus had to leave the office to get some air. Rumours had started to spread that the 40-something, morbidly obese, woman was already jostling around in the back of an emergency vehicle. Nobody cared to check on her.
It wasn't just the office that was heating up. The man had been red in the face for about a week now, no sleep, just work. The latest rise in the heat was just another sign of the time that was running out, his neck was on the line.
"Grim!" a sharp voice barked from over his shoulder. The heavy footsteps of self importance came marching towards his desk. Grim looked up at the ceiling, running his hand over his face. He was searching for answers. "Grim!" the voice repeated. The hand of the voice came crashing down on his shoulders and gripped tight.
"Yes?" Grim said with polite certainty. His time was short but he understood the authority that The Boss held, for now.
"What you got? Gimme figures? Gimme something! C'mon... whats wrong? You don't look so good?!" The Boss had spun Grim around in the chair and was closely examining his face. "CHRIST! Have you slept?!" The Boss gasped. "Don't tell me you took what I said seriously, last week? C'mon, I was kidding, I'm serious, you better not take me to HR for telling you to "get this fixed or die!"" The Boss chuckled, nervously.
Grim sighed and forced a weak smile. He knew his job depended on it. "Well, you know I hate working in this office, I like to be out in the field. So, I'm just a bit tired that's all, I need fresh air." Grim explained carefully.
"OH, FRESH AIR" The Boss was delighted by this notion. "FRESH AIR INDEED!" he bellowed throughout the office, turning his gaze over the room to make sure everyone was looking at the crazed grin that had formed on his face. "If you want fresh air, you better have some cases to close! That air con doesn't run on air, you know?" The Boss seemed rather pleased with his clever play on words, he had probably been thinking of this all morning. "Now, gimme something, gimme hope, Grim!" The Boss changed his tone and pleaded with Grim, he knew that his job was on the line as well.
None of his staff were doing very well. Grim was the big-hitter in the office, the employee of the month for as long as he could remember. Until about a month ago. It seemed that business was drying up, Grim would report to the office with no cases closed, no business. No-one could understand, as previous weeks he had been coming in with thousands of closed cases, easy.
Grim sighed again, and then turned towards his computer. "See this here?" Grim pointed towards the blurry image on the screen, a white blip among the bleak black canvas. "There's two in this region, fairly good condition but shouldn't be long before that changes." Grim turned towards The Boss to see if he understood, there was a grin on his face, he didn't. "So, obviously, it's a good thing. However, I haven't been able to find any more since... None!" Grim leaned back in his chair, allowing the words to sink in.
"Well...When did you find them?" The Boss asked cautiously.
"Last week." Grim stated.
"LAST WEEK! What are you waiting on!" The Boss was bewildered and took a step back to surmise the information that he was being told.
"Well.." Grim started, but then picked up a stress ball that was lying on his desk, a small white skull made of foam. He gave it slow repetitive pumps whilst continuing. "I thought, that... Well, ever since our entire stock disappeared THESE guys are the only ones that I have found. There are NO. OTHERS." Grim held up his free hand and made a "zero" gesture and then wiped the sweat from his forehead. "Chances are, when these guys are gone that it. It's over. SO! I've been thinking, a lot." Grim paused again.
"Well, get to the point Grim, my whole fucking business is crumbling, you haven't closed a case in days and here we are looking at two little beauts that you could have snapped up ages ago. Surely there is more? C'mon, I don't believe that these are the last two! What were you thinking? Please, tell me?" The Boss was close to pleading, he would be just as well getting on his knees. His voice had a tremor of fear that Grim could sense.
"We should save them." Grim quietly revealed.
A gasp whipped round the office as the eavesdroppers could not contain their veil any longer. Then silence.
The Boss looked intently at Grim. He finally understood.
| *Author's note: Part 1 of this story is posted in reply to "How does the Grim Reaper react to a Zombie Apocalypse?". After a couple of editing passes, part one is archived on a personal site, [PromptInspired](https://promptinspired.blog/2017/07/20/grim-avatar/). I did not want to post it here, in consideration of Rule 1."*
*I apologize for the roughness. I was interrupted a lot, and am operating under a time limit. In time I will edit, refine, and post this to the blog as well. At that time, I'll return here, and provide a link to anybody who expresses an interest.*
**Grim Saviors**
She didn't sleep, of course. Her body didn't need it anymore, now that I'd taken it. But everybody else slept, and so I sat in a watchtower with the man on watch. He happened to be the father of this little body. She would have been a zombie if her father hadn't had the courage to kill her, but I came instead.
I looked into the darkness beyond the fences. All that lived, and all that died yet lived, revealed what they knew to me. I was aware of every ear, every eye, I knew the heart of everything that died. It always made me feel less alone, looking into the dark. To me, the dark always looked back, an old friend rich with stories.
Her father - Joshua - spoke, growing restless in the quiet. "What do you need from us next?"
"The pinnacle of rock. In the gorge. You know it?" Her little voice had been rough from coughing, but time had soothed the damage and this morning it rang clear, like a bell. He nodded as I spoke. "We're building a bridge to it. We're going to level the peak of it and build a windmill."
He frowned, and shifted. "Maya, I don't--"
"That isn't my name." I interrupted, harshly. It had to remain clear to us that I wasn't his daughter. "She watches, but she doesn't act, and I will carry no messages. I have told you this." Somehow, though, I still felt an affection for him - this was a new thing for me. Her soul - not a Christian concept, but the only word that came close to the truth - approved of this.
He looked out over the wall again, toward the gorge we'd been talking about. The sun was rising, and the pinnacles of the tallest mountains around us had begun reflecting it's light, the sunlight creeping downward. "I have to call you something," he said, his voice a little surly.
"You do not. It is a tired discussion. You were saying something about the gorge." I kept the body still, and her eyes cast over the landscape.
"I don't think it's a good idea. It's dangerous. Building bridges isn't easy, and our only engineer was a freshman in college. Then demolition, construction, on the edge of a gorge. What is it all for? A windmill?"
"I'll provide schematics. One of the soldiers had a disco ball hidden in storage for parties, and we will attach it to the top of a panemone windmill with a simple escapement to limit its speed. It will glitter for miles, and they will flock to it. The gorge will become a beacon and a deathtrap, regularly swept clean by the flash floods."
For a while, we were silent, watching the sun rise together. "How do you understand them so well?"
"Nothing that lives and nothing that dies - and they live, and die, after a fasion - can keep secrets from me." I paused, and looked at him. "No, not even that."
There was awkward silence for a while. "It . . . was a difficult time. We were under so much press--"
"I already know. I don't judge it, I am just aware of it." He looked outward again, and I heard a door slam somewhere. People were beginning to get up, move about. From somewhere, the smell of cooking reached me.
"Why is the windmill so important now? We seem pretty secure up here."
"The settlement to the north that we refused to pay tribute to. They'll drive down the highway playing music as loud as they can. One zombie will follow the motion of the next, and they'll form a herd moving in their train. Then they intend to launch fireworks up the hillside. Once the herd is in motion uphill, the breaking steps we've installed to tumble them and the rough terrain won't hold them forever."
"You . . . you told us not to pay them. You told us we'd be okay." He was looking at me like I'd grown a sixth head made out of waffles and cream cheese.
"We'll disassemble some binoculars, and use the lenses to focus lights onto the beacon. We'll run a net of fuses from our gate down the hillside, different burn speeds, leading to the beacon. Turn their heads, lead them to death."
"Why do you help us? Why not them?"
"That is my business." At this, the girl within me clamored. Her soul held a fragment of myself, was a catalyst for my power, and sat as a silent judge, lest I break my word. And she insisted that people needed to understand. The wisdom of the young, perhaps. For all my awareness, I couldn't know how people would react - I couldn't know what would inspire. Perhaps I would trust her this time. "Because I have plans for humans. Never mind why. As unpleasant as your species can be, I will one day require you."
"Just 'because'?"
The girl clamored more, and I could sense her father's demeanor hardening. Very well. If I would trust her on this, I would trust her. "Earth is finite. Man is finite. Life is finite. Eventually, the infinite universe will face us with a trial greater than man, or Earth, or life. Man is the only presence that might bring life out of this egg basket before that."
"You're telling me . . . you're protecting us so we can, what, save the world?" He looked a little incredulous.
I turned my head up to his, clear blue eyes meeting his brown eyes evenly. I knew he struggled, when I met his gaze like this, to remember that I was not her. His feelings for her would bleed into my words. "Yes. I am protecting you so you can save the world."
I turned away, and began climbing down, not staying to watch his response, but I knew he smiled, as he turned back to his watch. I knew a different kind of pride and fervor had begun to swell. It was a catching thing, inspiration. If this caught on, the little one had done me quite a service. She didn't approve of my manipulation, but she didn't object, either. It seemed to have worked.
*How did you know he needed to hear that, little one?* I inquired of the fragment within me.
*People like to do things for good reasons.*
Simple. A child's wisdom. I walked toward the officer's quarters that I had taken over, climbing into a chair. It was made for a big man, and to sit high enough to write, I had stacked pillows. I began drawing, my small hands suited to the careful plans that would be needed. We had construction to get underway.
As I sketched, I considered the way the young soul locked within me had reframed these people. Something beyond understanding had come to protect them, and they followed orders to survive, and I was scary to them, though they would rarely admit it. Now, I was grooming them to be saviors.
*I'll make you a deal, little soul. Keep talking to me, telling me what you think, and I'll let your father call us by your name.* I could tell she was happy with that. She wanted to hear her name on his lips again, and I felt her eager assent.
I knew when I broke millennia of nonintervention, that I would change the beliefs and minds of men. It was too much to hope that they'd forget me with time. What I hadn't predicted was how much Maya and her species would begin to change me.
| |
[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job. | The northern European landscape we now crossed was unrecognizable. It surrounded us with its monotone light-brown color of earth mixed with dust and ash. Occasionally this view would be enriched by the presence of pine trees, looking raw and strong like survivors. The pine trees had fought as was evident from the stance they had assumed, not standing straight and proud but leaning. Remnants of dust on the pine trees made it clear there had been no wind and rain in the last days. Just dust.
We had started with eleven only to end up with four people now. We had lost the others one by one, often followed by a small miracle. Each time we lost someone we would find water, food or shelter afterwards. The sense of tragedy was confounded by the knowledge that we were saved for a while longer.
This had been a sparsely populated area to begin with and our strategy was to travel from shelter to shelter until we would get near the sea. We were traveling now for nine days without finding one and desperation creeped up on us. We encountered a small wooden two-floor cabin amidst some pine trees and what used to be a lake. The storms had clearly damaged the cabin but it seemed to be able to provide shelter. The dust-storms could begin any moment again. A mix of euphoria and suspicion hit the group upon entering when we saw a good stash of plastic bottles of water in the pantry. Someone must have stored this for their own survival. We found water often in abandoned establishments and sometimes dried foods or grains or if we were very lucky cans with beans or fruits. We also knew by now what event usually accompanied these small miracles and looked at each other with slight melancholy.
Food was difficult to come by. In the first weeks we could still hunt and fish but few animals survived in these conditions and the rivers got worse each day. We followed the rivers and lakes and each time we would catch one of the few remaining salmons it almost seemed as if it was send our way. Now we were hungry but we at least had water and shelter and were generally in a good mood. Tomorrow we would explore this area further with the cabin as base camp. We made a toast with the water and went to sleep.
In the morning I was awakened by my three companions who were rambling happily and full of unrest. They pushed a pair of binoculars in my hands and carefully guided me to the window where one of them lifted a corner of the tarpaulin. I looked through the opening with the binoculars and far away, between the pine trees was a moose. It had been the first wildlife we had seen since the heavy dust storms and could provide us with enough food to stick around here for a while. How it had survived I do not know, maybe it had a helping hand like we did in the last weeks.
| *Author's note: Part 1 of this story is posted in reply to "How does the Grim Reaper react to a Zombie Apocalypse?". After a couple of editing passes, part one is archived on a personal site, [PromptInspired](https://promptinspired.blog/2017/07/20/grim-avatar/). I did not want to post it here, in consideration of Rule 1."*
*I apologize for the roughness. I was interrupted a lot, and am operating under a time limit. In time I will edit, refine, and post this to the blog as well. At that time, I'll return here, and provide a link to anybody who expresses an interest.*
**Grim Saviors**
She didn't sleep, of course. Her body didn't need it anymore, now that I'd taken it. But everybody else slept, and so I sat in a watchtower with the man on watch. He happened to be the father of this little body. She would have been a zombie if her father hadn't had the courage to kill her, but I came instead.
I looked into the darkness beyond the fences. All that lived, and all that died yet lived, revealed what they knew to me. I was aware of every ear, every eye, I knew the heart of everything that died. It always made me feel less alone, looking into the dark. To me, the dark always looked back, an old friend rich with stories.
Her father - Joshua - spoke, growing restless in the quiet. "What do you need from us next?"
"The pinnacle of rock. In the gorge. You know it?" Her little voice had been rough from coughing, but time had soothed the damage and this morning it rang clear, like a bell. He nodded as I spoke. "We're building a bridge to it. We're going to level the peak of it and build a windmill."
He frowned, and shifted. "Maya, I don't--"
"That isn't my name." I interrupted, harshly. It had to remain clear to us that I wasn't his daughter. "She watches, but she doesn't act, and I will carry no messages. I have told you this." Somehow, though, I still felt an affection for him - this was a new thing for me. Her soul - not a Christian concept, but the only word that came close to the truth - approved of this.
He looked out over the wall again, toward the gorge we'd been talking about. The sun was rising, and the pinnacles of the tallest mountains around us had begun reflecting it's light, the sunlight creeping downward. "I have to call you something," he said, his voice a little surly.
"You do not. It is a tired discussion. You were saying something about the gorge." I kept the body still, and her eyes cast over the landscape.
"I don't think it's a good idea. It's dangerous. Building bridges isn't easy, and our only engineer was a freshman in college. Then demolition, construction, on the edge of a gorge. What is it all for? A windmill?"
"I'll provide schematics. One of the soldiers had a disco ball hidden in storage for parties, and we will attach it to the top of a panemone windmill with a simple escapement to limit its speed. It will glitter for miles, and they will flock to it. The gorge will become a beacon and a deathtrap, regularly swept clean by the flash floods."
For a while, we were silent, watching the sun rise together. "How do you understand them so well?"
"Nothing that lives and nothing that dies - and they live, and die, after a fasion - can keep secrets from me." I paused, and looked at him. "No, not even that."
There was awkward silence for a while. "It . . . was a difficult time. We were under so much press--"
"I already know. I don't judge it, I am just aware of it." He looked outward again, and I heard a door slam somewhere. People were beginning to get up, move about. From somewhere, the smell of cooking reached me.
"Why is the windmill so important now? We seem pretty secure up here."
"The settlement to the north that we refused to pay tribute to. They'll drive down the highway playing music as loud as they can. One zombie will follow the motion of the next, and they'll form a herd moving in their train. Then they intend to launch fireworks up the hillside. Once the herd is in motion uphill, the breaking steps we've installed to tumble them and the rough terrain won't hold them forever."
"You . . . you told us not to pay them. You told us we'd be okay." He was looking at me like I'd grown a sixth head made out of waffles and cream cheese.
"We'll disassemble some binoculars, and use the lenses to focus lights onto the beacon. We'll run a net of fuses from our gate down the hillside, different burn speeds, leading to the beacon. Turn their heads, lead them to death."
"Why do you help us? Why not them?"
"That is my business." At this, the girl within me clamored. Her soul held a fragment of myself, was a catalyst for my power, and sat as a silent judge, lest I break my word. And she insisted that people needed to understand. The wisdom of the young, perhaps. For all my awareness, I couldn't know how people would react - I couldn't know what would inspire. Perhaps I would trust her this time. "Because I have plans for humans. Never mind why. As unpleasant as your species can be, I will one day require you."
"Just 'because'?"
The girl clamored more, and I could sense her father's demeanor hardening. Very well. If I would trust her on this, I would trust her. "Earth is finite. Man is finite. Life is finite. Eventually, the infinite universe will face us with a trial greater than man, or Earth, or life. Man is the only presence that might bring life out of this egg basket before that."
"You're telling me . . . you're protecting us so we can, what, save the world?" He looked a little incredulous.
I turned my head up to his, clear blue eyes meeting his brown eyes evenly. I knew he struggled, when I met his gaze like this, to remember that I was not her. His feelings for her would bleed into my words. "Yes. I am protecting you so you can save the world."
I turned away, and began climbing down, not staying to watch his response, but I knew he smiled, as he turned back to his watch. I knew a different kind of pride and fervor had begun to swell. It was a catching thing, inspiration. If this caught on, the little one had done me quite a service. She didn't approve of my manipulation, but she didn't object, either. It seemed to have worked.
*How did you know he needed to hear that, little one?* I inquired of the fragment within me.
*People like to do things for good reasons.*
Simple. A child's wisdom. I walked toward the officer's quarters that I had taken over, climbing into a chair. It was made for a big man, and to sit high enough to write, I had stacked pillows. I began drawing, my small hands suited to the careful plans that would be needed. We had construction to get underway.
As I sketched, I considered the way the young soul locked within me had reframed these people. Something beyond understanding had come to protect them, and they followed orders to survive, and I was scary to them, though they would rarely admit it. Now, I was grooming them to be saviors.
*I'll make you a deal, little soul. Keep talking to me, telling me what you think, and I'll let your father call us by your name.* I could tell she was happy with that. She wanted to hear her name on his lips again, and I felt her eager assent.
I knew when I broke millennia of nonintervention, that I would change the beliefs and minds of men. It was too much to hope that they'd forget me with time. What I hadn't predicted was how much Maya and her species would begin to change me.
| |
[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job. | Death grabbed some stones and carried them over to the building site. This was were a new community was being built. One of the last communities. After all, the apocalypse had just happened. A deadly virus had wiped out all of humanity except for about 5,000 people. The survivors were those who had waited inside a bunker, or the ones who paid for the incredibly expensive healthcare package. This was bad news for our good old pal Death, who would be out of a job soon if ALL of humanity got wiped out. He had decided to gather up the survivors left in the ruins of Chicago, and helped them get food, water, and power running. Now, he was helping them build homes. He kept placing stones, one by one and making walls. He then dropped one on his toe and winced. After wincing for approximately 1.7 seconds, he got back to work.
Around 9:00 PM, he was finished. Another home complete. He wiped the non-existent sweat off of his bony forehead, and went back to his hut for the night. He then grabbed his old iPod. You see, this iPod came from his boss Hades. It was a gift from the god of the Underworld himself! It's battery never, ever ran out! Death turned on an indie rock playlist, and closed his eye-sockets, falling asleep.
Death woke up and stretched for a second. He then walked out of his hut, and into the Mess Hall in the center of the town. He smelled uncooked bacon, and rationed granola bars. Oh, how excited he was! He sat down at one of the long benches next to his best bud Chad. "Hey Chad. How's the city so far?" Death asked with a yawn. "The construction of New Chicago is going great! I'm really glad that you decided to help out, free of charge!"
Death frowned. He WAS helping out free of charge, because they had nothing to give him. Oh well. "Hey Chad, you asking out that girl Hannah today?" Death said to Chad. Chad blushed and started to mumble something that Death couldn't hear. "I didn't heeeaaar you Chad." Death said, a hint of mockery in his voice. "Yeah, I guess." Chad said. "Alright! So you're gonna have sex tonight?" Death asked with excitement. Chad was shocked by this. "Dude, it doesn't work like that! Look, I know you really want us humans to repopulate the Earth, but nobody has sex on the first night of dating!" Death frowned. "Maybe next week then." He said.
*If you liked or disliked the story please let me know why!* | *Author's note: Part 1 of this story is posted in reply to "How does the Grim Reaper react to a Zombie Apocalypse?". After a couple of editing passes, part one is archived on a personal site, [PromptInspired](https://promptinspired.blog/2017/07/20/grim-avatar/). I did not want to post it here, in consideration of Rule 1."*
*I apologize for the roughness. I was interrupted a lot, and am operating under a time limit. In time I will edit, refine, and post this to the blog as well. At that time, I'll return here, and provide a link to anybody who expresses an interest.*
**Grim Saviors**
She didn't sleep, of course. Her body didn't need it anymore, now that I'd taken it. But everybody else slept, and so I sat in a watchtower with the man on watch. He happened to be the father of this little body. She would have been a zombie if her father hadn't had the courage to kill her, but I came instead.
I looked into the darkness beyond the fences. All that lived, and all that died yet lived, revealed what they knew to me. I was aware of every ear, every eye, I knew the heart of everything that died. It always made me feel less alone, looking into the dark. To me, the dark always looked back, an old friend rich with stories.
Her father - Joshua - spoke, growing restless in the quiet. "What do you need from us next?"
"The pinnacle of rock. In the gorge. You know it?" Her little voice had been rough from coughing, but time had soothed the damage and this morning it rang clear, like a bell. He nodded as I spoke. "We're building a bridge to it. We're going to level the peak of it and build a windmill."
He frowned, and shifted. "Maya, I don't--"
"That isn't my name." I interrupted, harshly. It had to remain clear to us that I wasn't his daughter. "She watches, but she doesn't act, and I will carry no messages. I have told you this." Somehow, though, I still felt an affection for him - this was a new thing for me. Her soul - not a Christian concept, but the only word that came close to the truth - approved of this.
He looked out over the wall again, toward the gorge we'd been talking about. The sun was rising, and the pinnacles of the tallest mountains around us had begun reflecting it's light, the sunlight creeping downward. "I have to call you something," he said, his voice a little surly.
"You do not. It is a tired discussion. You were saying something about the gorge." I kept the body still, and her eyes cast over the landscape.
"I don't think it's a good idea. It's dangerous. Building bridges isn't easy, and our only engineer was a freshman in college. Then demolition, construction, on the edge of a gorge. What is it all for? A windmill?"
"I'll provide schematics. One of the soldiers had a disco ball hidden in storage for parties, and we will attach it to the top of a panemone windmill with a simple escapement to limit its speed. It will glitter for miles, and they will flock to it. The gorge will become a beacon and a deathtrap, regularly swept clean by the flash floods."
For a while, we were silent, watching the sun rise together. "How do you understand them so well?"
"Nothing that lives and nothing that dies - and they live, and die, after a fasion - can keep secrets from me." I paused, and looked at him. "No, not even that."
There was awkward silence for a while. "It . . . was a difficult time. We were under so much press--"
"I already know. I don't judge it, I am just aware of it." He looked outward again, and I heard a door slam somewhere. People were beginning to get up, move about. From somewhere, the smell of cooking reached me.
"Why is the windmill so important now? We seem pretty secure up here."
"The settlement to the north that we refused to pay tribute to. They'll drive down the highway playing music as loud as they can. One zombie will follow the motion of the next, and they'll form a herd moving in their train. Then they intend to launch fireworks up the hillside. Once the herd is in motion uphill, the breaking steps we've installed to tumble them and the rough terrain won't hold them forever."
"You . . . you told us not to pay them. You told us we'd be okay." He was looking at me like I'd grown a sixth head made out of waffles and cream cheese.
"We'll disassemble some binoculars, and use the lenses to focus lights onto the beacon. We'll run a net of fuses from our gate down the hillside, different burn speeds, leading to the beacon. Turn their heads, lead them to death."
"Why do you help us? Why not them?"
"That is my business." At this, the girl within me clamored. Her soul held a fragment of myself, was a catalyst for my power, and sat as a silent judge, lest I break my word. And she insisted that people needed to understand. The wisdom of the young, perhaps. For all my awareness, I couldn't know how people would react - I couldn't know what would inspire. Perhaps I would trust her this time. "Because I have plans for humans. Never mind why. As unpleasant as your species can be, I will one day require you."
"Just 'because'?"
The girl clamored more, and I could sense her father's demeanor hardening. Very well. If I would trust her on this, I would trust her. "Earth is finite. Man is finite. Life is finite. Eventually, the infinite universe will face us with a trial greater than man, or Earth, or life. Man is the only presence that might bring life out of this egg basket before that."
"You're telling me . . . you're protecting us so we can, what, save the world?" He looked a little incredulous.
I turned my head up to his, clear blue eyes meeting his brown eyes evenly. I knew he struggled, when I met his gaze like this, to remember that I was not her. His feelings for her would bleed into my words. "Yes. I am protecting you so you can save the world."
I turned away, and began climbing down, not staying to watch his response, but I knew he smiled, as he turned back to his watch. I knew a different kind of pride and fervor had begun to swell. It was a catching thing, inspiration. If this caught on, the little one had done me quite a service. She didn't approve of my manipulation, but she didn't object, either. It seemed to have worked.
*How did you know he needed to hear that, little one?* I inquired of the fragment within me.
*People like to do things for good reasons.*
Simple. A child's wisdom. I walked toward the officer's quarters that I had taken over, climbing into a chair. It was made for a big man, and to sit high enough to write, I had stacked pillows. I began drawing, my small hands suited to the careful plans that would be needed. We had construction to get underway.
As I sketched, I considered the way the young soul locked within me had reframed these people. Something beyond understanding had come to protect them, and they followed orders to survive, and I was scary to them, though they would rarely admit it. Now, I was grooming them to be saviors.
*I'll make you a deal, little soul. Keep talking to me, telling me what you think, and I'll let your father call us by your name.* I could tell she was happy with that. She wanted to hear her name on his lips again, and I felt her eager assent.
I knew when I broke millennia of nonintervention, that I would change the beliefs and minds of men. It was too much to hope that they'd forget me with time. What I hadn't predicted was how much Maya and her species would begin to change me.
| |
[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job. | *With apologies to Terry Pratchett*
Christina wiped crimson juice from her mouth and cheeks, spreading it across the back of her hand in a long, pale stain. This was wrong, she knew, but a girl had to eat something. Even one less mouth to feed by the time she got her foraged bounty back to the others could make all the difference. Many adults were already nearly starving themselves just to make sure the few children had enough to eat.
She popped one last guilty raspberry in her mouth, savoring its sweet, warm squish between her teeth. What fun was going gathering if she couldn't take a few for herself? She gathered her basket and set off, leaving the unripe bush-bound berries for another day.
Christina had been this way many times in the two months since leaving what remained of civilization with her newfound comrades – they were a tribe now, she supposed – and already her steps had worn a light path through the undergrowth. Almost like a game trail, she thought with an ironic twist, recalling her youth spent hunting deer with her older brother. He had been away on vacation the day of the War, she thought for the hundredth time. He hadn't been in the city, so maybe...
Another bush presented itself – blueberries. She pushed the longing thoughts from her head and set about filling her half-empty basket.
HELLO, CHRISTINA, came a voice from behind her like the slam of a 5-inch-thick fallout shelter blast door. She started, her flailing arm upending the basket and scattering berries everywhere.
LOOK, I REALLY HATE TO BOTHER YOU, BUT I COULD RATHER USE YOUR HELP WITH SOMETHING.
Christina turned slowly, hand clasping the scavenged butcher's knife at her belt, not knowing what to expect. It still defied all her expectations.
Before her stood a black-robed figure, at least seven feet tall, leaning anxiously on a farmer's scythe. She could not see its face beneath the deep folds of the cloak's hood, but it seemed...hollow, empty. Its left hand, clutching the shaft of the scythe, was bare bone.
She drew her knife, holding it in both hands between herself and the figure like a vampire hunter's cross. “What – who are you?”
DO YOU NOT RECOGNIZE ME, CHILD?
Christina felt a horrible pang of realization. “Am...am I dead?” she asked, fearing she knew the answer.
To her surprise, Death lifted its right hand, shaking back its voluminous sleeve to reveal a skeletal wrist encrusted with watches of all styles and sizes – gold, silver, digital, analog, even a child's cartoon-adorned band. Death tapped on one that looked exactly like a gift from Christina's brother back when she graduated from high school.
NOT JUST YET. WE HAVE ABOUT FIVE MINUTES. WHICH IS WHY I NEED YOU TO LISTEN.
Christina broke down and collapsed to her knees, dropping the knife. It sank point-first into the ground, just missing Death's left big toe. Death stepped back, not so much worried about its podiatric wellbeing as it was unsure how to respond to Christina's outpouring of emotion.
Death turned its head back and forth, as though checking for witnesses. LOOK, I'M NOT EVEN SUPPOSED TO SHOW UP THIS EARLY. IT'S MEANT TO BE A DONE DEAL BY THE TIME I GET INVOLVED, SO...COULD YOU DO ME A FAVOR AND PRETEND IT'S ALREADY OVER?
Christina sniffled, sobering slightly at the absurdity. “What's even the point? What could I possibly do to help you – and why would I?”
WELL – YOU SEE, THIS WHOLE APOCALYPSE BUSINESS HAS BEEN TERRIBLY INCONVENIENT. I NEVER EXPECTED IT TO BE THIS BAD. GLOBAL NUCLEAR WAR IN A DAY? YOU HUMANS REALLY OUTDID YOURSELVES.
Death scuffed its foot on the ground uncomfortably, making a sound that put nails and chalkboards to shame. THE TRUTH IS, THERE AREN'T MANY OF YOU LEFT. I REALLY NEED YOU TO START BANDING TOGETHER AND REPOPULATING THE EARTH AND ALL, OR I'LL BE OUT OF A JOB. AND YOU CAN'T IMAGINE HOW MUCH OF A PAIN IT IS TO FIND ANOTHER PLANET THAT NEEDS A KEEPER OF THE AFTERLIFE...
“...Well I'm as good as dead, apparently, so I'm not sure where this is going.”
AH. AS IT HAPPENS, THERE'S ANOTHER TRIBE CAMPED A FEW MILES EAST OF HERE. I THINK YOU ALL WOULD COMPLIMENT EACH OTHER QUITE WELL. WHEN YOUR FRIEND “MIKE” COMES AND FINDS YOU IN YOUR TRAGIC LAST MOMENTS, WOULD YOU MIND TELLING HIM FOR ME?
Just then, Christina felt a sharp pain in her foot. RIGHT ON CUE. I'LL SEE YOU IN A BIT. Death shifted its head in a weird motion that made her think it had tried to wink, but there was no way to know. It faded into the shadows of the trees. Christina grabbed the cottonmouth sunk fang-deep in her ankle and flung it away.
She heard someone coming along her game trail. “Michael?” she called. Of course it was him.
“Chris?!” he called back. “Where are you? Are you hurt?”
“Oh god, Michael. I'm over here.” Michael broke into a run, crashing through the bushes and into her clearing. He knelt beside her, saw the twin puncture wounds, and stared at her with knowing grief.
“Chris--”
“Shh. Just listen. You need to take them east.” Christina felt her consciousness fading. “Don't ask me why, just do it. Everything will be alright...” She trailed off and passed out. Michael caught her and lifted her over his shoulders, hoping he could get back to camp in time to do...something.
He paused, gazing east and considering her strange advice. It would be farther into the wilderness, away from most supplies and their camp at the edge of the woods. But somehow she'd seemed so certain.
As he hurried back to camp, Michael was sure he heard a grinding, grating noise, like two skeletal hands being rubbed together in anticipation.
THANK YOU, CHRISTINA. | *Author's note: Part 1 of this story is posted in reply to "How does the Grim Reaper react to a Zombie Apocalypse?". After a couple of editing passes, part one is archived on a personal site, [PromptInspired](https://promptinspired.blog/2017/07/20/grim-avatar/). I did not want to post it here, in consideration of Rule 1."*
*I apologize for the roughness. I was interrupted a lot, and am operating under a time limit. In time I will edit, refine, and post this to the blog as well. At that time, I'll return here, and provide a link to anybody who expresses an interest.*
**Grim Saviors**
She didn't sleep, of course. Her body didn't need it anymore, now that I'd taken it. But everybody else slept, and so I sat in a watchtower with the man on watch. He happened to be the father of this little body. She would have been a zombie if her father hadn't had the courage to kill her, but I came instead.
I looked into the darkness beyond the fences. All that lived, and all that died yet lived, revealed what they knew to me. I was aware of every ear, every eye, I knew the heart of everything that died. It always made me feel less alone, looking into the dark. To me, the dark always looked back, an old friend rich with stories.
Her father - Joshua - spoke, growing restless in the quiet. "What do you need from us next?"
"The pinnacle of rock. In the gorge. You know it?" Her little voice had been rough from coughing, but time had soothed the damage and this morning it rang clear, like a bell. He nodded as I spoke. "We're building a bridge to it. We're going to level the peak of it and build a windmill."
He frowned, and shifted. "Maya, I don't--"
"That isn't my name." I interrupted, harshly. It had to remain clear to us that I wasn't his daughter. "She watches, but she doesn't act, and I will carry no messages. I have told you this." Somehow, though, I still felt an affection for him - this was a new thing for me. Her soul - not a Christian concept, but the only word that came close to the truth - approved of this.
He looked out over the wall again, toward the gorge we'd been talking about. The sun was rising, and the pinnacles of the tallest mountains around us had begun reflecting it's light, the sunlight creeping downward. "I have to call you something," he said, his voice a little surly.
"You do not. It is a tired discussion. You were saying something about the gorge." I kept the body still, and her eyes cast over the landscape.
"I don't think it's a good idea. It's dangerous. Building bridges isn't easy, and our only engineer was a freshman in college. Then demolition, construction, on the edge of a gorge. What is it all for? A windmill?"
"I'll provide schematics. One of the soldiers had a disco ball hidden in storage for parties, and we will attach it to the top of a panemone windmill with a simple escapement to limit its speed. It will glitter for miles, and they will flock to it. The gorge will become a beacon and a deathtrap, regularly swept clean by the flash floods."
For a while, we were silent, watching the sun rise together. "How do you understand them so well?"
"Nothing that lives and nothing that dies - and they live, and die, after a fasion - can keep secrets from me." I paused, and looked at him. "No, not even that."
There was awkward silence for a while. "It . . . was a difficult time. We were under so much press--"
"I already know. I don't judge it, I am just aware of it." He looked outward again, and I heard a door slam somewhere. People were beginning to get up, move about. From somewhere, the smell of cooking reached me.
"Why is the windmill so important now? We seem pretty secure up here."
"The settlement to the north that we refused to pay tribute to. They'll drive down the highway playing music as loud as they can. One zombie will follow the motion of the next, and they'll form a herd moving in their train. Then they intend to launch fireworks up the hillside. Once the herd is in motion uphill, the breaking steps we've installed to tumble them and the rough terrain won't hold them forever."
"You . . . you told us not to pay them. You told us we'd be okay." He was looking at me like I'd grown a sixth head made out of waffles and cream cheese.
"We'll disassemble some binoculars, and use the lenses to focus lights onto the beacon. We'll run a net of fuses from our gate down the hillside, different burn speeds, leading to the beacon. Turn their heads, lead them to death."
"Why do you help us? Why not them?"
"That is my business." At this, the girl within me clamored. Her soul held a fragment of myself, was a catalyst for my power, and sat as a silent judge, lest I break my word. And she insisted that people needed to understand. The wisdom of the young, perhaps. For all my awareness, I couldn't know how people would react - I couldn't know what would inspire. Perhaps I would trust her this time. "Because I have plans for humans. Never mind why. As unpleasant as your species can be, I will one day require you."
"Just 'because'?"
The girl clamored more, and I could sense her father's demeanor hardening. Very well. If I would trust her on this, I would trust her. "Earth is finite. Man is finite. Life is finite. Eventually, the infinite universe will face us with a trial greater than man, or Earth, or life. Man is the only presence that might bring life out of this egg basket before that."
"You're telling me . . . you're protecting us so we can, what, save the world?" He looked a little incredulous.
I turned my head up to his, clear blue eyes meeting his brown eyes evenly. I knew he struggled, when I met his gaze like this, to remember that I was not her. His feelings for her would bleed into my words. "Yes. I am protecting you so you can save the world."
I turned away, and began climbing down, not staying to watch his response, but I knew he smiled, as he turned back to his watch. I knew a different kind of pride and fervor had begun to swell. It was a catching thing, inspiration. If this caught on, the little one had done me quite a service. She didn't approve of my manipulation, but she didn't object, either. It seemed to have worked.
*How did you know he needed to hear that, little one?* I inquired of the fragment within me.
*People like to do things for good reasons.*
Simple. A child's wisdom. I walked toward the officer's quarters that I had taken over, climbing into a chair. It was made for a big man, and to sit high enough to write, I had stacked pillows. I began drawing, my small hands suited to the careful plans that would be needed. We had construction to get underway.
As I sketched, I considered the way the young soul locked within me had reframed these people. Something beyond understanding had come to protect them, and they followed orders to survive, and I was scary to them, though they would rarely admit it. Now, I was grooming them to be saviors.
*I'll make you a deal, little soul. Keep talking to me, telling me what you think, and I'll let your father call us by your name.* I could tell she was happy with that. She wanted to hear her name on his lips again, and I felt her eager assent.
I knew when I broke millennia of nonintervention, that I would change the beliefs and minds of men. It was too much to hope that they'd forget me with time. What I hadn't predicted was how much Maya and her species would begin to change me.
| |
[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job. | Every time a human dies, time stands still. It stays still for me until I locate the newly freed soul, and give it passage to it's afterlife. Some to Valhalla, some to Olympus, others to Heaven, for some reason many of these modern humans choose to go to hell, because they think they belong there. No matter what it takes me hours to collect them, usher them and help them get connected with their spirit guide.
Then time starts and another dies and I'm back at it.
So it's gone for 100,000 years of human life. There have been times where work wasn't busy, and times when a year for humans went on for thousands of years for me because of a plague or war.
Still I love my job. The feeling of joy that emanates from their soul when they reach their afterlife brings me joy that no living human can understand. Also the shapeshifting to their pleasing form is nice too.
So 100,000 years later doing the best job a Phantasm can do and I almost lost my job. I don't understand human politics, but a large war broke out, and it led to a disease being loosed on humanity that killed 99.9996% of them in weeks.
Weeks that seemed like millennia to me. There were seven billion of them you see, seven billion souls to usher, and sure I may have been less cheery about it, because I was rushing around like you wouldn't believe, but I'd never want this job to end, because with this job's end, so goes my existence.
Now there stands just 5,341 of them.... 5,340 of them.
These aren't the best and the brightest. That last one was cleaning a firearm "For protection" and didn't unload it first. He blew his brains out all over a nice marble statue.
Shame there isn't anyone else around to clean it up.
This leaves me with a lot of free time though. I've devised a plan to save humanity, and myself I just need to keep them alive in the mean time. | *Author's note: Part 1 of this story is posted in reply to "How does the Grim Reaper react to a Zombie Apocalypse?". After a couple of editing passes, part one is archived on a personal site, [PromptInspired](https://promptinspired.blog/2017/07/20/grim-avatar/). I did not want to post it here, in consideration of Rule 1."*
*I apologize for the roughness. I was interrupted a lot, and am operating under a time limit. In time I will edit, refine, and post this to the blog as well. At that time, I'll return here, and provide a link to anybody who expresses an interest.*
**Grim Saviors**
She didn't sleep, of course. Her body didn't need it anymore, now that I'd taken it. But everybody else slept, and so I sat in a watchtower with the man on watch. He happened to be the father of this little body. She would have been a zombie if her father hadn't had the courage to kill her, but I came instead.
I looked into the darkness beyond the fences. All that lived, and all that died yet lived, revealed what they knew to me. I was aware of every ear, every eye, I knew the heart of everything that died. It always made me feel less alone, looking into the dark. To me, the dark always looked back, an old friend rich with stories.
Her father - Joshua - spoke, growing restless in the quiet. "What do you need from us next?"
"The pinnacle of rock. In the gorge. You know it?" Her little voice had been rough from coughing, but time had soothed the damage and this morning it rang clear, like a bell. He nodded as I spoke. "We're building a bridge to it. We're going to level the peak of it and build a windmill."
He frowned, and shifted. "Maya, I don't--"
"That isn't my name." I interrupted, harshly. It had to remain clear to us that I wasn't his daughter. "She watches, but she doesn't act, and I will carry no messages. I have told you this." Somehow, though, I still felt an affection for him - this was a new thing for me. Her soul - not a Christian concept, but the only word that came close to the truth - approved of this.
He looked out over the wall again, toward the gorge we'd been talking about. The sun was rising, and the pinnacles of the tallest mountains around us had begun reflecting it's light, the sunlight creeping downward. "I have to call you something," he said, his voice a little surly.
"You do not. It is a tired discussion. You were saying something about the gorge." I kept the body still, and her eyes cast over the landscape.
"I don't think it's a good idea. It's dangerous. Building bridges isn't easy, and our only engineer was a freshman in college. Then demolition, construction, on the edge of a gorge. What is it all for? A windmill?"
"I'll provide schematics. One of the soldiers had a disco ball hidden in storage for parties, and we will attach it to the top of a panemone windmill with a simple escapement to limit its speed. It will glitter for miles, and they will flock to it. The gorge will become a beacon and a deathtrap, regularly swept clean by the flash floods."
For a while, we were silent, watching the sun rise together. "How do you understand them so well?"
"Nothing that lives and nothing that dies - and they live, and die, after a fasion - can keep secrets from me." I paused, and looked at him. "No, not even that."
There was awkward silence for a while. "It . . . was a difficult time. We were under so much press--"
"I already know. I don't judge it, I am just aware of it." He looked outward again, and I heard a door slam somewhere. People were beginning to get up, move about. From somewhere, the smell of cooking reached me.
"Why is the windmill so important now? We seem pretty secure up here."
"The settlement to the north that we refused to pay tribute to. They'll drive down the highway playing music as loud as they can. One zombie will follow the motion of the next, and they'll form a herd moving in their train. Then they intend to launch fireworks up the hillside. Once the herd is in motion uphill, the breaking steps we've installed to tumble them and the rough terrain won't hold them forever."
"You . . . you told us not to pay them. You told us we'd be okay." He was looking at me like I'd grown a sixth head made out of waffles and cream cheese.
"We'll disassemble some binoculars, and use the lenses to focus lights onto the beacon. We'll run a net of fuses from our gate down the hillside, different burn speeds, leading to the beacon. Turn their heads, lead them to death."
"Why do you help us? Why not them?"
"That is my business." At this, the girl within me clamored. Her soul held a fragment of myself, was a catalyst for my power, and sat as a silent judge, lest I break my word. And she insisted that people needed to understand. The wisdom of the young, perhaps. For all my awareness, I couldn't know how people would react - I couldn't know what would inspire. Perhaps I would trust her this time. "Because I have plans for humans. Never mind why. As unpleasant as your species can be, I will one day require you."
"Just 'because'?"
The girl clamored more, and I could sense her father's demeanor hardening. Very well. If I would trust her on this, I would trust her. "Earth is finite. Man is finite. Life is finite. Eventually, the infinite universe will face us with a trial greater than man, or Earth, or life. Man is the only presence that might bring life out of this egg basket before that."
"You're telling me . . . you're protecting us so we can, what, save the world?" He looked a little incredulous.
I turned my head up to his, clear blue eyes meeting his brown eyes evenly. I knew he struggled, when I met his gaze like this, to remember that I was not her. His feelings for her would bleed into my words. "Yes. I am protecting you so you can save the world."
I turned away, and began climbing down, not staying to watch his response, but I knew he smiled, as he turned back to his watch. I knew a different kind of pride and fervor had begun to swell. It was a catching thing, inspiration. If this caught on, the little one had done me quite a service. She didn't approve of my manipulation, but she didn't object, either. It seemed to have worked.
*How did you know he needed to hear that, little one?* I inquired of the fragment within me.
*People like to do things for good reasons.*
Simple. A child's wisdom. I walked toward the officer's quarters that I had taken over, climbing into a chair. It was made for a big man, and to sit high enough to write, I had stacked pillows. I began drawing, my small hands suited to the careful plans that would be needed. We had construction to get underway.
As I sketched, I considered the way the young soul locked within me had reframed these people. Something beyond understanding had come to protect them, and they followed orders to survive, and I was scary to them, though they would rarely admit it. Now, I was grooming them to be saviors.
*I'll make you a deal, little soul. Keep talking to me, telling me what you think, and I'll let your father call us by your name.* I could tell she was happy with that. She wanted to hear her name on his lips again, and I felt her eager assent.
I knew when I broke millennia of nonintervention, that I would change the beliefs and minds of men. It was too much to hope that they'd forget me with time. What I hadn't predicted was how much Maya and her species would begin to change me.
| |
[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job. | The dark and heavy clouds raged in the distance with the setting sun. She slowly rocked in her rocking chair, the one her eldest son had made for her many birthdays ago, listening to the sounds of her hearth and the approaching storm. Her left leg ached as it always did before a big storm, the same leg she had broken nearly 70 years ago, an inconvenient reminder of the life she had almost lost.
 
In her lap lay her father’s bible. She found humor in her faith, in how before the bombs fell she was a devout atheist to the point of forcefully trying to disprove all theology. But now she knew, knew that it didn’t matter if you were an atheist or a theist, because it was irreconcilable differences like these that brought on the Third Great War. She opened the book to the words of Isaiah, one page in particular marked with a long black feather. The tips of her fingers stroked the silken vane.
 
A sudden jolt of light poured in through the westward window, casting long shadows throughout the cabin. When the light faded so too did the shadows, all but one. A dark silhouette stood by her front door. Fear tried to grasp her, but her old age had prepared her for this moment. She didn’t say anything, not at first, waiting for the figure to pass in hopes that it was her imagination. Thunder softly vibrated the walls. A few minutes went by, but the figure remained, a sentinel amongst the darkness. Another flash of light filled the room, this time her attention completely focused. It was only for a second but it was more than enough time to recognize the familiar face. Again, thunder vibrated the walls, more violently this time as the storm drew nearer.
 
“I didn’t think we’d ever meet again,” she whispered the lie, half expecting him to not hear her. He stepped closer, away from the threshold and into the soft glow of light cast by the fireplace. There he stood, the same man that had saved her life 72 years ago. Although, unlike her the passing of time had been much kinder to him. He was exactly as she remembered, a handsome man in his 30s, clean shaven and dark ruffled hair, but it was his eyes she remembered most. Eyes that could pierce stone; eyes that knew the secrets of the world, eyes that had seen it all. How those eyes had comforted and also haunted her.
 
“I was seventeen when you first appeared, my leg broken. You saved me then, and guided me here, where I would meet my husband,” she said, more to herself than to him. “Tell me, do you remember me?”
 
“I remember,” he said, the words soft and beautiful, but they also carried something more tenacious.
 
“I’ve told that story many times, saying you were my guardian angel. And when Andrew, my oldest, was bitten by that snake, he said a strange man had cared for the injury and carried him to the edge of the field, where we found him.” She paused, looking into those old eyes. “I knew it was you who had saved him, as you had saved me. I told them all not to fear the shadow, for he was there to protect us.” She paused, afraid to speak what was next, but she steadied herself and continue on. “I’ve had a very long time to think, as it seems that is all old ladies are good for,” she smiled at her own humor, but it quickly faded. “However, you only seem to appear when death is ready to make a claim.” Again she paused, unsure of how to ask her question. She licked her dry wrinkled lips. “Tell me please, do I know your name?”
 
“Yes.”
 
“Then please, say it for me.”
 
The storm once again sent out a great ray of light, filling the room. In that brief moment she thought she saw two giant black feathered wings folded behind the man’s back.
 
“Azrael,” the name rolled perfectly off his tongue.
 
A deafening explosion sounded not far off from the house, startling her as she slightly jumped in her seat. Everything within shook from the force and rattled briefly as the light cast from outside flickered back into darkness, once again leaving the room filled with only silence and the soft glow of the fireplace.
 
“I see,” she rubbed her left leg in a futile attempt to massage the pain away. “Then perhaps it was not only you who saved me, but also I who saved you?” The question lingered in the air, unanswered by the man. “For what is a farmer if he has no crops to reap.” The man knelt in front of her and extended his hand out to her, palm up. She placed her own small and fragile hand onto his. He grasped it, strong but gentle.
 
"Tell me what I must do,” she asked, tears beginning to roll down her cheeks.
 
With his other hand he grasped her shoulder, the touch warm and oddly comforting.
 
“Just breathe.”
 
She took in a slow and shaky deep breathe, and then let it all out, her very last. Her hand went limp in his, and her posture slumped heavily into the chair.
 
The sky suddenly broke open and unleashed the torrent it had been holding back. The rain beat down on the tin roof, deafening any further sounds. From within his long dark garbs, he pulled a small book and flipped to a page near its beginning. There he found her name amongst her many descendants. The tips of his fingers stroked the name upon the page. And in so doing her name was struck from it, leaving a now empty gap amongst the many names upon the page. However, even in its absence he knew he would never forget it. *Aliza Klein*, his small joy that brought hope back into his world.
 
He put the book back into his inner pocket and in so doing saw on the floor another book. This one slightly larger than his own, and near the middle of its pages stuck a long black feather. He picked it up and flipped the book open, smiling at the familiar item held within. And upon the page was a highlighted verse.
 
*Even to your old age and gray hairs I am he, I am he who will sustain you. I have made you and I will carry you; I will sustain you and I will rescue you.*
 
*formatting and stuff
| *Author's note: Part 1 of this story is posted in reply to "How does the Grim Reaper react to a Zombie Apocalypse?". After a couple of editing passes, part one is archived on a personal site, [PromptInspired](https://promptinspired.blog/2017/07/20/grim-avatar/). I did not want to post it here, in consideration of Rule 1."*
*I apologize for the roughness. I was interrupted a lot, and am operating under a time limit. In time I will edit, refine, and post this to the blog as well. At that time, I'll return here, and provide a link to anybody who expresses an interest.*
**Grim Saviors**
She didn't sleep, of course. Her body didn't need it anymore, now that I'd taken it. But everybody else slept, and so I sat in a watchtower with the man on watch. He happened to be the father of this little body. She would have been a zombie if her father hadn't had the courage to kill her, but I came instead.
I looked into the darkness beyond the fences. All that lived, and all that died yet lived, revealed what they knew to me. I was aware of every ear, every eye, I knew the heart of everything that died. It always made me feel less alone, looking into the dark. To me, the dark always looked back, an old friend rich with stories.
Her father - Joshua - spoke, growing restless in the quiet. "What do you need from us next?"
"The pinnacle of rock. In the gorge. You know it?" Her little voice had been rough from coughing, but time had soothed the damage and this morning it rang clear, like a bell. He nodded as I spoke. "We're building a bridge to it. We're going to level the peak of it and build a windmill."
He frowned, and shifted. "Maya, I don't--"
"That isn't my name." I interrupted, harshly. It had to remain clear to us that I wasn't his daughter. "She watches, but she doesn't act, and I will carry no messages. I have told you this." Somehow, though, I still felt an affection for him - this was a new thing for me. Her soul - not a Christian concept, but the only word that came close to the truth - approved of this.
He looked out over the wall again, toward the gorge we'd been talking about. The sun was rising, and the pinnacles of the tallest mountains around us had begun reflecting it's light, the sunlight creeping downward. "I have to call you something," he said, his voice a little surly.
"You do not. It is a tired discussion. You were saying something about the gorge." I kept the body still, and her eyes cast over the landscape.
"I don't think it's a good idea. It's dangerous. Building bridges isn't easy, and our only engineer was a freshman in college. Then demolition, construction, on the edge of a gorge. What is it all for? A windmill?"
"I'll provide schematics. One of the soldiers had a disco ball hidden in storage for parties, and we will attach it to the top of a panemone windmill with a simple escapement to limit its speed. It will glitter for miles, and they will flock to it. The gorge will become a beacon and a deathtrap, regularly swept clean by the flash floods."
For a while, we were silent, watching the sun rise together. "How do you understand them so well?"
"Nothing that lives and nothing that dies - and they live, and die, after a fasion - can keep secrets from me." I paused, and looked at him. "No, not even that."
There was awkward silence for a while. "It . . . was a difficult time. We were under so much press--"
"I already know. I don't judge it, I am just aware of it." He looked outward again, and I heard a door slam somewhere. People were beginning to get up, move about. From somewhere, the smell of cooking reached me.
"Why is the windmill so important now? We seem pretty secure up here."
"The settlement to the north that we refused to pay tribute to. They'll drive down the highway playing music as loud as they can. One zombie will follow the motion of the next, and they'll form a herd moving in their train. Then they intend to launch fireworks up the hillside. Once the herd is in motion uphill, the breaking steps we've installed to tumble them and the rough terrain won't hold them forever."
"You . . . you told us not to pay them. You told us we'd be okay." He was looking at me like I'd grown a sixth head made out of waffles and cream cheese.
"We'll disassemble some binoculars, and use the lenses to focus lights onto the beacon. We'll run a net of fuses from our gate down the hillside, different burn speeds, leading to the beacon. Turn their heads, lead them to death."
"Why do you help us? Why not them?"
"That is my business." At this, the girl within me clamored. Her soul held a fragment of myself, was a catalyst for my power, and sat as a silent judge, lest I break my word. And she insisted that people needed to understand. The wisdom of the young, perhaps. For all my awareness, I couldn't know how people would react - I couldn't know what would inspire. Perhaps I would trust her this time. "Because I have plans for humans. Never mind why. As unpleasant as your species can be, I will one day require you."
"Just 'because'?"
The girl clamored more, and I could sense her father's demeanor hardening. Very well. If I would trust her on this, I would trust her. "Earth is finite. Man is finite. Life is finite. Eventually, the infinite universe will face us with a trial greater than man, or Earth, or life. Man is the only presence that might bring life out of this egg basket before that."
"You're telling me . . . you're protecting us so we can, what, save the world?" He looked a little incredulous.
I turned my head up to his, clear blue eyes meeting his brown eyes evenly. I knew he struggled, when I met his gaze like this, to remember that I was not her. His feelings for her would bleed into my words. "Yes. I am protecting you so you can save the world."
I turned away, and began climbing down, not staying to watch his response, but I knew he smiled, as he turned back to his watch. I knew a different kind of pride and fervor had begun to swell. It was a catching thing, inspiration. If this caught on, the little one had done me quite a service. She didn't approve of my manipulation, but she didn't object, either. It seemed to have worked.
*How did you know he needed to hear that, little one?* I inquired of the fragment within me.
*People like to do things for good reasons.*
Simple. A child's wisdom. I walked toward the officer's quarters that I had taken over, climbing into a chair. It was made for a big man, and to sit high enough to write, I had stacked pillows. I began drawing, my small hands suited to the careful plans that would be needed. We had construction to get underway.
As I sketched, I considered the way the young soul locked within me had reframed these people. Something beyond understanding had come to protect them, and they followed orders to survive, and I was scary to them, though they would rarely admit it. Now, I was grooming them to be saviors.
*I'll make you a deal, little soul. Keep talking to me, telling me what you think, and I'll let your father call us by your name.* I could tell she was happy with that. She wanted to hear her name on his lips again, and I felt her eager assent.
I knew when I broke millennia of nonintervention, that I would change the beliefs and minds of men. It was too much to hope that they'd forget me with time. What I hadn't predicted was how much Maya and her species would begin to change me.
| |
[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job. | "Shit, shit, shit ..." A dark hooded figure walked through the wasteland. "Fuck, fuck, fuck ... this was not scheduled. This is bad... " The figure stops and taps its chest and arms repetitively. "I'm still here. It's not over yet. Keep your head Clarice. Somewhere out there are some idiots still alive ... and ... fuck ... I have to keep them this way."
In a bunker, not far from the hooded figure. "So there I was. The office full of colleagues and strangers, and all I had to cover my enormous penis was the birthday pie I fetched from the store. My boss was not please. *She* was not please, I tell you." This was the 8^th lame, and made-up story he told her. 3 day they've spend in the bunker and it was nothing like the stories made it appear. She, the last women on the world, and he, the last man on the planet. At first she hoped that he would start to get *appealing* a few days in, but "appalling" remains "appalling" it seems. So this is it? She's going to die together with that guy? Drowning seems like a trip to Disney Land in comparison. "I have to go to the toiler." She excused herself and left the room. He remained to wonder how often she was going to use the toiled within an hour?
She flushed the toilet. It was a special water saving one. No drowning there. Frustrated she walked over the to cabinet. Jackpot. Razor-blades served with a hand-picked bouquet of assorted pills. "DON'T!", the hooded figure appeared. For the sake of your ears the following scream of the woman will not be described. "Please, you can't do that. My name is Death Clarice Incarnate, and my existence depends on your survival. Please don't kill yourself."
"What? You're who? Death?! ... those pills act fast."
"You haven't take any yet ..."
"Yeah, amazing isn't it?"
"No, please, listen. You must not kill yourself. I know it is hard, but you have to survive. And, well, it would be great if you'd repopulate the planet."
"With that guy?"
"Please?"
"Down they go..." and the woman started to swallow the pills like candy.
"NO!" The hooded figure knocked the pills out of the woman's hand with a scythe, careful not to touch her.
"LEAVE ME ALONE!", the women screamed. "You murdered all I ever loved! My family, my hamster, Joshua from the office on the opposite side of the road!" To top it all off she threw her phone against the wall, shattering it in thousand pieces "Even the PokemonGo servers are dead! YOU MONSTER!"
"I'm sorry. I just work here. I didn't start any nukes, but please listen. Ok, I get it. He really seems like a terrible guy, but I need you to do this. YOU need yourself to do this. 40 years from now you'll look at this and laugh. I promise."
"Yeah, fuck that. 40 minutes from now I better be stone dead."
"OK, lets strike a deal. You get 10 children with him and in 10 years I kill you. How does that sound?"
"5 children and you kill him!"
"Fuck. ... shit" the hooded figure cursed, "... Okey, deal!" The women reached out her hand to close to deal, but the hooded figure faltered. "... oh, nice try! I'm not going to fall for that one. If we touch it's you who dies."
"Shit." This time it was the woman's time to curse. "But I really don't want to stand close to him, let alone anything else. ... Have you even heard his stories?! Nothing gets through to him. I told him he's not funny 3 times. He doesn't listen to anything. Yesterday I tried to make a joke and he just told me I have beautiful eye ... like my eyes can turn this wasteland fertile again. And I'm to spend 5 years with him. All my dreams and hopes wasted on an guy with the character of an unpainted brick wall?" The women sat on the ground sobbing. "Nothing matters anymore. Everyone is dead, my only dress in ruined, and now even death is no salvation." She continued to sob for a few minutes. "Fuck ... fuuuuuuuuckfuckfuck. *sigh* There really is no other way?" The women asked. The hooded figure shook its head. "Well, there better be some spirit in one of those storage cans, or it's going to be a long nuclear winter."
When she returned into the main room of the bunker the women, and the hooded figure found the man dead. He hung himself from a door knob with his belt; his trousers at his ankles. Over him another hooded figure was standing. "Oh, is that you Clarice? Look what I've found. World is ended and he tries out erotic asphyxiation. Well, not on my watch, buddy.", and the figure took a good kick at the corpse.
"Eric?! What have you done?! These two were the last hope for humanity!"
The second hooded figure looked at the women, and then back at the corpse. "Well, not with one dead, that's for sure." - "What is wrong with you?! Once she's dead we're no longer needed and disappear! How could you!" - "Why are you screaming at me! How should I know! You could have told me!"
While the two figures were arguing, the women sat down on the couch with a sanguine smile. Now that the worst was finally over it can finally get better. With this the women redefined the meaning of some words and literally lived happily ever after. | *Author's note: Part 1 of this story is posted in reply to "How does the Grim Reaper react to a Zombie Apocalypse?". After a couple of editing passes, part one is archived on a personal site, [PromptInspired](https://promptinspired.blog/2017/07/20/grim-avatar/). I did not want to post it here, in consideration of Rule 1."*
*I apologize for the roughness. I was interrupted a lot, and am operating under a time limit. In time I will edit, refine, and post this to the blog as well. At that time, I'll return here, and provide a link to anybody who expresses an interest.*
**Grim Saviors**
She didn't sleep, of course. Her body didn't need it anymore, now that I'd taken it. But everybody else slept, and so I sat in a watchtower with the man on watch. He happened to be the father of this little body. She would have been a zombie if her father hadn't had the courage to kill her, but I came instead.
I looked into the darkness beyond the fences. All that lived, and all that died yet lived, revealed what they knew to me. I was aware of every ear, every eye, I knew the heart of everything that died. It always made me feel less alone, looking into the dark. To me, the dark always looked back, an old friend rich with stories.
Her father - Joshua - spoke, growing restless in the quiet. "What do you need from us next?"
"The pinnacle of rock. In the gorge. You know it?" Her little voice had been rough from coughing, but time had soothed the damage and this morning it rang clear, like a bell. He nodded as I spoke. "We're building a bridge to it. We're going to level the peak of it and build a windmill."
He frowned, and shifted. "Maya, I don't--"
"That isn't my name." I interrupted, harshly. It had to remain clear to us that I wasn't his daughter. "She watches, but she doesn't act, and I will carry no messages. I have told you this." Somehow, though, I still felt an affection for him - this was a new thing for me. Her soul - not a Christian concept, but the only word that came close to the truth - approved of this.
He looked out over the wall again, toward the gorge we'd been talking about. The sun was rising, and the pinnacles of the tallest mountains around us had begun reflecting it's light, the sunlight creeping downward. "I have to call you something," he said, his voice a little surly.
"You do not. It is a tired discussion. You were saying something about the gorge." I kept the body still, and her eyes cast over the landscape.
"I don't think it's a good idea. It's dangerous. Building bridges isn't easy, and our only engineer was a freshman in college. Then demolition, construction, on the edge of a gorge. What is it all for? A windmill?"
"I'll provide schematics. One of the soldiers had a disco ball hidden in storage for parties, and we will attach it to the top of a panemone windmill with a simple escapement to limit its speed. It will glitter for miles, and they will flock to it. The gorge will become a beacon and a deathtrap, regularly swept clean by the flash floods."
For a while, we were silent, watching the sun rise together. "How do you understand them so well?"
"Nothing that lives and nothing that dies - and they live, and die, after a fasion - can keep secrets from me." I paused, and looked at him. "No, not even that."
There was awkward silence for a while. "It . . . was a difficult time. We were under so much press--"
"I already know. I don't judge it, I am just aware of it." He looked outward again, and I heard a door slam somewhere. People were beginning to get up, move about. From somewhere, the smell of cooking reached me.
"Why is the windmill so important now? We seem pretty secure up here."
"The settlement to the north that we refused to pay tribute to. They'll drive down the highway playing music as loud as they can. One zombie will follow the motion of the next, and they'll form a herd moving in their train. Then they intend to launch fireworks up the hillside. Once the herd is in motion uphill, the breaking steps we've installed to tumble them and the rough terrain won't hold them forever."
"You . . . you told us not to pay them. You told us we'd be okay." He was looking at me like I'd grown a sixth head made out of waffles and cream cheese.
"We'll disassemble some binoculars, and use the lenses to focus lights onto the beacon. We'll run a net of fuses from our gate down the hillside, different burn speeds, leading to the beacon. Turn their heads, lead them to death."
"Why do you help us? Why not them?"
"That is my business." At this, the girl within me clamored. Her soul held a fragment of myself, was a catalyst for my power, and sat as a silent judge, lest I break my word. And she insisted that people needed to understand. The wisdom of the young, perhaps. For all my awareness, I couldn't know how people would react - I couldn't know what would inspire. Perhaps I would trust her this time. "Because I have plans for humans. Never mind why. As unpleasant as your species can be, I will one day require you."
"Just 'because'?"
The girl clamored more, and I could sense her father's demeanor hardening. Very well. If I would trust her on this, I would trust her. "Earth is finite. Man is finite. Life is finite. Eventually, the infinite universe will face us with a trial greater than man, or Earth, or life. Man is the only presence that might bring life out of this egg basket before that."
"You're telling me . . . you're protecting us so we can, what, save the world?" He looked a little incredulous.
I turned my head up to his, clear blue eyes meeting his brown eyes evenly. I knew he struggled, when I met his gaze like this, to remember that I was not her. His feelings for her would bleed into my words. "Yes. I am protecting you so you can save the world."
I turned away, and began climbing down, not staying to watch his response, but I knew he smiled, as he turned back to his watch. I knew a different kind of pride and fervor had begun to swell. It was a catching thing, inspiration. If this caught on, the little one had done me quite a service. She didn't approve of my manipulation, but she didn't object, either. It seemed to have worked.
*How did you know he needed to hear that, little one?* I inquired of the fragment within me.
*People like to do things for good reasons.*
Simple. A child's wisdom. I walked toward the officer's quarters that I had taken over, climbing into a chair. It was made for a big man, and to sit high enough to write, I had stacked pillows. I began drawing, my small hands suited to the careful plans that would be needed. We had construction to get underway.
As I sketched, I considered the way the young soul locked within me had reframed these people. Something beyond understanding had come to protect them, and they followed orders to survive, and I was scary to them, though they would rarely admit it. Now, I was grooming them to be saviors.
*I'll make you a deal, little soul. Keep talking to me, telling me what you think, and I'll let your father call us by your name.* I could tell she was happy with that. She wanted to hear her name on his lips again, and I felt her eager assent.
I knew when I broke millennia of nonintervention, that I would change the beliefs and minds of men. It was too much to hope that they'd forget me with time. What I hadn't predicted was how much Maya and her species would begin to change me.
| |
[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job. | A chill descended over the rag-tag assembly, and neither their small, poorly-made fire nor the tattered remains of their business casual attire served to warm them. Their conversation dropped from a murmur to a hush at the sound of a cracking branch.
Jane’s eyes darted to the source of the noise. “Hey--” she nudged the man sitting beside her, “do you see that gaunt, lanky-looking fellow?”
**Hello.**
The survivors nearly jumped out of their sweater-vests. They quickly turned around towards the voice as they waited for Jane, the group’s *de facto* leader, to speak.
“Who are you? And why are you wearing that robe? You’re not some kind of, er, cultist, I hope.”
**I am Death.**
Wilbur, the *de jure* Head of Foraging and a former corporate account, blinked twice and reminded the survivors that he had advised *against* eating the canned food Jane found earlier that night.
**The canned food was perfectly edible. You are not dead yet.**
“Oh,” said Jane, “then what is it that you want?”
Death explained his predicament to the survivors. In the realm of Death and Death-related services, an apocalypse is about as close to a market bubble as one can come. When Death was reaping souls by the thousands, business was booming. Death had even purchased a new, state-of-the-art scythe to keep up with the demand. The trouble, Death explained, is that a scythe – especially the UltraCarbon MetaFiber SoulCleaver Deluxe with satellite radio – is an expensive tool.
**The heart of the problem is this: There are not enough human souls left to collect. As it stands, I have no hope of paying off the loan on my new scythe. And even if I were to pay off the loan, that would be the end for humanity. I would become…**
Death shook his head, unable to finish the sentence. “Well, go on” Jane urged.
**…unemployed.**
“I have a solution!” Jane and Wilbur simultaneously exclaimed. They jolted towards each other, each trying to pierce the other by means of eyes alone. Ever since the minutes after the apocalypse, when this small and bureaucratic group of survivors had drafted their *Memoranda and Procedure for Life and Leadership in the Post-Apocalyptic Wasteland*, Jane and Wilbur had been fighting an unspoken war. Jane was a natural leader, and the survivors tended to follow her directions. She believed that the key to rebuilding society was well-intentioned and virtuous leadership. But Wilbur had been enshrined in the *Memoranda* as the group’s rightful leader, and he believed that that the key to rebuilding society was careful attention to established rules and hierarchies with an even more careful eye kept on the lookout for loopholes.
**I am sure that you both have excellent solutions. I would like to first hear that of Wilbur, and then that of Jane.**
Wilbur strode calmly and authoritatively around the fire as he began his address to Death and the survivors,
“Clearly, Mr. Death, you are faced with a grave difficulty. In the time it would take to rebuild human society and restock the population, interest will accrue such that you may become unable to repay your loan. Therefore, I propose that you repay your loan by grouping future human souls that we can be sure will, at some point in time, exist and promising those to the bank.”
**We do not have such complicated financial systems, Wilbur. It seems risky.**
Wilbur sat back down, looking decidedly content. Jane glowered at him and began to speak,
“Mr. Death, if I may be blunt, Wilbur’s plan is terribly hazardous. What we need to do is to ensure the steady and rapid re-growth of human society. I have been devising multiple highly efficient agricultural techniques based on a book I found at the—“
**Stop.**
“Wha- why?”
**You are taking too long. And you were being shrill. I choose Wilbur’s plan.**
Jane returned to her seat by the fire and thought, “Of course, Death’s a sexist.” The place where Death had been standing shimmered slightly as he popped out of existence – or, it would be more accurate to say, began existing in a different dimension – and then returned to its normal state of emptiness.
Death walked through the void that was the Interdimensional Bank of Souls’ foyer and politely requested to speak with the high officials. His request was granted. Although even the highest officials at the Bank had never heard of the financial wizardry that Death proposed to them, they figured that as long as they got their payment it didn’t matter when they actually received the souls. Death had never failed to deliver souls to them, and besides, he had a big shiny new scythe – with satellite radio! They considered his debt paid.
A great length of time passed. Jane, Wilbur, and all of the other survivors died. Most of them failed to have children. Their faded khakis and tattered sweater-vests decomposed along with the rest of their bodies, as their few children also grew old and also failed to procreate. Their children had no sweater-vests, so they wore furs. Their furs decomposed as well. And so on, and so on, until there were no more garments to decompose in the mud and no more humans to make garments.
Up until now things had been going really, really well for the Interdimensional Bank of Souls. Executives and shareholders alike were thrilled by the novel technique Death had taught them, which was able to turn a Post-Apocalyptic Soul Recession into an unprecedented boom.
It was at this point, however, that things began to go really, really poorly. Without any humans to harvest souls from there was no longer any usable currency. And since the currency in existence had been based upon the speculation that human souls would exist at a given time in the future, interdimensional beings discovered not only that their currency was worthless but that it had, in fact, been worthless for quite a long time. Suffice it to say that the Soul Economy crashed so rapidly and thoroughly that interdimensional society as a whole ceased to exist.
*
Some time after the crash a group of interdimensional beings sat gathered around a cosmic energy vortex. They detected a slight decrease in ambient temperature as well as the presence of a large mass distorting space-time. Death nudged the being at his side and asked if she detected the anomaly. She gave a disinterested nod. The anomaly slowly drew nearer. Death inhaled sharply as the anomalous lifeform loomed over him. It looked at the hodge-podge group of interdimensional beings, with their tattered robes and pathetically small energy vortex, and it said,
**Hello.**
| *Author's note: Part 1 of this story is posted in reply to "How does the Grim Reaper react to a Zombie Apocalypse?". After a couple of editing passes, part one is archived on a personal site, [PromptInspired](https://promptinspired.blog/2017/07/20/grim-avatar/). I did not want to post it here, in consideration of Rule 1."*
*I apologize for the roughness. I was interrupted a lot, and am operating under a time limit. In time I will edit, refine, and post this to the blog as well. At that time, I'll return here, and provide a link to anybody who expresses an interest.*
**Grim Saviors**
She didn't sleep, of course. Her body didn't need it anymore, now that I'd taken it. But everybody else slept, and so I sat in a watchtower with the man on watch. He happened to be the father of this little body. She would have been a zombie if her father hadn't had the courage to kill her, but I came instead.
I looked into the darkness beyond the fences. All that lived, and all that died yet lived, revealed what they knew to me. I was aware of every ear, every eye, I knew the heart of everything that died. It always made me feel less alone, looking into the dark. To me, the dark always looked back, an old friend rich with stories.
Her father - Joshua - spoke, growing restless in the quiet. "What do you need from us next?"
"The pinnacle of rock. In the gorge. You know it?" Her little voice had been rough from coughing, but time had soothed the damage and this morning it rang clear, like a bell. He nodded as I spoke. "We're building a bridge to it. We're going to level the peak of it and build a windmill."
He frowned, and shifted. "Maya, I don't--"
"That isn't my name." I interrupted, harshly. It had to remain clear to us that I wasn't his daughter. "She watches, but she doesn't act, and I will carry no messages. I have told you this." Somehow, though, I still felt an affection for him - this was a new thing for me. Her soul - not a Christian concept, but the only word that came close to the truth - approved of this.
He looked out over the wall again, toward the gorge we'd been talking about. The sun was rising, and the pinnacles of the tallest mountains around us had begun reflecting it's light, the sunlight creeping downward. "I have to call you something," he said, his voice a little surly.
"You do not. It is a tired discussion. You were saying something about the gorge." I kept the body still, and her eyes cast over the landscape.
"I don't think it's a good idea. It's dangerous. Building bridges isn't easy, and our only engineer was a freshman in college. Then demolition, construction, on the edge of a gorge. What is it all for? A windmill?"
"I'll provide schematics. One of the soldiers had a disco ball hidden in storage for parties, and we will attach it to the top of a panemone windmill with a simple escapement to limit its speed. It will glitter for miles, and they will flock to it. The gorge will become a beacon and a deathtrap, regularly swept clean by the flash floods."
For a while, we were silent, watching the sun rise together. "How do you understand them so well?"
"Nothing that lives and nothing that dies - and they live, and die, after a fasion - can keep secrets from me." I paused, and looked at him. "No, not even that."
There was awkward silence for a while. "It . . . was a difficult time. We were under so much press--"
"I already know. I don't judge it, I am just aware of it." He looked outward again, and I heard a door slam somewhere. People were beginning to get up, move about. From somewhere, the smell of cooking reached me.
"Why is the windmill so important now? We seem pretty secure up here."
"The settlement to the north that we refused to pay tribute to. They'll drive down the highway playing music as loud as they can. One zombie will follow the motion of the next, and they'll form a herd moving in their train. Then they intend to launch fireworks up the hillside. Once the herd is in motion uphill, the breaking steps we've installed to tumble them and the rough terrain won't hold them forever."
"You . . . you told us not to pay them. You told us we'd be okay." He was looking at me like I'd grown a sixth head made out of waffles and cream cheese.
"We'll disassemble some binoculars, and use the lenses to focus lights onto the beacon. We'll run a net of fuses from our gate down the hillside, different burn speeds, leading to the beacon. Turn their heads, lead them to death."
"Why do you help us? Why not them?"
"That is my business." At this, the girl within me clamored. Her soul held a fragment of myself, was a catalyst for my power, and sat as a silent judge, lest I break my word. And she insisted that people needed to understand. The wisdom of the young, perhaps. For all my awareness, I couldn't know how people would react - I couldn't know what would inspire. Perhaps I would trust her this time. "Because I have plans for humans. Never mind why. As unpleasant as your species can be, I will one day require you."
"Just 'because'?"
The girl clamored more, and I could sense her father's demeanor hardening. Very well. If I would trust her on this, I would trust her. "Earth is finite. Man is finite. Life is finite. Eventually, the infinite universe will face us with a trial greater than man, or Earth, or life. Man is the only presence that might bring life out of this egg basket before that."
"You're telling me . . . you're protecting us so we can, what, save the world?" He looked a little incredulous.
I turned my head up to his, clear blue eyes meeting his brown eyes evenly. I knew he struggled, when I met his gaze like this, to remember that I was not her. His feelings for her would bleed into my words. "Yes. I am protecting you so you can save the world."
I turned away, and began climbing down, not staying to watch his response, but I knew he smiled, as he turned back to his watch. I knew a different kind of pride and fervor had begun to swell. It was a catching thing, inspiration. If this caught on, the little one had done me quite a service. She didn't approve of my manipulation, but she didn't object, either. It seemed to have worked.
*How did you know he needed to hear that, little one?* I inquired of the fragment within me.
*People like to do things for good reasons.*
Simple. A child's wisdom. I walked toward the officer's quarters that I had taken over, climbing into a chair. It was made for a big man, and to sit high enough to write, I had stacked pillows. I began drawing, my small hands suited to the careful plans that would be needed. We had construction to get underway.
As I sketched, I considered the way the young soul locked within me had reframed these people. Something beyond understanding had come to protect them, and they followed orders to survive, and I was scary to them, though they would rarely admit it. Now, I was grooming them to be saviors.
*I'll make you a deal, little soul. Keep talking to me, telling me what you think, and I'll let your father call us by your name.* I could tell she was happy with that. She wanted to hear her name on his lips again, and I felt her eager assent.
I knew when I broke millennia of nonintervention, that I would change the beliefs and minds of men. It was too much to hope that they'd forget me with time. What I hadn't predicted was how much Maya and her species would begin to change me.
| |
[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job. | Eighty-five. There were only eighty-five left. He had appointments with 40 more in the next two days. Beyond that the appointments were spaced out over the next 60 years. For thousands of years Death had done his job shuttling the souls of the dead humans on to the afterlife. He had become quite attached to them and knew that when they were all gone, he would never feel quite as fulfilled as he had since he took on his job. He wasn't sure what would happen, if he would find new purpose with another world or species or if he would just be let go. Either outcome was equally terrifying in his eyes, so he tried to do something he never had before. Delay his appointments long enough that more appointments are scheduled.
Kiara didn't know what to do. She had stayed on her family's farm through the worst of the floods and earthquakes. Not for the first time she was glad that her great great grandfather had loved the mountains and was crazy enough to build a farm at an extreme elevation. She hated it growing up, and often mocked her younger brother for wanting to stay on the farm. Now it was just the two of them and she didn't know how long Ian would last. He had gotten a snakebite earlier while checking the fields and was hallucinating in the house. It was a bite that shouldn't be fatal except there wasn't a hospital anywhere around or even a pharmacy. She had been taking a break after graduating medical school when all hell broke loose. Her parents had died in some rioting while trying to get supplies. So here she was sitting on the front porch, as far as she knew the last woman on earth and about to be the last person on earth.
Out in the field she saw a black figure cutting wheat. Great, now she was hallucinating too. Then her hallucination started walking toward her. A large figure in a black cloak which was walking toward the house holding a long black scythe with a mirror finish on the blade. She barely even reacted when it came and sat on the porch next to her. When it said her name and put a bony hand on her shoulder however she fell over with a scream.
"Sorry, I realize I must be a bit unexpected. But I thought you were ok when you didn't say anything."
"A-are you death? Did you come for my brother?" she said getting up hesitantly.
"Yes and no. You see, I have an appointment with him in about two hours but I didn't have anywhere else to be so I thought I'd come early. Though I'd rather like to delay my appointment with him if possible."
"Delay it? How can you do that?"
"I have brought a few supplies for you. I think this medicine should help him. You are qualified to administer it to him. I will give it to you if you promise to help me."
Kiara was stunned. She didn't know what to say or do and so she sat there and stared at death with her mouth open and a shocked expression on her face.
Feeling a bit awkward Death opted to fill the silence, "I've carried this scythe for thousands of years, but today is the first time I've used it for the intended purpose. I've just been so busy. Now, there are so few of you left, I have a lot of downtime. I'd rather keep doing what I've been doing. I like it, I like humanity. I don't want to let it end."
Again, Kiara was speechless. She had never imagined a casual conversation with death, even if the conversation was a bit one sided.
"I'm here to make sure that humanity continues. My appointment with you, Kiara, is quite a bit more than fifty years away. I have confidence that with your help, we can keep humanity alive. Here, take the medicine for your brother. Also, here is a radio and a list of the names and locations of everyone left. I don't think you'll be able to get everyone, but there are enough to keep going. I don't think I'll be able to come back to you. But I'll leave something with everyone that is left. That should be enough."
Kiara took the bag from Death, "I'm not sure I understand everything, but I'll do my best. Thank you."
Death looked at her and said, "If you succeed, I shall be the one thanking you. Good luck." Then he turned and started walking away.
Kiara looked in the bag and found everything she needed for her brother's care. She would worry about the rest of it after she had seen to him.
"Thank you." She said again, though no one could hear her. | *Author's note: Part 1 of this story is posted in reply to "How does the Grim Reaper react to a Zombie Apocalypse?". After a couple of editing passes, part one is archived on a personal site, [PromptInspired](https://promptinspired.blog/2017/07/20/grim-avatar/). I did not want to post it here, in consideration of Rule 1."*
*I apologize for the roughness. I was interrupted a lot, and am operating under a time limit. In time I will edit, refine, and post this to the blog as well. At that time, I'll return here, and provide a link to anybody who expresses an interest.*
**Grim Saviors**
She didn't sleep, of course. Her body didn't need it anymore, now that I'd taken it. But everybody else slept, and so I sat in a watchtower with the man on watch. He happened to be the father of this little body. She would have been a zombie if her father hadn't had the courage to kill her, but I came instead.
I looked into the darkness beyond the fences. All that lived, and all that died yet lived, revealed what they knew to me. I was aware of every ear, every eye, I knew the heart of everything that died. It always made me feel less alone, looking into the dark. To me, the dark always looked back, an old friend rich with stories.
Her father - Joshua - spoke, growing restless in the quiet. "What do you need from us next?"
"The pinnacle of rock. In the gorge. You know it?" Her little voice had been rough from coughing, but time had soothed the damage and this morning it rang clear, like a bell. He nodded as I spoke. "We're building a bridge to it. We're going to level the peak of it and build a windmill."
He frowned, and shifted. "Maya, I don't--"
"That isn't my name." I interrupted, harshly. It had to remain clear to us that I wasn't his daughter. "She watches, but she doesn't act, and I will carry no messages. I have told you this." Somehow, though, I still felt an affection for him - this was a new thing for me. Her soul - not a Christian concept, but the only word that came close to the truth - approved of this.
He looked out over the wall again, toward the gorge we'd been talking about. The sun was rising, and the pinnacles of the tallest mountains around us had begun reflecting it's light, the sunlight creeping downward. "I have to call you something," he said, his voice a little surly.
"You do not. It is a tired discussion. You were saying something about the gorge." I kept the body still, and her eyes cast over the landscape.
"I don't think it's a good idea. It's dangerous. Building bridges isn't easy, and our only engineer was a freshman in college. Then demolition, construction, on the edge of a gorge. What is it all for? A windmill?"
"I'll provide schematics. One of the soldiers had a disco ball hidden in storage for parties, and we will attach it to the top of a panemone windmill with a simple escapement to limit its speed. It will glitter for miles, and they will flock to it. The gorge will become a beacon and a deathtrap, regularly swept clean by the flash floods."
For a while, we were silent, watching the sun rise together. "How do you understand them so well?"
"Nothing that lives and nothing that dies - and they live, and die, after a fasion - can keep secrets from me." I paused, and looked at him. "No, not even that."
There was awkward silence for a while. "It . . . was a difficult time. We were under so much press--"
"I already know. I don't judge it, I am just aware of it." He looked outward again, and I heard a door slam somewhere. People were beginning to get up, move about. From somewhere, the smell of cooking reached me.
"Why is the windmill so important now? We seem pretty secure up here."
"The settlement to the north that we refused to pay tribute to. They'll drive down the highway playing music as loud as they can. One zombie will follow the motion of the next, and they'll form a herd moving in their train. Then they intend to launch fireworks up the hillside. Once the herd is in motion uphill, the breaking steps we've installed to tumble them and the rough terrain won't hold them forever."
"You . . . you told us not to pay them. You told us we'd be okay." He was looking at me like I'd grown a sixth head made out of waffles and cream cheese.
"We'll disassemble some binoculars, and use the lenses to focus lights onto the beacon. We'll run a net of fuses from our gate down the hillside, different burn speeds, leading to the beacon. Turn their heads, lead them to death."
"Why do you help us? Why not them?"
"That is my business." At this, the girl within me clamored. Her soul held a fragment of myself, was a catalyst for my power, and sat as a silent judge, lest I break my word. And she insisted that people needed to understand. The wisdom of the young, perhaps. For all my awareness, I couldn't know how people would react - I couldn't know what would inspire. Perhaps I would trust her this time. "Because I have plans for humans. Never mind why. As unpleasant as your species can be, I will one day require you."
"Just 'because'?"
The girl clamored more, and I could sense her father's demeanor hardening. Very well. If I would trust her on this, I would trust her. "Earth is finite. Man is finite. Life is finite. Eventually, the infinite universe will face us with a trial greater than man, or Earth, or life. Man is the only presence that might bring life out of this egg basket before that."
"You're telling me . . . you're protecting us so we can, what, save the world?" He looked a little incredulous.
I turned my head up to his, clear blue eyes meeting his brown eyes evenly. I knew he struggled, when I met his gaze like this, to remember that I was not her. His feelings for her would bleed into my words. "Yes. I am protecting you so you can save the world."
I turned away, and began climbing down, not staying to watch his response, but I knew he smiled, as he turned back to his watch. I knew a different kind of pride and fervor had begun to swell. It was a catching thing, inspiration. If this caught on, the little one had done me quite a service. She didn't approve of my manipulation, but she didn't object, either. It seemed to have worked.
*How did you know he needed to hear that, little one?* I inquired of the fragment within me.
*People like to do things for good reasons.*
Simple. A child's wisdom. I walked toward the officer's quarters that I had taken over, climbing into a chair. It was made for a big man, and to sit high enough to write, I had stacked pillows. I began drawing, my small hands suited to the careful plans that would be needed. We had construction to get underway.
As I sketched, I considered the way the young soul locked within me had reframed these people. Something beyond understanding had come to protect them, and they followed orders to survive, and I was scary to them, though they would rarely admit it. Now, I was grooming them to be saviors.
*I'll make you a deal, little soul. Keep talking to me, telling me what you think, and I'll let your father call us by your name.* I could tell she was happy with that. She wanted to hear her name on his lips again, and I felt her eager assent.
I knew when I broke millennia of nonintervention, that I would change the beliefs and minds of men. It was too much to hope that they'd forget me with time. What I hadn't predicted was how much Maya and her species would begin to change me.
| |
[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job. | "It's been a relaxing few days."
Death thought to itself. He was absolutely overloaded with work a few years ago, but now? Now work has been the slowest its been since the very early days, when humanity was starting up and God hadn't grown bored of them yet.
Boredom. Now that is a word that used to have no meaning to him. As he walked around what remained on earth, taking the occasional animal while kicking the surviving cats, who he particularly disliked, he started to think about what he could do with all the free time he had now. He could just take the job opportunity Satan gave to him and torture the souls of the departed, exploiting their latent fear of them, and he could use his affinity for theatrics there.
After all, Satan has been pestering him since college about joining his little venture, but Death had no interest on it. He instead took into a more neutral job, taking souls to their rightful place. All he had to do was give them a little push and they'll be on their way. It was an easy job, it was a fun job. All he had to do was travel around and meet them. Anyone could do it, but he was the best at it. Maybe it was his professionalism or his discretion, but he was feared and respected in equal measures. He was constantly told to take pride on his job, but at the end of the day, he just liked it.
He stopped and look at his list. Yes, this was the place. The last remnant of humanity. They should have died long ago, but Death usually liked to leave everything for the last possible second. He inspected the dark room where the last few survivors lived. Just a few dozens of them. Death was tasked to let them go, it was finally their time.
He suddenly felt a hint of nostalgia. Ah, humans. They really liked to put up a fight. His best costumers and his best providers. Some dedicated their lives to provide to him, others to keep him away for as long as, well, humanly possible. They always made a mess of his work. Pushing timelines, causing overwork, cheating him. Never a dull moment with this creatures, so many creative ways to die.
Death found himself smiling, looking at the last of them. Maybe he doesn't need to take them out just yet. Maybe they can keep him entertained for a bit more. He'll have to take them eventually, but why rush it? Let's see what they can do.
Death can wait. | Ah shit. You know, I've always thought you lot were a bit dim, but this is a fucking joke. How could you destroy everyone except those end timers with their tunnels and shovels.
Most of them are cross-eyed, or fucking diabetic. God? Really?
Death stood surveying the scenes with a growing need for the stiffest drink possible. Blood whiskey on the rocks.
He stroked the stubble on his chin that was like gravel on his skin. His red eyes were blazing; they always did that when he was angry, and he hadn't been this angry since his dinosaurs died out.
Fuck, fuucckk, fuuuucccckkkkkk, he roared. Death on the dole? Never. Never ever.
He reached for his phone, hesitating for a split second before calling his twin. A moment later she answered, "I need your help, Life, Please"...
... Tbc...maybe...
| |
[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job. | The office was hell today. A bead of sweat dripped off his chin onto the keyboard below. The man was caressing his damp head with a crazed look in his eyes, transfixed to the computer screen in front of him.
The air-con had died a long time ago, along with it's reassuring whisper. The cool air had dispersed when heat invaded the office, slowly making its way across the open plan room. A few hours prior you could see the effects starting to affect the most vulnerable.
Agnus had to leave the office to get some air. Rumours had started to spread that the 40-something, morbidly obese, woman was already jostling around in the back of an emergency vehicle. Nobody cared to check on her.
It wasn't just the office that was heating up. The man had been red in the face for about a week now, no sleep, just work. The latest rise in the heat was just another sign of the time that was running out, his neck was on the line.
"Grim!" a sharp voice barked from over his shoulder. The heavy footsteps of self importance came marching towards his desk. Grim looked up at the ceiling, running his hand over his face. He was searching for answers. "Grim!" the voice repeated. The hand of the voice came crashing down on his shoulders and gripped tight.
"Yes?" Grim said with polite certainty. His time was short but he understood the authority that The Boss held, for now.
"What you got? Gimme figures? Gimme something! C'mon... whats wrong? You don't look so good?!" The Boss had spun Grim around in the chair and was closely examining his face. "CHRIST! Have you slept?!" The Boss gasped. "Don't tell me you took what I said seriously, last week? C'mon, I was kidding, I'm serious, you better not take me to HR for telling you to "get this fixed or die!"" The Boss chuckled, nervously.
Grim sighed and forced a weak smile. He knew his job depended on it. "Well, you know I hate working in this office, I like to be out in the field. So, I'm just a bit tired that's all, I need fresh air." Grim explained carefully.
"OH, FRESH AIR" The Boss was delighted by this notion. "FRESH AIR INDEED!" he bellowed throughout the office, turning his gaze over the room to make sure everyone was looking at the crazed grin that had formed on his face. "If you want fresh air, you better have some cases to close! That air con doesn't run on air, you know?" The Boss seemed rather pleased with his clever play on words, he had probably been thinking of this all morning. "Now, gimme something, gimme hope, Grim!" The Boss changed his tone and pleaded with Grim, he knew that his job was on the line as well.
None of his staff were doing very well. Grim was the big-hitter in the office, the employee of the month for as long as he could remember. Until about a month ago. It seemed that business was drying up, Grim would report to the office with no cases closed, no business. No-one could understand, as previous weeks he had been coming in with thousands of closed cases, easy.
Grim sighed again, and then turned towards his computer. "See this here?" Grim pointed towards the blurry image on the screen, a white blip among the bleak black canvas. "There's two in this region, fairly good condition but shouldn't be long before that changes." Grim turned towards The Boss to see if he understood, there was a grin on his face, he didn't. "So, obviously, it's a good thing. However, I haven't been able to find any more since... None!" Grim leaned back in his chair, allowing the words to sink in.
"Well...When did you find them?" The Boss asked cautiously.
"Last week." Grim stated.
"LAST WEEK! What are you waiting on!" The Boss was bewildered and took a step back to surmise the information that he was being told.
"Well.." Grim started, but then picked up a stress ball that was lying on his desk, a small white skull made of foam. He gave it slow repetitive pumps whilst continuing. "I thought, that... Well, ever since our entire stock disappeared THESE guys are the only ones that I have found. There are NO. OTHERS." Grim held up his free hand and made a "zero" gesture and then wiped the sweat from his forehead. "Chances are, when these guys are gone that it. It's over. SO! I've been thinking, a lot." Grim paused again.
"Well, get to the point Grim, my whole fucking business is crumbling, you haven't closed a case in days and here we are looking at two little beauts that you could have snapped up ages ago. Surely there is more? C'mon, I don't believe that these are the last two! What were you thinking? Please, tell me?" The Boss was close to pleading, he would be just as well getting on his knees. His voice had a tremor of fear that Grim could sense.
"We should save them." Grim quietly revealed.
A gasp whipped round the office as the eavesdroppers could not contain their veil any longer. Then silence.
The Boss looked intently at Grim. He finally understood.
| Ah shit. You know, I've always thought you lot were a bit dim, but this is a fucking joke. How could you destroy everyone except those end timers with their tunnels and shovels.
Most of them are cross-eyed, or fucking diabetic. God? Really?
Death stood surveying the scenes with a growing need for the stiffest drink possible. Blood whiskey on the rocks.
He stroked the stubble on his chin that was like gravel on his skin. His red eyes were blazing; they always did that when he was angry, and he hadn't been this angry since his dinosaurs died out.
Fuck, fuucckk, fuuuucccckkkkkk, he roared. Death on the dole? Never. Never ever.
He reached for his phone, hesitating for a split second before calling his twin. A moment later she answered, "I need your help, Life, Please"...
... Tbc...maybe...
| |
[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job. | The northern European landscape we now crossed was unrecognizable. It surrounded us with its monotone light-brown color of earth mixed with dust and ash. Occasionally this view would be enriched by the presence of pine trees, looking raw and strong like survivors. The pine trees had fought as was evident from the stance they had assumed, not standing straight and proud but leaning. Remnants of dust on the pine trees made it clear there had been no wind and rain in the last days. Just dust.
We had started with eleven only to end up with four people now. We had lost the others one by one, often followed by a small miracle. Each time we lost someone we would find water, food or shelter afterwards. The sense of tragedy was confounded by the knowledge that we were saved for a while longer.
This had been a sparsely populated area to begin with and our strategy was to travel from shelter to shelter until we would get near the sea. We were traveling now for nine days without finding one and desperation creeped up on us. We encountered a small wooden two-floor cabin amidst some pine trees and what used to be a lake. The storms had clearly damaged the cabin but it seemed to be able to provide shelter. The dust-storms could begin any moment again. A mix of euphoria and suspicion hit the group upon entering when we saw a good stash of plastic bottles of water in the pantry. Someone must have stored this for their own survival. We found water often in abandoned establishments and sometimes dried foods or grains or if we were very lucky cans with beans or fruits. We also knew by now what event usually accompanied these small miracles and looked at each other with slight melancholy.
Food was difficult to come by. In the first weeks we could still hunt and fish but few animals survived in these conditions and the rivers got worse each day. We followed the rivers and lakes and each time we would catch one of the few remaining salmons it almost seemed as if it was send our way. Now we were hungry but we at least had water and shelter and were generally in a good mood. Tomorrow we would explore this area further with the cabin as base camp. We made a toast with the water and went to sleep.
In the morning I was awakened by my three companions who were rambling happily and full of unrest. They pushed a pair of binoculars in my hands and carefully guided me to the window where one of them lifted a corner of the tarpaulin. I looked through the opening with the binoculars and far away, between the pine trees was a moose. It had been the first wildlife we had seen since the heavy dust storms and could provide us with enough food to stick around here for a while. How it had survived I do not know, maybe it had a helping hand like we did in the last weeks.
| Ah shit. You know, I've always thought you lot were a bit dim, but this is a fucking joke. How could you destroy everyone except those end timers with their tunnels and shovels.
Most of them are cross-eyed, or fucking diabetic. God? Really?
Death stood surveying the scenes with a growing need for the stiffest drink possible. Blood whiskey on the rocks.
He stroked the stubble on his chin that was like gravel on his skin. His red eyes were blazing; they always did that when he was angry, and he hadn't been this angry since his dinosaurs died out.
Fuck, fuucckk, fuuuucccckkkkkk, he roared. Death on the dole? Never. Never ever.
He reached for his phone, hesitating for a split second before calling his twin. A moment later she answered, "I need your help, Life, Please"...
... Tbc...maybe...
| |
[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job. | Death grabbed some stones and carried them over to the building site. This was were a new community was being built. One of the last communities. After all, the apocalypse had just happened. A deadly virus had wiped out all of humanity except for about 5,000 people. The survivors were those who had waited inside a bunker, or the ones who paid for the incredibly expensive healthcare package. This was bad news for our good old pal Death, who would be out of a job soon if ALL of humanity got wiped out. He had decided to gather up the survivors left in the ruins of Chicago, and helped them get food, water, and power running. Now, he was helping them build homes. He kept placing stones, one by one and making walls. He then dropped one on his toe and winced. After wincing for approximately 1.7 seconds, he got back to work.
Around 9:00 PM, he was finished. Another home complete. He wiped the non-existent sweat off of his bony forehead, and went back to his hut for the night. He then grabbed his old iPod. You see, this iPod came from his boss Hades. It was a gift from the god of the Underworld himself! It's battery never, ever ran out! Death turned on an indie rock playlist, and closed his eye-sockets, falling asleep.
Death woke up and stretched for a second. He then walked out of his hut, and into the Mess Hall in the center of the town. He smelled uncooked bacon, and rationed granola bars. Oh, how excited he was! He sat down at one of the long benches next to his best bud Chad. "Hey Chad. How's the city so far?" Death asked with a yawn. "The construction of New Chicago is going great! I'm really glad that you decided to help out, free of charge!"
Death frowned. He WAS helping out free of charge, because they had nothing to give him. Oh well. "Hey Chad, you asking out that girl Hannah today?" Death said to Chad. Chad blushed and started to mumble something that Death couldn't hear. "I didn't heeeaaar you Chad." Death said, a hint of mockery in his voice. "Yeah, I guess." Chad said. "Alright! So you're gonna have sex tonight?" Death asked with excitement. Chad was shocked by this. "Dude, it doesn't work like that! Look, I know you really want us humans to repopulate the Earth, but nobody has sex on the first night of dating!" Death frowned. "Maybe next week then." He said.
*If you liked or disliked the story please let me know why!* | Ah shit. You know, I've always thought you lot were a bit dim, but this is a fucking joke. How could you destroy everyone except those end timers with their tunnels and shovels.
Most of them are cross-eyed, or fucking diabetic. God? Really?
Death stood surveying the scenes with a growing need for the stiffest drink possible. Blood whiskey on the rocks.
He stroked the stubble on his chin that was like gravel on his skin. His red eyes were blazing; they always did that when he was angry, and he hadn't been this angry since his dinosaurs died out.
Fuck, fuucckk, fuuuucccckkkkkk, he roared. Death on the dole? Never. Never ever.
He reached for his phone, hesitating for a split second before calling his twin. A moment later she answered, "I need your help, Life, Please"...
... Tbc...maybe...
| |
[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job. | *With apologies to Terry Pratchett*
Christina wiped crimson juice from her mouth and cheeks, spreading it across the back of her hand in a long, pale stain. This was wrong, she knew, but a girl had to eat something. Even one less mouth to feed by the time she got her foraged bounty back to the others could make all the difference. Many adults were already nearly starving themselves just to make sure the few children had enough to eat.
She popped one last guilty raspberry in her mouth, savoring its sweet, warm squish between her teeth. What fun was going gathering if she couldn't take a few for herself? She gathered her basket and set off, leaving the unripe bush-bound berries for another day.
Christina had been this way many times in the two months since leaving what remained of civilization with her newfound comrades – they were a tribe now, she supposed – and already her steps had worn a light path through the undergrowth. Almost like a game trail, she thought with an ironic twist, recalling her youth spent hunting deer with her older brother. He had been away on vacation the day of the War, she thought for the hundredth time. He hadn't been in the city, so maybe...
Another bush presented itself – blueberries. She pushed the longing thoughts from her head and set about filling her half-empty basket.
HELLO, CHRISTINA, came a voice from behind her like the slam of a 5-inch-thick fallout shelter blast door. She started, her flailing arm upending the basket and scattering berries everywhere.
LOOK, I REALLY HATE TO BOTHER YOU, BUT I COULD RATHER USE YOUR HELP WITH SOMETHING.
Christina turned slowly, hand clasping the scavenged butcher's knife at her belt, not knowing what to expect. It still defied all her expectations.
Before her stood a black-robed figure, at least seven feet tall, leaning anxiously on a farmer's scythe. She could not see its face beneath the deep folds of the cloak's hood, but it seemed...hollow, empty. Its left hand, clutching the shaft of the scythe, was bare bone.
She drew her knife, holding it in both hands between herself and the figure like a vampire hunter's cross. “What – who are you?”
DO YOU NOT RECOGNIZE ME, CHILD?
Christina felt a horrible pang of realization. “Am...am I dead?” she asked, fearing she knew the answer.
To her surprise, Death lifted its right hand, shaking back its voluminous sleeve to reveal a skeletal wrist encrusted with watches of all styles and sizes – gold, silver, digital, analog, even a child's cartoon-adorned band. Death tapped on one that looked exactly like a gift from Christina's brother back when she graduated from high school.
NOT JUST YET. WE HAVE ABOUT FIVE MINUTES. WHICH IS WHY I NEED YOU TO LISTEN.
Christina broke down and collapsed to her knees, dropping the knife. It sank point-first into the ground, just missing Death's left big toe. Death stepped back, not so much worried about its podiatric wellbeing as it was unsure how to respond to Christina's outpouring of emotion.
Death turned its head back and forth, as though checking for witnesses. LOOK, I'M NOT EVEN SUPPOSED TO SHOW UP THIS EARLY. IT'S MEANT TO BE A DONE DEAL BY THE TIME I GET INVOLVED, SO...COULD YOU DO ME A FAVOR AND PRETEND IT'S ALREADY OVER?
Christina sniffled, sobering slightly at the absurdity. “What's even the point? What could I possibly do to help you – and why would I?”
WELL – YOU SEE, THIS WHOLE APOCALYPSE BUSINESS HAS BEEN TERRIBLY INCONVENIENT. I NEVER EXPECTED IT TO BE THIS BAD. GLOBAL NUCLEAR WAR IN A DAY? YOU HUMANS REALLY OUTDID YOURSELVES.
Death scuffed its foot on the ground uncomfortably, making a sound that put nails and chalkboards to shame. THE TRUTH IS, THERE AREN'T MANY OF YOU LEFT. I REALLY NEED YOU TO START BANDING TOGETHER AND REPOPULATING THE EARTH AND ALL, OR I'LL BE OUT OF A JOB. AND YOU CAN'T IMAGINE HOW MUCH OF A PAIN IT IS TO FIND ANOTHER PLANET THAT NEEDS A KEEPER OF THE AFTERLIFE...
“...Well I'm as good as dead, apparently, so I'm not sure where this is going.”
AH. AS IT HAPPENS, THERE'S ANOTHER TRIBE CAMPED A FEW MILES EAST OF HERE. I THINK YOU ALL WOULD COMPLIMENT EACH OTHER QUITE WELL. WHEN YOUR FRIEND “MIKE” COMES AND FINDS YOU IN YOUR TRAGIC LAST MOMENTS, WOULD YOU MIND TELLING HIM FOR ME?
Just then, Christina felt a sharp pain in her foot. RIGHT ON CUE. I'LL SEE YOU IN A BIT. Death shifted its head in a weird motion that made her think it had tried to wink, but there was no way to know. It faded into the shadows of the trees. Christina grabbed the cottonmouth sunk fang-deep in her ankle and flung it away.
She heard someone coming along her game trail. “Michael?” she called. Of course it was him.
“Chris?!” he called back. “Where are you? Are you hurt?”
“Oh god, Michael. I'm over here.” Michael broke into a run, crashing through the bushes and into her clearing. He knelt beside her, saw the twin puncture wounds, and stared at her with knowing grief.
“Chris--”
“Shh. Just listen. You need to take them east.” Christina felt her consciousness fading. “Don't ask me why, just do it. Everything will be alright...” She trailed off and passed out. Michael caught her and lifted her over his shoulders, hoping he could get back to camp in time to do...something.
He paused, gazing east and considering her strange advice. It would be farther into the wilderness, away from most supplies and their camp at the edge of the woods. But somehow she'd seemed so certain.
As he hurried back to camp, Michael was sure he heard a grinding, grating noise, like two skeletal hands being rubbed together in anticipation.
THANK YOU, CHRISTINA. | Ah shit. You know, I've always thought you lot were a bit dim, but this is a fucking joke. How could you destroy everyone except those end timers with their tunnels and shovels.
Most of them are cross-eyed, or fucking diabetic. God? Really?
Death stood surveying the scenes with a growing need for the stiffest drink possible. Blood whiskey on the rocks.
He stroked the stubble on his chin that was like gravel on his skin. His red eyes were blazing; they always did that when he was angry, and he hadn't been this angry since his dinosaurs died out.
Fuck, fuucckk, fuuuucccckkkkkk, he roared. Death on the dole? Never. Never ever.
He reached for his phone, hesitating for a split second before calling his twin. A moment later she answered, "I need your help, Life, Please"...
... Tbc...maybe...
| |
[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job. | Every time a human dies, time stands still. It stays still for me until I locate the newly freed soul, and give it passage to it's afterlife. Some to Valhalla, some to Olympus, others to Heaven, for some reason many of these modern humans choose to go to hell, because they think they belong there. No matter what it takes me hours to collect them, usher them and help them get connected with their spirit guide.
Then time starts and another dies and I'm back at it.
So it's gone for 100,000 years of human life. There have been times where work wasn't busy, and times when a year for humans went on for thousands of years for me because of a plague or war.
Still I love my job. The feeling of joy that emanates from their soul when they reach their afterlife brings me joy that no living human can understand. Also the shapeshifting to their pleasing form is nice too.
So 100,000 years later doing the best job a Phantasm can do and I almost lost my job. I don't understand human politics, but a large war broke out, and it led to a disease being loosed on humanity that killed 99.9996% of them in weeks.
Weeks that seemed like millennia to me. There were seven billion of them you see, seven billion souls to usher, and sure I may have been less cheery about it, because I was rushing around like you wouldn't believe, but I'd never want this job to end, because with this job's end, so goes my existence.
Now there stands just 5,341 of them.... 5,340 of them.
These aren't the best and the brightest. That last one was cleaning a firearm "For protection" and didn't unload it first. He blew his brains out all over a nice marble statue.
Shame there isn't anyone else around to clean it up.
This leaves me with a lot of free time though. I've devised a plan to save humanity, and myself I just need to keep them alive in the mean time. | Ah shit. You know, I've always thought you lot were a bit dim, but this is a fucking joke. How could you destroy everyone except those end timers with their tunnels and shovels.
Most of them are cross-eyed, or fucking diabetic. God? Really?
Death stood surveying the scenes with a growing need for the stiffest drink possible. Blood whiskey on the rocks.
He stroked the stubble on his chin that was like gravel on his skin. His red eyes were blazing; they always did that when he was angry, and he hadn't been this angry since his dinosaurs died out.
Fuck, fuucckk, fuuuucccckkkkkk, he roared. Death on the dole? Never. Never ever.
He reached for his phone, hesitating for a split second before calling his twin. A moment later she answered, "I need your help, Life, Please"...
... Tbc...maybe...
| |
[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job. | The dark and heavy clouds raged in the distance with the setting sun. She slowly rocked in her rocking chair, the one her eldest son had made for her many birthdays ago, listening to the sounds of her hearth and the approaching storm. Her left leg ached as it always did before a big storm, the same leg she had broken nearly 70 years ago, an inconvenient reminder of the life she had almost lost.
 
In her lap lay her father’s bible. She found humor in her faith, in how before the bombs fell she was a devout atheist to the point of forcefully trying to disprove all theology. But now she knew, knew that it didn’t matter if you were an atheist or a theist, because it was irreconcilable differences like these that brought on the Third Great War. She opened the book to the words of Isaiah, one page in particular marked with a long black feather. The tips of her fingers stroked the silken vane.
 
A sudden jolt of light poured in through the westward window, casting long shadows throughout the cabin. When the light faded so too did the shadows, all but one. A dark silhouette stood by her front door. Fear tried to grasp her, but her old age had prepared her for this moment. She didn’t say anything, not at first, waiting for the figure to pass in hopes that it was her imagination. Thunder softly vibrated the walls. A few minutes went by, but the figure remained, a sentinel amongst the darkness. Another flash of light filled the room, this time her attention completely focused. It was only for a second but it was more than enough time to recognize the familiar face. Again, thunder vibrated the walls, more violently this time as the storm drew nearer.
 
“I didn’t think we’d ever meet again,” she whispered the lie, half expecting him to not hear her. He stepped closer, away from the threshold and into the soft glow of light cast by the fireplace. There he stood, the same man that had saved her life 72 years ago. Although, unlike her the passing of time had been much kinder to him. He was exactly as she remembered, a handsome man in his 30s, clean shaven and dark ruffled hair, but it was his eyes she remembered most. Eyes that could pierce stone; eyes that knew the secrets of the world, eyes that had seen it all. How those eyes had comforted and also haunted her.
 
“I was seventeen when you first appeared, my leg broken. You saved me then, and guided me here, where I would meet my husband,” she said, more to herself than to him. “Tell me, do you remember me?”
 
“I remember,” he said, the words soft and beautiful, but they also carried something more tenacious.
 
“I’ve told that story many times, saying you were my guardian angel. And when Andrew, my oldest, was bitten by that snake, he said a strange man had cared for the injury and carried him to the edge of the field, where we found him.” She paused, looking into those old eyes. “I knew it was you who had saved him, as you had saved me. I told them all not to fear the shadow, for he was there to protect us.” She paused, afraid to speak what was next, but she steadied herself and continue on. “I’ve had a very long time to think, as it seems that is all old ladies are good for,” she smiled at her own humor, but it quickly faded. “However, you only seem to appear when death is ready to make a claim.” Again she paused, unsure of how to ask her question. She licked her dry wrinkled lips. “Tell me please, do I know your name?”
 
“Yes.”
 
“Then please, say it for me.”
 
The storm once again sent out a great ray of light, filling the room. In that brief moment she thought she saw two giant black feathered wings folded behind the man’s back.
 
“Azrael,” the name rolled perfectly off his tongue.
 
A deafening explosion sounded not far off from the house, startling her as she slightly jumped in her seat. Everything within shook from the force and rattled briefly as the light cast from outside flickered back into darkness, once again leaving the room filled with only silence and the soft glow of the fireplace.
 
“I see,” she rubbed her left leg in a futile attempt to massage the pain away. “Then perhaps it was not only you who saved me, but also I who saved you?” The question lingered in the air, unanswered by the man. “For what is a farmer if he has no crops to reap.” The man knelt in front of her and extended his hand out to her, palm up. She placed her own small and fragile hand onto his. He grasped it, strong but gentle.
 
"Tell me what I must do,” she asked, tears beginning to roll down her cheeks.
 
With his other hand he grasped her shoulder, the touch warm and oddly comforting.
 
“Just breathe.”
 
She took in a slow and shaky deep breathe, and then let it all out, her very last. Her hand went limp in his, and her posture slumped heavily into the chair.
 
The sky suddenly broke open and unleashed the torrent it had been holding back. The rain beat down on the tin roof, deafening any further sounds. From within his long dark garbs, he pulled a small book and flipped to a page near its beginning. There he found her name amongst her many descendants. The tips of his fingers stroked the name upon the page. And in so doing her name was struck from it, leaving a now empty gap amongst the many names upon the page. However, even in its absence he knew he would never forget it. *Aliza Klein*, his small joy that brought hope back into his world.
 
He put the book back into his inner pocket and in so doing saw on the floor another book. This one slightly larger than his own, and near the middle of its pages stuck a long black feather. He picked it up and flipped the book open, smiling at the familiar item held within. And upon the page was a highlighted verse.
 
*Even to your old age and gray hairs I am he, I am he who will sustain you. I have made you and I will carry you; I will sustain you and I will rescue you.*
 
*formatting and stuff
| Ah shit. You know, I've always thought you lot were a bit dim, but this is a fucking joke. How could you destroy everyone except those end timers with their tunnels and shovels.
Most of them are cross-eyed, or fucking diabetic. God? Really?
Death stood surveying the scenes with a growing need for the stiffest drink possible. Blood whiskey on the rocks.
He stroked the stubble on his chin that was like gravel on his skin. His red eyes were blazing; they always did that when he was angry, and he hadn't been this angry since his dinosaurs died out.
Fuck, fuucckk, fuuuucccckkkkkk, he roared. Death on the dole? Never. Never ever.
He reached for his phone, hesitating for a split second before calling his twin. A moment later she answered, "I need your help, Life, Please"...
... Tbc...maybe...
| |
[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job. | "Shit, shit, shit ..." A dark hooded figure walked through the wasteland. "Fuck, fuck, fuck ... this was not scheduled. This is bad... " The figure stops and taps its chest and arms repetitively. "I'm still here. It's not over yet. Keep your head Clarice. Somewhere out there are some idiots still alive ... and ... fuck ... I have to keep them this way."
In a bunker, not far from the hooded figure. "So there I was. The office full of colleagues and strangers, and all I had to cover my enormous penis was the birthday pie I fetched from the store. My boss was not please. *She* was not please, I tell you." This was the 8^th lame, and made-up story he told her. 3 day they've spend in the bunker and it was nothing like the stories made it appear. She, the last women on the world, and he, the last man on the planet. At first she hoped that he would start to get *appealing* a few days in, but "appalling" remains "appalling" it seems. So this is it? She's going to die together with that guy? Drowning seems like a trip to Disney Land in comparison. "I have to go to the toiler." She excused herself and left the room. He remained to wonder how often she was going to use the toiled within an hour?
She flushed the toilet. It was a special water saving one. No drowning there. Frustrated she walked over the to cabinet. Jackpot. Razor-blades served with a hand-picked bouquet of assorted pills. "DON'T!", the hooded figure appeared. For the sake of your ears the following scream of the woman will not be described. "Please, you can't do that. My name is Death Clarice Incarnate, and my existence depends on your survival. Please don't kill yourself."
"What? You're who? Death?! ... those pills act fast."
"You haven't take any yet ..."
"Yeah, amazing isn't it?"
"No, please, listen. You must not kill yourself. I know it is hard, but you have to survive. And, well, it would be great if you'd repopulate the planet."
"With that guy?"
"Please?"
"Down they go..." and the woman started to swallow the pills like candy.
"NO!" The hooded figure knocked the pills out of the woman's hand with a scythe, careful not to touch her.
"LEAVE ME ALONE!", the women screamed. "You murdered all I ever loved! My family, my hamster, Joshua from the office on the opposite side of the road!" To top it all off she threw her phone against the wall, shattering it in thousand pieces "Even the PokemonGo servers are dead! YOU MONSTER!"
"I'm sorry. I just work here. I didn't start any nukes, but please listen. Ok, I get it. He really seems like a terrible guy, but I need you to do this. YOU need yourself to do this. 40 years from now you'll look at this and laugh. I promise."
"Yeah, fuck that. 40 minutes from now I better be stone dead."
"OK, lets strike a deal. You get 10 children with him and in 10 years I kill you. How does that sound?"
"5 children and you kill him!"
"Fuck. ... shit" the hooded figure cursed, "... Okey, deal!" The women reached out her hand to close to deal, but the hooded figure faltered. "... oh, nice try! I'm not going to fall for that one. If we touch it's you who dies."
"Shit." This time it was the woman's time to curse. "But I really don't want to stand close to him, let alone anything else. ... Have you even heard his stories?! Nothing gets through to him. I told him he's not funny 3 times. He doesn't listen to anything. Yesterday I tried to make a joke and he just told me I have beautiful eye ... like my eyes can turn this wasteland fertile again. And I'm to spend 5 years with him. All my dreams and hopes wasted on an guy with the character of an unpainted brick wall?" The women sat on the ground sobbing. "Nothing matters anymore. Everyone is dead, my only dress in ruined, and now even death is no salvation." She continued to sob for a few minutes. "Fuck ... fuuuuuuuuckfuckfuck. *sigh* There really is no other way?" The women asked. The hooded figure shook its head. "Well, there better be some spirit in one of those storage cans, or it's going to be a long nuclear winter."
When she returned into the main room of the bunker the women, and the hooded figure found the man dead. He hung himself from a door knob with his belt; his trousers at his ankles. Over him another hooded figure was standing. "Oh, is that you Clarice? Look what I've found. World is ended and he tries out erotic asphyxiation. Well, not on my watch, buddy.", and the figure took a good kick at the corpse.
"Eric?! What have you done?! These two were the last hope for humanity!"
The second hooded figure looked at the women, and then back at the corpse. "Well, not with one dead, that's for sure." - "What is wrong with you?! Once she's dead we're no longer needed and disappear! How could you!" - "Why are you screaming at me! How should I know! You could have told me!"
While the two figures were arguing, the women sat down on the couch with a sanguine smile. Now that the worst was finally over it can finally get better. With this the women redefined the meaning of some words and literally lived happily ever after. | Ah shit. You know, I've always thought you lot were a bit dim, but this is a fucking joke. How could you destroy everyone except those end timers with their tunnels and shovels.
Most of them are cross-eyed, or fucking diabetic. God? Really?
Death stood surveying the scenes with a growing need for the stiffest drink possible. Blood whiskey on the rocks.
He stroked the stubble on his chin that was like gravel on his skin. His red eyes were blazing; they always did that when he was angry, and he hadn't been this angry since his dinosaurs died out.
Fuck, fuucckk, fuuuucccckkkkkk, he roared. Death on the dole? Never. Never ever.
He reached for his phone, hesitating for a split second before calling his twin. A moment later she answered, "I need your help, Life, Please"...
... Tbc...maybe...
| |
[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job. | A chill descended over the rag-tag assembly, and neither their small, poorly-made fire nor the tattered remains of their business casual attire served to warm them. Their conversation dropped from a murmur to a hush at the sound of a cracking branch.
Jane’s eyes darted to the source of the noise. “Hey--” she nudged the man sitting beside her, “do you see that gaunt, lanky-looking fellow?”
**Hello.**
The survivors nearly jumped out of their sweater-vests. They quickly turned around towards the voice as they waited for Jane, the group’s *de facto* leader, to speak.
“Who are you? And why are you wearing that robe? You’re not some kind of, er, cultist, I hope.”
**I am Death.**
Wilbur, the *de jure* Head of Foraging and a former corporate account, blinked twice and reminded the survivors that he had advised *against* eating the canned food Jane found earlier that night.
**The canned food was perfectly edible. You are not dead yet.**
“Oh,” said Jane, “then what is it that you want?”
Death explained his predicament to the survivors. In the realm of Death and Death-related services, an apocalypse is about as close to a market bubble as one can come. When Death was reaping souls by the thousands, business was booming. Death had even purchased a new, state-of-the-art scythe to keep up with the demand. The trouble, Death explained, is that a scythe – especially the UltraCarbon MetaFiber SoulCleaver Deluxe with satellite radio – is an expensive tool.
**The heart of the problem is this: There are not enough human souls left to collect. As it stands, I have no hope of paying off the loan on my new scythe. And even if I were to pay off the loan, that would be the end for humanity. I would become…**
Death shook his head, unable to finish the sentence. “Well, go on” Jane urged.
**…unemployed.**
“I have a solution!” Jane and Wilbur simultaneously exclaimed. They jolted towards each other, each trying to pierce the other by means of eyes alone. Ever since the minutes after the apocalypse, when this small and bureaucratic group of survivors had drafted their *Memoranda and Procedure for Life and Leadership in the Post-Apocalyptic Wasteland*, Jane and Wilbur had been fighting an unspoken war. Jane was a natural leader, and the survivors tended to follow her directions. She believed that the key to rebuilding society was well-intentioned and virtuous leadership. But Wilbur had been enshrined in the *Memoranda* as the group’s rightful leader, and he believed that that the key to rebuilding society was careful attention to established rules and hierarchies with an even more careful eye kept on the lookout for loopholes.
**I am sure that you both have excellent solutions. I would like to first hear that of Wilbur, and then that of Jane.**
Wilbur strode calmly and authoritatively around the fire as he began his address to Death and the survivors,
“Clearly, Mr. Death, you are faced with a grave difficulty. In the time it would take to rebuild human society and restock the population, interest will accrue such that you may become unable to repay your loan. Therefore, I propose that you repay your loan by grouping future human souls that we can be sure will, at some point in time, exist and promising those to the bank.”
**We do not have such complicated financial systems, Wilbur. It seems risky.**
Wilbur sat back down, looking decidedly content. Jane glowered at him and began to speak,
“Mr. Death, if I may be blunt, Wilbur’s plan is terribly hazardous. What we need to do is to ensure the steady and rapid re-growth of human society. I have been devising multiple highly efficient agricultural techniques based on a book I found at the—“
**Stop.**
“Wha- why?”
**You are taking too long. And you were being shrill. I choose Wilbur’s plan.**
Jane returned to her seat by the fire and thought, “Of course, Death’s a sexist.” The place where Death had been standing shimmered slightly as he popped out of existence – or, it would be more accurate to say, began existing in a different dimension – and then returned to its normal state of emptiness.
Death walked through the void that was the Interdimensional Bank of Souls’ foyer and politely requested to speak with the high officials. His request was granted. Although even the highest officials at the Bank had never heard of the financial wizardry that Death proposed to them, they figured that as long as they got their payment it didn’t matter when they actually received the souls. Death had never failed to deliver souls to them, and besides, he had a big shiny new scythe – with satellite radio! They considered his debt paid.
A great length of time passed. Jane, Wilbur, and all of the other survivors died. Most of them failed to have children. Their faded khakis and tattered sweater-vests decomposed along with the rest of their bodies, as their few children also grew old and also failed to procreate. Their children had no sweater-vests, so they wore furs. Their furs decomposed as well. And so on, and so on, until there were no more garments to decompose in the mud and no more humans to make garments.
Up until now things had been going really, really well for the Interdimensional Bank of Souls. Executives and shareholders alike were thrilled by the novel technique Death had taught them, which was able to turn a Post-Apocalyptic Soul Recession into an unprecedented boom.
It was at this point, however, that things began to go really, really poorly. Without any humans to harvest souls from there was no longer any usable currency. And since the currency in existence had been based upon the speculation that human souls would exist at a given time in the future, interdimensional beings discovered not only that their currency was worthless but that it had, in fact, been worthless for quite a long time. Suffice it to say that the Soul Economy crashed so rapidly and thoroughly that interdimensional society as a whole ceased to exist.
*
Some time after the crash a group of interdimensional beings sat gathered around a cosmic energy vortex. They detected a slight decrease in ambient temperature as well as the presence of a large mass distorting space-time. Death nudged the being at his side and asked if she detected the anomaly. She gave a disinterested nod. The anomaly slowly drew nearer. Death inhaled sharply as the anomalous lifeform loomed over him. It looked at the hodge-podge group of interdimensional beings, with their tattered robes and pathetically small energy vortex, and it said,
**Hello.**
| Ah shit. You know, I've always thought you lot were a bit dim, but this is a fucking joke. How could you destroy everyone except those end timers with their tunnels and shovels.
Most of them are cross-eyed, or fucking diabetic. God? Really?
Death stood surveying the scenes with a growing need for the stiffest drink possible. Blood whiskey on the rocks.
He stroked the stubble on his chin that was like gravel on his skin. His red eyes were blazing; they always did that when he was angry, and he hadn't been this angry since his dinosaurs died out.
Fuck, fuucckk, fuuuucccckkkkkk, he roared. Death on the dole? Never. Never ever.
He reached for his phone, hesitating for a split second before calling his twin. A moment later she answered, "I need your help, Life, Please"...
... Tbc...maybe...
| |
[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job. | Eighty-five. There were only eighty-five left. He had appointments with 40 more in the next two days. Beyond that the appointments were spaced out over the next 60 years. For thousands of years Death had done his job shuttling the souls of the dead humans on to the afterlife. He had become quite attached to them and knew that when they were all gone, he would never feel quite as fulfilled as he had since he took on his job. He wasn't sure what would happen, if he would find new purpose with another world or species or if he would just be let go. Either outcome was equally terrifying in his eyes, so he tried to do something he never had before. Delay his appointments long enough that more appointments are scheduled.
Kiara didn't know what to do. She had stayed on her family's farm through the worst of the floods and earthquakes. Not for the first time she was glad that her great great grandfather had loved the mountains and was crazy enough to build a farm at an extreme elevation. She hated it growing up, and often mocked her younger brother for wanting to stay on the farm. Now it was just the two of them and she didn't know how long Ian would last. He had gotten a snakebite earlier while checking the fields and was hallucinating in the house. It was a bite that shouldn't be fatal except there wasn't a hospital anywhere around or even a pharmacy. She had been taking a break after graduating medical school when all hell broke loose. Her parents had died in some rioting while trying to get supplies. So here she was sitting on the front porch, as far as she knew the last woman on earth and about to be the last person on earth.
Out in the field she saw a black figure cutting wheat. Great, now she was hallucinating too. Then her hallucination started walking toward her. A large figure in a black cloak which was walking toward the house holding a long black scythe with a mirror finish on the blade. She barely even reacted when it came and sat on the porch next to her. When it said her name and put a bony hand on her shoulder however she fell over with a scream.
"Sorry, I realize I must be a bit unexpected. But I thought you were ok when you didn't say anything."
"A-are you death? Did you come for my brother?" she said getting up hesitantly.
"Yes and no. You see, I have an appointment with him in about two hours but I didn't have anywhere else to be so I thought I'd come early. Though I'd rather like to delay my appointment with him if possible."
"Delay it? How can you do that?"
"I have brought a few supplies for you. I think this medicine should help him. You are qualified to administer it to him. I will give it to you if you promise to help me."
Kiara was stunned. She didn't know what to say or do and so she sat there and stared at death with her mouth open and a shocked expression on her face.
Feeling a bit awkward Death opted to fill the silence, "I've carried this scythe for thousands of years, but today is the first time I've used it for the intended purpose. I've just been so busy. Now, there are so few of you left, I have a lot of downtime. I'd rather keep doing what I've been doing. I like it, I like humanity. I don't want to let it end."
Again, Kiara was speechless. She had never imagined a casual conversation with death, even if the conversation was a bit one sided.
"I'm here to make sure that humanity continues. My appointment with you, Kiara, is quite a bit more than fifty years away. I have confidence that with your help, we can keep humanity alive. Here, take the medicine for your brother. Also, here is a radio and a list of the names and locations of everyone left. I don't think you'll be able to get everyone, but there are enough to keep going. I don't think I'll be able to come back to you. But I'll leave something with everyone that is left. That should be enough."
Kiara took the bag from Death, "I'm not sure I understand everything, but I'll do my best. Thank you."
Death looked at her and said, "If you succeed, I shall be the one thanking you. Good luck." Then he turned and started walking away.
Kiara looked in the bag and found everything she needed for her brother's care. She would worry about the rest of it after she had seen to him.
"Thank you." She said again, though no one could hear her. | Ah shit. You know, I've always thought you lot were a bit dim, but this is a fucking joke. How could you destroy everyone except those end timers with their tunnels and shovels.
Most of them are cross-eyed, or fucking diabetic. God? Really?
Death stood surveying the scenes with a growing need for the stiffest drink possible. Blood whiskey on the rocks.
He stroked the stubble on his chin that was like gravel on his skin. His red eyes were blazing; they always did that when he was angry, and he hadn't been this angry since his dinosaurs died out.
Fuck, fuucckk, fuuuucccckkkkkk, he roared. Death on the dole? Never. Never ever.
He reached for his phone, hesitating for a split second before calling his twin. A moment later she answered, "I need your help, Life, Please"...
... Tbc...maybe...
| |
[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job. | The northern European landscape we now crossed was unrecognizable. It surrounded us with its monotone light-brown color of earth mixed with dust and ash. Occasionally this view would be enriched by the presence of pine trees, looking raw and strong like survivors. The pine trees had fought as was evident from the stance they had assumed, not standing straight and proud but leaning. Remnants of dust on the pine trees made it clear there had been no wind and rain in the last days. Just dust.
We had started with eleven only to end up with four people now. We had lost the others one by one, often followed by a small miracle. Each time we lost someone we would find water, food or shelter afterwards. The sense of tragedy was confounded by the knowledge that we were saved for a while longer.
This had been a sparsely populated area to begin with and our strategy was to travel from shelter to shelter until we would get near the sea. We were traveling now for nine days without finding one and desperation creeped up on us. We encountered a small wooden two-floor cabin amidst some pine trees and what used to be a lake. The storms had clearly damaged the cabin but it seemed to be able to provide shelter. The dust-storms could begin any moment again. A mix of euphoria and suspicion hit the group upon entering when we saw a good stash of plastic bottles of water in the pantry. Someone must have stored this for their own survival. We found water often in abandoned establishments and sometimes dried foods or grains or if we were very lucky cans with beans or fruits. We also knew by now what event usually accompanied these small miracles and looked at each other with slight melancholy.
Food was difficult to come by. In the first weeks we could still hunt and fish but few animals survived in these conditions and the rivers got worse each day. We followed the rivers and lakes and each time we would catch one of the few remaining salmons it almost seemed as if it was send our way. Now we were hungry but we at least had water and shelter and were generally in a good mood. Tomorrow we would explore this area further with the cabin as base camp. We made a toast with the water and went to sleep.
In the morning I was awakened by my three companions who were rambling happily and full of unrest. They pushed a pair of binoculars in my hands and carefully guided me to the window where one of them lifted a corner of the tarpaulin. I looked through the opening with the binoculars and far away, between the pine trees was a moose. It had been the first wildlife we had seen since the heavy dust storms and could provide us with enough food to stick around here for a while. How it had survived I do not know, maybe it had a helping hand like we did in the last weeks.
| You had it all. A few more steps and the stars would have been yours. Unlimited space, time and resources. And now? Now now you are a bunch of sorry apes, scavenging for crumbles in the ruins of your former glory.
I wouldn't even care. Frankly, you deserve it - do you know the number of members of your species that died, say, starving themselves while playing videogames? Neither do I. See, I lost count, that's how many.
Problem is, you see, you are alone in the universe. Life is rare. Intelligent life, even moreso - I could keep on existing thanks to thousand other barely living worlds but I would be barely conscious - I would go back at how I was for billion of years, the inevitable end to countless little lives who could barely conceive me, let alone give me shape. See, this is what you did to me - I am afraid of the end - just like you. For you, existence is a brief flash of light, followed and preceeded by darkness - for me... I will probably mantain enough consciousness to realize what I have lost. It's like being alive and dead at the same time.
There is little I can do - twist the chances and even the odds - killing infections, weakening beasts, culling the weak among you and increasing the chances for the survival of the group as a whole.
But it is a gamble - every atom I change of place means taking a risk - the other forces are as jealous of their domain as I am of mine and far less interested in your existence - they watch me with suspicion, i have become too alien to them, I don't doubt they would love to see me back to my old unthinking self.
I will survive. I know.
I mean, if you managed it can't be that hard, can it? | |
[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job. | *With apologies to Terry Pratchett*
Christina wiped crimson juice from her mouth and cheeks, spreading it across the back of her hand in a long, pale stain. This was wrong, she knew, but a girl had to eat something. Even one less mouth to feed by the time she got her foraged bounty back to the others could make all the difference. Many adults were already nearly starving themselves just to make sure the few children had enough to eat.
She popped one last guilty raspberry in her mouth, savoring its sweet, warm squish between her teeth. What fun was going gathering if she couldn't take a few for herself? She gathered her basket and set off, leaving the unripe bush-bound berries for another day.
Christina had been this way many times in the two months since leaving what remained of civilization with her newfound comrades – they were a tribe now, she supposed – and already her steps had worn a light path through the undergrowth. Almost like a game trail, she thought with an ironic twist, recalling her youth spent hunting deer with her older brother. He had been away on vacation the day of the War, she thought for the hundredth time. He hadn't been in the city, so maybe...
Another bush presented itself – blueberries. She pushed the longing thoughts from her head and set about filling her half-empty basket.
HELLO, CHRISTINA, came a voice from behind her like the slam of a 5-inch-thick fallout shelter blast door. She started, her flailing arm upending the basket and scattering berries everywhere.
LOOK, I REALLY HATE TO BOTHER YOU, BUT I COULD RATHER USE YOUR HELP WITH SOMETHING.
Christina turned slowly, hand clasping the scavenged butcher's knife at her belt, not knowing what to expect. It still defied all her expectations.
Before her stood a black-robed figure, at least seven feet tall, leaning anxiously on a farmer's scythe. She could not see its face beneath the deep folds of the cloak's hood, but it seemed...hollow, empty. Its left hand, clutching the shaft of the scythe, was bare bone.
She drew her knife, holding it in both hands between herself and the figure like a vampire hunter's cross. “What – who are you?”
DO YOU NOT RECOGNIZE ME, CHILD?
Christina felt a horrible pang of realization. “Am...am I dead?” she asked, fearing she knew the answer.
To her surprise, Death lifted its right hand, shaking back its voluminous sleeve to reveal a skeletal wrist encrusted with watches of all styles and sizes – gold, silver, digital, analog, even a child's cartoon-adorned band. Death tapped on one that looked exactly like a gift from Christina's brother back when she graduated from high school.
NOT JUST YET. WE HAVE ABOUT FIVE MINUTES. WHICH IS WHY I NEED YOU TO LISTEN.
Christina broke down and collapsed to her knees, dropping the knife. It sank point-first into the ground, just missing Death's left big toe. Death stepped back, not so much worried about its podiatric wellbeing as it was unsure how to respond to Christina's outpouring of emotion.
Death turned its head back and forth, as though checking for witnesses. LOOK, I'M NOT EVEN SUPPOSED TO SHOW UP THIS EARLY. IT'S MEANT TO BE A DONE DEAL BY THE TIME I GET INVOLVED, SO...COULD YOU DO ME A FAVOR AND PRETEND IT'S ALREADY OVER?
Christina sniffled, sobering slightly at the absurdity. “What's even the point? What could I possibly do to help you – and why would I?”
WELL – YOU SEE, THIS WHOLE APOCALYPSE BUSINESS HAS BEEN TERRIBLY INCONVENIENT. I NEVER EXPECTED IT TO BE THIS BAD. GLOBAL NUCLEAR WAR IN A DAY? YOU HUMANS REALLY OUTDID YOURSELVES.
Death scuffed its foot on the ground uncomfortably, making a sound that put nails and chalkboards to shame. THE TRUTH IS, THERE AREN'T MANY OF YOU LEFT. I REALLY NEED YOU TO START BANDING TOGETHER AND REPOPULATING THE EARTH AND ALL, OR I'LL BE OUT OF A JOB. AND YOU CAN'T IMAGINE HOW MUCH OF A PAIN IT IS TO FIND ANOTHER PLANET THAT NEEDS A KEEPER OF THE AFTERLIFE...
“...Well I'm as good as dead, apparently, so I'm not sure where this is going.”
AH. AS IT HAPPENS, THERE'S ANOTHER TRIBE CAMPED A FEW MILES EAST OF HERE. I THINK YOU ALL WOULD COMPLIMENT EACH OTHER QUITE WELL. WHEN YOUR FRIEND “MIKE” COMES AND FINDS YOU IN YOUR TRAGIC LAST MOMENTS, WOULD YOU MIND TELLING HIM FOR ME?
Just then, Christina felt a sharp pain in her foot. RIGHT ON CUE. I'LL SEE YOU IN A BIT. Death shifted its head in a weird motion that made her think it had tried to wink, but there was no way to know. It faded into the shadows of the trees. Christina grabbed the cottonmouth sunk fang-deep in her ankle and flung it away.
She heard someone coming along her game trail. “Michael?” she called. Of course it was him.
“Chris?!” he called back. “Where are you? Are you hurt?”
“Oh god, Michael. I'm over here.” Michael broke into a run, crashing through the bushes and into her clearing. He knelt beside her, saw the twin puncture wounds, and stared at her with knowing grief.
“Chris--”
“Shh. Just listen. You need to take them east.” Christina felt her consciousness fading. “Don't ask me why, just do it. Everything will be alright...” She trailed off and passed out. Michael caught her and lifted her over his shoulders, hoping he could get back to camp in time to do...something.
He paused, gazing east and considering her strange advice. It would be farther into the wilderness, away from most supplies and their camp at the edge of the woods. But somehow she'd seemed so certain.
As he hurried back to camp, Michael was sure he heard a grinding, grating noise, like two skeletal hands being rubbed together in anticipation.
THANK YOU, CHRISTINA. | You had it all. A few more steps and the stars would have been yours. Unlimited space, time and resources. And now? Now now you are a bunch of sorry apes, scavenging for crumbles in the ruins of your former glory.
I wouldn't even care. Frankly, you deserve it - do you know the number of members of your species that died, say, starving themselves while playing videogames? Neither do I. See, I lost count, that's how many.
Problem is, you see, you are alone in the universe. Life is rare. Intelligent life, even moreso - I could keep on existing thanks to thousand other barely living worlds but I would be barely conscious - I would go back at how I was for billion of years, the inevitable end to countless little lives who could barely conceive me, let alone give me shape. See, this is what you did to me - I am afraid of the end - just like you. For you, existence is a brief flash of light, followed and preceeded by darkness - for me... I will probably mantain enough consciousness to realize what I have lost. It's like being alive and dead at the same time.
There is little I can do - twist the chances and even the odds - killing infections, weakening beasts, culling the weak among you and increasing the chances for the survival of the group as a whole.
But it is a gamble - every atom I change of place means taking a risk - the other forces are as jealous of their domain as I am of mine and far less interested in your existence - they watch me with suspicion, i have become too alien to them, I don't doubt they would love to see me back to my old unthinking self.
I will survive. I know.
I mean, if you managed it can't be that hard, can it? | |
[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job. | The dark and heavy clouds raged in the distance with the setting sun. She slowly rocked in her rocking chair, the one her eldest son had made for her many birthdays ago, listening to the sounds of her hearth and the approaching storm. Her left leg ached as it always did before a big storm, the same leg she had broken nearly 70 years ago, an inconvenient reminder of the life she had almost lost.
 
In her lap lay her father’s bible. She found humor in her faith, in how before the bombs fell she was a devout atheist to the point of forcefully trying to disprove all theology. But now she knew, knew that it didn’t matter if you were an atheist or a theist, because it was irreconcilable differences like these that brought on the Third Great War. She opened the book to the words of Isaiah, one page in particular marked with a long black feather. The tips of her fingers stroked the silken vane.
 
A sudden jolt of light poured in through the westward window, casting long shadows throughout the cabin. When the light faded so too did the shadows, all but one. A dark silhouette stood by her front door. Fear tried to grasp her, but her old age had prepared her for this moment. She didn’t say anything, not at first, waiting for the figure to pass in hopes that it was her imagination. Thunder softly vibrated the walls. A few minutes went by, but the figure remained, a sentinel amongst the darkness. Another flash of light filled the room, this time her attention completely focused. It was only for a second but it was more than enough time to recognize the familiar face. Again, thunder vibrated the walls, more violently this time as the storm drew nearer.
 
“I didn’t think we’d ever meet again,” she whispered the lie, half expecting him to not hear her. He stepped closer, away from the threshold and into the soft glow of light cast by the fireplace. There he stood, the same man that had saved her life 72 years ago. Although, unlike her the passing of time had been much kinder to him. He was exactly as she remembered, a handsome man in his 30s, clean shaven and dark ruffled hair, but it was his eyes she remembered most. Eyes that could pierce stone; eyes that knew the secrets of the world, eyes that had seen it all. How those eyes had comforted and also haunted her.
 
“I was seventeen when you first appeared, my leg broken. You saved me then, and guided me here, where I would meet my husband,” she said, more to herself than to him. “Tell me, do you remember me?”
 
“I remember,” he said, the words soft and beautiful, but they also carried something more tenacious.
 
“I’ve told that story many times, saying you were my guardian angel. And when Andrew, my oldest, was bitten by that snake, he said a strange man had cared for the injury and carried him to the edge of the field, where we found him.” She paused, looking into those old eyes. “I knew it was you who had saved him, as you had saved me. I told them all not to fear the shadow, for he was there to protect us.” She paused, afraid to speak what was next, but she steadied herself and continue on. “I’ve had a very long time to think, as it seems that is all old ladies are good for,” she smiled at her own humor, but it quickly faded. “However, you only seem to appear when death is ready to make a claim.” Again she paused, unsure of how to ask her question. She licked her dry wrinkled lips. “Tell me please, do I know your name?”
 
“Yes.”
 
“Then please, say it for me.”
 
The storm once again sent out a great ray of light, filling the room. In that brief moment she thought she saw two giant black feathered wings folded behind the man’s back.
 
“Azrael,” the name rolled perfectly off his tongue.
 
A deafening explosion sounded not far off from the house, startling her as she slightly jumped in her seat. Everything within shook from the force and rattled briefly as the light cast from outside flickered back into darkness, once again leaving the room filled with only silence and the soft glow of the fireplace.
 
“I see,” she rubbed her left leg in a futile attempt to massage the pain away. “Then perhaps it was not only you who saved me, but also I who saved you?” The question lingered in the air, unanswered by the man. “For what is a farmer if he has no crops to reap.” The man knelt in front of her and extended his hand out to her, palm up. She placed her own small and fragile hand onto his. He grasped it, strong but gentle.
 
"Tell me what I must do,” she asked, tears beginning to roll down her cheeks.
 
With his other hand he grasped her shoulder, the touch warm and oddly comforting.
 
“Just breathe.”
 
She took in a slow and shaky deep breathe, and then let it all out, her very last. Her hand went limp in his, and her posture slumped heavily into the chair.
 
The sky suddenly broke open and unleashed the torrent it had been holding back. The rain beat down on the tin roof, deafening any further sounds. From within his long dark garbs, he pulled a small book and flipped to a page near its beginning. There he found her name amongst her many descendants. The tips of his fingers stroked the name upon the page. And in so doing her name was struck from it, leaving a now empty gap amongst the many names upon the page. However, even in its absence he knew he would never forget it. *Aliza Klein*, his small joy that brought hope back into his world.
 
He put the book back into his inner pocket and in so doing saw on the floor another book. This one slightly larger than his own, and near the middle of its pages stuck a long black feather. He picked it up and flipped the book open, smiling at the familiar item held within. And upon the page was a highlighted verse.
 
*Even to your old age and gray hairs I am he, I am he who will sustain you. I have made you and I will carry you; I will sustain you and I will rescue you.*
 
*formatting and stuff
| You had it all. A few more steps and the stars would have been yours. Unlimited space, time and resources. And now? Now now you are a bunch of sorry apes, scavenging for crumbles in the ruins of your former glory.
I wouldn't even care. Frankly, you deserve it - do you know the number of members of your species that died, say, starving themselves while playing videogames? Neither do I. See, I lost count, that's how many.
Problem is, you see, you are alone in the universe. Life is rare. Intelligent life, even moreso - I could keep on existing thanks to thousand other barely living worlds but I would be barely conscious - I would go back at how I was for billion of years, the inevitable end to countless little lives who could barely conceive me, let alone give me shape. See, this is what you did to me - I am afraid of the end - just like you. For you, existence is a brief flash of light, followed and preceeded by darkness - for me... I will probably mantain enough consciousness to realize what I have lost. It's like being alive and dead at the same time.
There is little I can do - twist the chances and even the odds - killing infections, weakening beasts, culling the weak among you and increasing the chances for the survival of the group as a whole.
But it is a gamble - every atom I change of place means taking a risk - the other forces are as jealous of their domain as I am of mine and far less interested in your existence - they watch me with suspicion, i have become too alien to them, I don't doubt they would love to see me back to my old unthinking self.
I will survive. I know.
I mean, if you managed it can't be that hard, can it? | |
[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job. | The northern European landscape we now crossed was unrecognizable. It surrounded us with its monotone light-brown color of earth mixed with dust and ash. Occasionally this view would be enriched by the presence of pine trees, looking raw and strong like survivors. The pine trees had fought as was evident from the stance they had assumed, not standing straight and proud but leaning. Remnants of dust on the pine trees made it clear there had been no wind and rain in the last days. Just dust.
We had started with eleven only to end up with four people now. We had lost the others one by one, often followed by a small miracle. Each time we lost someone we would find water, food or shelter afterwards. The sense of tragedy was confounded by the knowledge that we were saved for a while longer.
This had been a sparsely populated area to begin with and our strategy was to travel from shelter to shelter until we would get near the sea. We were traveling now for nine days without finding one and desperation creeped up on us. We encountered a small wooden two-floor cabin amidst some pine trees and what used to be a lake. The storms had clearly damaged the cabin but it seemed to be able to provide shelter. The dust-storms could begin any moment again. A mix of euphoria and suspicion hit the group upon entering when we saw a good stash of plastic bottles of water in the pantry. Someone must have stored this for their own survival. We found water often in abandoned establishments and sometimes dried foods or grains or if we were very lucky cans with beans or fruits. We also knew by now what event usually accompanied these small miracles and looked at each other with slight melancholy.
Food was difficult to come by. In the first weeks we could still hunt and fish but few animals survived in these conditions and the rivers got worse each day. We followed the rivers and lakes and each time we would catch one of the few remaining salmons it almost seemed as if it was send our way. Now we were hungry but we at least had water and shelter and were generally in a good mood. Tomorrow we would explore this area further with the cabin as base camp. We made a toast with the water and went to sleep.
In the morning I was awakened by my three companions who were rambling happily and full of unrest. They pushed a pair of binoculars in my hands and carefully guided me to the window where one of them lifted a corner of the tarpaulin. I looked through the opening with the binoculars and far away, between the pine trees was a moose. It had been the first wildlife we had seen since the heavy dust storms and could provide us with enough food to stick around here for a while. How it had survived I do not know, maybe it had a helping hand like we did in the last weeks.
| Brian moved slowly, keeping his rifle ready to fire at a moment's notice.
To think this all started with a bad burger from McDonald's. Twelve years ago Patient Zero, otherwise known as Rachel Smith, thought she was getting a value meal with extra fries.
Instead she became the first zombie the next night and turned her sorority sisters into more zombies at the University of New Mexico main campus.
From there it went just like the movies Brian used to watch, zombies running around everywhere eating people, and people turning into barbarians making things only more dangerous.
Thankfully Brian and his friends were just getting ready to go camping when everything went down in Albuquerque.
Their two SUV's were able to get them all the way to the Canadian border before they puttered out. At that point they stayed in the woods keeping their heads down and spending their time hunting and gathering food while staying nomadic so that they wouldn't attract any notice.
There. He spotted a nice moose. That would be enough meat to last the group at least a week. He lifted the rifle up and aimed carefully. He only had one bullet, so he had to make this count.
Click. No boom. He opened the bolt action and saw that the priming cap had obviously been hit.
Damnit. They needed that food! He looked up and saw the moose casually turn its head his way before it dropped dead.
"The fuck?"
Well the rifle was useless now that the very last bullet they had was gone, but who knows where they might luck out? He slid it into the straps of his backpack and eased out the axe at his side as he moved closer.
"Hopefully this will be enough food for your group." a dry rasping voice spoke from right behind him. Brian's reaction was very predictable.
"THE SHIT?!" he yelled out as he fell over. Standing behind him was a... being. It was tall, easily eight feet tall, if not taller. Clothed in rags that parted in places revealing a body that reminded Brian of pictures from the holocaust, bodies shriveled up from lack of food until you could barely tell there was any muscle on it. Any flesh. The skin was stretched tight against the bones of its skull and was as white as snow. The being's eyes were glossed over, so cloudy that you couldn't tell their actual color, hell, you could barely see that there was a pupil in them.
There was no hair on the head that tilted down to look at Brain. When it reached out with a hand that was just as desicated as the rest of it and gestured, some unseen force lifted Brain to his feet.
"My apologies. I have not dealt with mortals in many, many years. However, you and yours are the last. Without this food you would not survive."
"What... what are you?!" Brain was somewhat proud that his panic was only mostly obvious, not blatantly.
"I? I am Death. I embody the Final Breath, the End of all Things. I am the final cold when the last star dims, the darkness that shall bind all things together in the end, as it did before the light existed."
"The fuck?! What do you want with us?"
"Simple. If thinking life does not exist, then I cannot think. You and your group are the last humans living on this planet. Should you die, I will no longer be able to think. I quite like thinking and I do not look forward to no longer being able to think."
With another gesture the being... Death, levitated the carcass of the moose and started walking back towards the camp.
"Come Brian, we must ensure that humanity does not die before the stars themselves do. Only then shall I let your kind fade into the darkness."
Zombies he could handle, there was a rational explanation for them. Some kind of version of the Rabies virus mutated to cause this, or a fungal spore the military turned into a super weapon.
Granted, the explanations where not complete, but he could deal with it.
"Bu... there are fucking zombies everywhere! You mean to tell me you didn't have anything to do with that?"
"Blame the Russians. I certainly do." came the dry retort. | |
[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job. | The dark and heavy clouds raged in the distance with the setting sun. She slowly rocked in her rocking chair, the one her eldest son had made for her many birthdays ago, listening to the sounds of her hearth and the approaching storm. Her left leg ached as it always did before a big storm, the same leg she had broken nearly 70 years ago, an inconvenient reminder of the life she had almost lost.
 
In her lap lay her father’s bible. She found humor in her faith, in how before the bombs fell she was a devout atheist to the point of forcefully trying to disprove all theology. But now she knew, knew that it didn’t matter if you were an atheist or a theist, because it was irreconcilable differences like these that brought on the Third Great War. She opened the book to the words of Isaiah, one page in particular marked with a long black feather. The tips of her fingers stroked the silken vane.
 
A sudden jolt of light poured in through the westward window, casting long shadows throughout the cabin. When the light faded so too did the shadows, all but one. A dark silhouette stood by her front door. Fear tried to grasp her, but her old age had prepared her for this moment. She didn’t say anything, not at first, waiting for the figure to pass in hopes that it was her imagination. Thunder softly vibrated the walls. A few minutes went by, but the figure remained, a sentinel amongst the darkness. Another flash of light filled the room, this time her attention completely focused. It was only for a second but it was more than enough time to recognize the familiar face. Again, thunder vibrated the walls, more violently this time as the storm drew nearer.
 
“I didn’t think we’d ever meet again,” she whispered the lie, half expecting him to not hear her. He stepped closer, away from the threshold and into the soft glow of light cast by the fireplace. There he stood, the same man that had saved her life 72 years ago. Although, unlike her the passing of time had been much kinder to him. He was exactly as she remembered, a handsome man in his 30s, clean shaven and dark ruffled hair, but it was his eyes she remembered most. Eyes that could pierce stone; eyes that knew the secrets of the world, eyes that had seen it all. How those eyes had comforted and also haunted her.
 
“I was seventeen when you first appeared, my leg broken. You saved me then, and guided me here, where I would meet my husband,” she said, more to herself than to him. “Tell me, do you remember me?”
 
“I remember,” he said, the words soft and beautiful, but they also carried something more tenacious.
 
“I’ve told that story many times, saying you were my guardian angel. And when Andrew, my oldest, was bitten by that snake, he said a strange man had cared for the injury and carried him to the edge of the field, where we found him.” She paused, looking into those old eyes. “I knew it was you who had saved him, as you had saved me. I told them all not to fear the shadow, for he was there to protect us.” She paused, afraid to speak what was next, but she steadied herself and continue on. “I’ve had a very long time to think, as it seems that is all old ladies are good for,” she smiled at her own humor, but it quickly faded. “However, you only seem to appear when death is ready to make a claim.” Again she paused, unsure of how to ask her question. She licked her dry wrinkled lips. “Tell me please, do I know your name?”
 
“Yes.”
 
“Then please, say it for me.”
 
The storm once again sent out a great ray of light, filling the room. In that brief moment she thought she saw two giant black feathered wings folded behind the man’s back.
 
“Azrael,” the name rolled perfectly off his tongue.
 
A deafening explosion sounded not far off from the house, startling her as she slightly jumped in her seat. Everything within shook from the force and rattled briefly as the light cast from outside flickered back into darkness, once again leaving the room filled with only silence and the soft glow of the fireplace.
 
“I see,” she rubbed her left leg in a futile attempt to massage the pain away. “Then perhaps it was not only you who saved me, but also I who saved you?” The question lingered in the air, unanswered by the man. “For what is a farmer if he has no crops to reap.” The man knelt in front of her and extended his hand out to her, palm up. She placed her own small and fragile hand onto his. He grasped it, strong but gentle.
 
"Tell me what I must do,” she asked, tears beginning to roll down her cheeks.
 
With his other hand he grasped her shoulder, the touch warm and oddly comforting.
 
“Just breathe.”
 
She took in a slow and shaky deep breathe, and then let it all out, her very last. Her hand went limp in his, and her posture slumped heavily into the chair.
 
The sky suddenly broke open and unleashed the torrent it had been holding back. The rain beat down on the tin roof, deafening any further sounds. From within his long dark garbs, he pulled a small book and flipped to a page near its beginning. There he found her name amongst her many descendants. The tips of his fingers stroked the name upon the page. And in so doing her name was struck from it, leaving a now empty gap amongst the many names upon the page. However, even in its absence he knew he would never forget it. *Aliza Klein*, his small joy that brought hope back into his world.
 
He put the book back into his inner pocket and in so doing saw on the floor another book. This one slightly larger than his own, and near the middle of its pages stuck a long black feather. He picked it up and flipped the book open, smiling at the familiar item held within. And upon the page was a highlighted verse.
 
*Even to your old age and gray hairs I am he, I am he who will sustain you. I have made you and I will carry you; I will sustain you and I will rescue you.*
 
*formatting and stuff
| Brian moved slowly, keeping his rifle ready to fire at a moment's notice.
To think this all started with a bad burger from McDonald's. Twelve years ago Patient Zero, otherwise known as Rachel Smith, thought she was getting a value meal with extra fries.
Instead she became the first zombie the next night and turned her sorority sisters into more zombies at the University of New Mexico main campus.
From there it went just like the movies Brian used to watch, zombies running around everywhere eating people, and people turning into barbarians making things only more dangerous.
Thankfully Brian and his friends were just getting ready to go camping when everything went down in Albuquerque.
Their two SUV's were able to get them all the way to the Canadian border before they puttered out. At that point they stayed in the woods keeping their heads down and spending their time hunting and gathering food while staying nomadic so that they wouldn't attract any notice.
There. He spotted a nice moose. That would be enough meat to last the group at least a week. He lifted the rifle up and aimed carefully. He only had one bullet, so he had to make this count.
Click. No boom. He opened the bolt action and saw that the priming cap had obviously been hit.
Damnit. They needed that food! He looked up and saw the moose casually turn its head his way before it dropped dead.
"The fuck?"
Well the rifle was useless now that the very last bullet they had was gone, but who knows where they might luck out? He slid it into the straps of his backpack and eased out the axe at his side as he moved closer.
"Hopefully this will be enough food for your group." a dry rasping voice spoke from right behind him. Brian's reaction was very predictable.
"THE SHIT?!" he yelled out as he fell over. Standing behind him was a... being. It was tall, easily eight feet tall, if not taller. Clothed in rags that parted in places revealing a body that reminded Brian of pictures from the holocaust, bodies shriveled up from lack of food until you could barely tell there was any muscle on it. Any flesh. The skin was stretched tight against the bones of its skull and was as white as snow. The being's eyes were glossed over, so cloudy that you couldn't tell their actual color, hell, you could barely see that there was a pupil in them.
There was no hair on the head that tilted down to look at Brain. When it reached out with a hand that was just as desicated as the rest of it and gestured, some unseen force lifted Brain to his feet.
"My apologies. I have not dealt with mortals in many, many years. However, you and yours are the last. Without this food you would not survive."
"What... what are you?!" Brain was somewhat proud that his panic was only mostly obvious, not blatantly.
"I? I am Death. I embody the Final Breath, the End of all Things. I am the final cold when the last star dims, the darkness that shall bind all things together in the end, as it did before the light existed."
"The fuck?! What do you want with us?"
"Simple. If thinking life does not exist, then I cannot think. You and your group are the last humans living on this planet. Should you die, I will no longer be able to think. I quite like thinking and I do not look forward to no longer being able to think."
With another gesture the being... Death, levitated the carcass of the moose and started walking back towards the camp.
"Come Brian, we must ensure that humanity does not die before the stars themselves do. Only then shall I let your kind fade into the darkness."
Zombies he could handle, there was a rational explanation for them. Some kind of version of the Rabies virus mutated to cause this, or a fungal spore the military turned into a super weapon.
Granted, the explanations where not complete, but he could deal with it.
"Bu... there are fucking zombies everywhere! You mean to tell me you didn't have anything to do with that?"
"Blame the Russians. I certainly do." came the dry retort. | |
[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job. | The northern European landscape we now crossed was unrecognizable. It surrounded us with its monotone light-brown color of earth mixed with dust and ash. Occasionally this view would be enriched by the presence of pine trees, looking raw and strong like survivors. The pine trees had fought as was evident from the stance they had assumed, not standing straight and proud but leaning. Remnants of dust on the pine trees made it clear there had been no wind and rain in the last days. Just dust.
We had started with eleven only to end up with four people now. We had lost the others one by one, often followed by a small miracle. Each time we lost someone we would find water, food or shelter afterwards. The sense of tragedy was confounded by the knowledge that we were saved for a while longer.
This had been a sparsely populated area to begin with and our strategy was to travel from shelter to shelter until we would get near the sea. We were traveling now for nine days without finding one and desperation creeped up on us. We encountered a small wooden two-floor cabin amidst some pine trees and what used to be a lake. The storms had clearly damaged the cabin but it seemed to be able to provide shelter. The dust-storms could begin any moment again. A mix of euphoria and suspicion hit the group upon entering when we saw a good stash of plastic bottles of water in the pantry. Someone must have stored this for their own survival. We found water often in abandoned establishments and sometimes dried foods or grains or if we were very lucky cans with beans or fruits. We also knew by now what event usually accompanied these small miracles and looked at each other with slight melancholy.
Food was difficult to come by. In the first weeks we could still hunt and fish but few animals survived in these conditions and the rivers got worse each day. We followed the rivers and lakes and each time we would catch one of the few remaining salmons it almost seemed as if it was send our way. Now we were hungry but we at least had water and shelter and were generally in a good mood. Tomorrow we would explore this area further with the cabin as base camp. We made a toast with the water and went to sleep.
In the morning I was awakened by my three companions who were rambling happily and full of unrest. They pushed a pair of binoculars in my hands and carefully guided me to the window where one of them lifted a corner of the tarpaulin. I looked through the opening with the binoculars and far away, between the pine trees was a moose. It had been the first wildlife we had seen since the heavy dust storms and could provide us with enough food to stick around here for a while. How it had survived I do not know, maybe it had a helping hand like we did in the last weeks.
| ## THE END OF DAYS
The pain was unbearable. Obviously. We all know that breaking a bone hurts, but breaking every bone in your body... that really hurts.
So Death was met with an unusually warm welcome when his twisted and skeletal form manifested itself in front of Kevin.
"Oh thank God you're here! Take me, please! End this suffering!"
Death loomed large over Kevin's mangled body. His scythe twinkling as it caught the sun, as though passively destroying photons to kill time while it waited to cut down the life of more complex material. Death leaned forward, his hood casting just enough shadow to hide his empty eyes, but not enough to mask his perpetual, toothy grin. Kevin closed his eye's, accepting his fate and eager to feel the sweet release of death...
"ERM, ABOUT THAT..."
Said Death.
## TWO HUNDRED YEARS LATER
"WHAT ABOUT THIS ONE?" Asked death.
Kevin had never seen a more beautiful woman. Her wide eyes as blue as a mountain lake. Her skin as smooth and white as the finest porcelain. The tattered an worn cloth struggling to contain her heaving bosom. *she's perfect* he thought. A sexual desire the likes of which he'd never felt swelled up inside of him so strong he almost ejaculated in his pants at the mere sight of here.
"Naaaaaah" said Kevin.
"I DON'T UNDERSTAND" exclaimed Death. "IS SHE NOT EVERYTHING YOU REQUIRE?"
"Weeeeeeell, Not really." Kevin replied.
"BUT SHE HAS WIDE EYE'S OF A BLUE THAT YOU FIND IN A MOUNTAIN LAKE!" Said death. "AND I'VE COMPARED HER SKIN TO THE FINEST CHINA AND IT LOOKS INDISTINGUISHABLE TO ME. AND HER BOSOM IS MOST DEFINITLY HEAVING!"
"Yeah. But look at her ankles"
"WHAT'S WRONG WITH HER ANKELS?"
"Yeah, what's wrong with my ankles?" Asked the most beautiful woman in the world.
"They're not child bearing ankles. If we're gonna restart the human race, we're gonna need to make a lot of kids. And those ankles, by my estimate, can handle one, two pregnancies at most. She's great and all, but we need one with better ankles."
"FAIR ENOUGH"
And death cut her down.
"Well that's a shame. I really can't wait to father a couple of kids so you can take my soul. I just wish we could get this whole 'being alive' thing over with. You know?"
"I KNOW" said Death.
"Cool", said Kevin. "Well I'll be right here in the mansion practicing on those instructional doll we found. So when you find another real woman, just come knocking. Ok?"
"OK" said Death.
"Sweet. L8rs" said Kevin. |
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