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[WP] Vampires cannot enter a house uninvited. Turns out, they invented Welcome mats to bypass this rule decades ago. | My parents were the sort of people who bought me a welcome mat as a house warming gift when I finally struck it out on my own. Don't get me wrong, I have nothing against welcome mats, they're fine. They're the sort of thing that you don't buy when you first move into a new place. So, it's not like I had one already. But, it wasn't really something I particularly wanted, or even cared about having. My parents had no idea, or didn't really care, what I might actually want. They just wanted to give off the impression that they're nice people who do nice things, just as long as it didn't require any work. So buying me a house-warming gift was part of standard protocol, even if it was something I didn't particularly care for.
I looked at it after I unwrapped it, it was so generic. It didn't even reflect anything about my style or interests. Just a gray mat with the word "Welcome" on it. I tried my best to smile and thank my parents, "Oh, thank you. I didn't have one of these already."
My mom smiled back at me, "Now we can come and visit you any time we want."
I looked back at her, puzzled. My dad answered my puzzled expression, "... because it says 'Welcome'." *Yes, very funny, dad.*
I thanked them again as their visit grew towards an end, and ushered them out. As we walked out the door together, I set the mat outside the door. I was glad I wouldn't be seeing them again for a while, but on the off-chance they would come to visit me, I wanted them to see I was using their gift.
But, I didn't get the once-in-a-while visits I was hoping for. They kept finding excuses to come and visit me. They wanted to make sure my fire alarms were in working order, or that my sink wasn't leaking, or that my shower floor wasn't too slippery. They wanted to come over to tell me about the latest crazy gossip they heard. They would complain about drama-filled lives, or complain that I wasn't calling them often enough. It just got more and more frequent the longer I lived away from home. They even started coming around at odd hours of the night.
Finally, one time I came home, and my mom was there adjusting the furniture. I stared at her in disbelief, in front of the still-open door, as she nattered something about how I should really not have the TV across from the window. "... you would get a much better picture without all that glare..."
"Mom," I said as I continued staring. I honestly didn't even know how she got in. "What are you doing here?"
She stared back at me, with hurt eyes. "What? Is your own mother not allowed to visit? I didn't realize I wasn't welcome here." Then she started to cry.
I immediately reacted by consoling her, "No, you're fine mom. Of course you're allowed to visit."
Her tears instantly vanished, and she went back to rearranging my furniture. I walked back out the door enraged. As I walked out fuming, I thought about what vampires my parents were. Then, I saw that stupid welcome mat still sitting there. I kicked it in frustration. But, after I kicked it, I saw something gold sticking out from underneath it.
Under my welcome mat, there was a key. | Following the path up the side of the hill had been difficult. More difficult than it should have been by far. The blood loss was really starting to affect him now. A half mile left? A quarter perhaps? He supposed it didn’t really matter. If he didn’t find a source to replace the blood he’d already lost.. was still losing.. it might as well be across the universe because he wasn’t going to make it.
How had it come to this? One such as he should have never been in this position. One such as he should have known better. Why had he risked it? He had been hungry, yes, but not starving. Certainly not hungry enough to risk attacking a hunting cabin with so many armed humans gathered together in one place. For Christ’s sake he hadn’t even waited until they were sleeping. He had just walked up to the door, saw the welcome mat and……….
| |
[WP] Vampires cannot enter a house uninvited. Turns out, they invented Welcome mats to bypass this rule decades ago. | My parents were the sort of people who bought me a welcome mat as a house warming gift when I finally struck it out on my own. Don't get me wrong, I have nothing against welcome mats, they're fine. They're the sort of thing that you don't buy when you first move into a new place. So, it's not like I had one already. But, it wasn't really something I particularly wanted, or even cared about having. My parents had no idea, or didn't really care, what I might actually want. They just wanted to give off the impression that they're nice people who do nice things, just as long as it didn't require any work. So buying me a house-warming gift was part of standard protocol, even if it was something I didn't particularly care for.
I looked at it after I unwrapped it, it was so generic. It didn't even reflect anything about my style or interests. Just a gray mat with the word "Welcome" on it. I tried my best to smile and thank my parents, "Oh, thank you. I didn't have one of these already."
My mom smiled back at me, "Now we can come and visit you any time we want."
I looked back at her, puzzled. My dad answered my puzzled expression, "... because it says 'Welcome'." *Yes, very funny, dad.*
I thanked them again as their visit grew towards an end, and ushered them out. As we walked out the door together, I set the mat outside the door. I was glad I wouldn't be seeing them again for a while, but on the off-chance they would come to visit me, I wanted them to see I was using their gift.
But, I didn't get the once-in-a-while visits I was hoping for. They kept finding excuses to come and visit me. They wanted to make sure my fire alarms were in working order, or that my sink wasn't leaking, or that my shower floor wasn't too slippery. They wanted to come over to tell me about the latest crazy gossip they heard. They would complain about drama-filled lives, or complain that I wasn't calling them often enough. It just got more and more frequent the longer I lived away from home. They even started coming around at odd hours of the night.
Finally, one time I came home, and my mom was there adjusting the furniture. I stared at her in disbelief, in front of the still-open door, as she nattered something about how I should really not have the TV across from the window. "... you would get a much better picture without all that glare..."
"Mom," I said as I continued staring. I honestly didn't even know how she got in. "What are you doing here?"
She stared back at me, with hurt eyes. "What? Is your own mother not allowed to visit? I didn't realize I wasn't welcome here." Then she started to cry.
I immediately reacted by consoling her, "No, you're fine mom. Of course you're allowed to visit."
Her tears instantly vanished, and she went back to rearranging my furniture. I walked back out the door enraged. As I walked out fuming, I thought about what vampires my parents were. Then, I saw that stupid welcome mat still sitting there. I kicked it in frustration. But, after I kicked it, I saw something gold sticking out from underneath it.
Under my welcome mat, there was a key. | "It has to actually say Welcome. As amusing as 'You Better Have Tacos' is, it doesn't qualify'"
"But Why? How does that even work, isn't the idea of having a doormat fundamentally set the conditions by which entry is expected"
This was a standard argument between Shin and I, well in reality it wasn't an argument so much as an exploration of the systems by which our lives (or lack there of were governed).
"The Humans have it so much simpler", A favorite quip of Shin, "They can have infinite interpretations of their scripture, and none of it ties to any sort of arbitrary rule sets.".
"They can't eat pork or something"
"Sure they can, they just don't, have you ever tried to enter a dwelling with 'The dog must approve all vistors', you physically can't. How real can their rules be if they aren't tied to some sort of consequence"
"It's not like you need to commit a felony to get blood these days I mean you can just buy..."
"That's not really the point. It just seems..."
"Seriously, this is the 100th time we have had this conversation", I started to get annoyed, "It should just be nice to know that there is a set of rules in place. The Humans have no actual evidence of anything. The fact that you can't enter a dwelling if there is any ambiguity should be comforting if anything. It implies that there is in fact a structure, and purpose to our existence. You don't have to believe, you simply know, and you know that other entities exist as well."
"Huh? What do you mean"
"Well think about it, Our experiments show that intent of the external party is necessary. That's why just saying the words 'Come in or Welcome' isn't enough. Otherwise 'don't come in', 'you're not welcome' etc. would all work. Knowing that the external party has to intend to invite you in is key. Humans don't have that, they can't tell if anyone else is anything more than a figment of their imaginations, they aren't really 'I think therefore I am" so much as they are 'I think therefore something is'"
"Yeah but what you're actually saying is that we aren't anything other than 'You think therefore I am' as we're interdependent", Shin said. "Doesn't that mean that we are potentially just figments of their imagination?"
"Yeah but at least you know the 'they' is there, 'they' can represent god, the matrix, the universal force, whatever... anyway are you going to hog the O-neg or what"
"Here", Shin tossed over the the container, and I caught it and took a good long drink.
"Phew", I said putting down the container, "One thing I'll say for 'they', their blood is top notch"
"Yeah, just wish 'they' weren't quite such officious bureaucrats", Shin Remarked.
"Could be worse" I said "at least we don't randomly turn into dogs whenever the moon's out." | |
[WP] Vampires cannot enter a house uninvited. Turns out, they invented Welcome mats to bypass this rule decades ago. | My parents were the sort of people who bought me a welcome mat as a house warming gift when I finally struck it out on my own. Don't get me wrong, I have nothing against welcome mats, they're fine. They're the sort of thing that you don't buy when you first move into a new place. So, it's not like I had one already. But, it wasn't really something I particularly wanted, or even cared about having. My parents had no idea, or didn't really care, what I might actually want. They just wanted to give off the impression that they're nice people who do nice things, just as long as it didn't require any work. So buying me a house-warming gift was part of standard protocol, even if it was something I didn't particularly care for.
I looked at it after I unwrapped it, it was so generic. It didn't even reflect anything about my style or interests. Just a gray mat with the word "Welcome" on it. I tried my best to smile and thank my parents, "Oh, thank you. I didn't have one of these already."
My mom smiled back at me, "Now we can come and visit you any time we want."
I looked back at her, puzzled. My dad answered my puzzled expression, "... because it says 'Welcome'." *Yes, very funny, dad.*
I thanked them again as their visit grew towards an end, and ushered them out. As we walked out the door together, I set the mat outside the door. I was glad I wouldn't be seeing them again for a while, but on the off-chance they would come to visit me, I wanted them to see I was using their gift.
But, I didn't get the once-in-a-while visits I was hoping for. They kept finding excuses to come and visit me. They wanted to make sure my fire alarms were in working order, or that my sink wasn't leaking, or that my shower floor wasn't too slippery. They wanted to come over to tell me about the latest crazy gossip they heard. They would complain about drama-filled lives, or complain that I wasn't calling them often enough. It just got more and more frequent the longer I lived away from home. They even started coming around at odd hours of the night.
Finally, one time I came home, and my mom was there adjusting the furniture. I stared at her in disbelief, in front of the still-open door, as she nattered something about how I should really not have the TV across from the window. "... you would get a much better picture without all that glare..."
"Mom," I said as I continued staring. I honestly didn't even know how she got in. "What are you doing here?"
She stared back at me, with hurt eyes. "What? Is your own mother not allowed to visit? I didn't realize I wasn't welcome here." Then she started to cry.
I immediately reacted by consoling her, "No, you're fine mom. Of course you're allowed to visit."
Her tears instantly vanished, and she went back to rearranging my furniture. I walked back out the door enraged. As I walked out fuming, I thought about what vampires my parents were. Then, I saw that stupid welcome mat still sitting there. I kicked it in frustration. But, after I kicked it, I saw something gold sticking out from underneath it.
Under my welcome mat, there was a key. | My shift is about to end, only one more minute. My boss flies above the mat manufacturing line and rings a bell. Everybody exhales nicely and we go home. The line bustles to an end and the materials are put away. Fur. Rubber. Shit like that. Shit to make mats.
My boss makes a killing off these mats because the best, most experienced and skilled vampires make a killing off of the blood they get using the mats compared to vampires who need to ask to come in, befriend, and then betray their new friends when everybody goes to sleep. These other guys only have to come during the day as a mat salesman and come back later after he's taken a shit or gotten lunch. Then he drains his patrons, resells the blood for profit, gets a real human meal with the 20 bucks they score off the mat, and buys *another* mat. Fuckin geniuses.
The only reason the rest of us factory workers don't do what they do is because we aren't exactly "good at selling," or "people persons," or "human-like," or "can afford a suit, tie, and hat." Plus the mats are too fucking expensive for vampire money. Shit's like .001 on the dollar. We're basically slaves. Yet vampires. Somehow it works, stop asking questions.
This week I'm planning a heist because this week's paycheck won't be enough to pay rent. I know I should lay off the take-out food but I fuckin love me some panda express. What I'll do is wait up in a tree above old man jenkin's home, the only home in town without a welcome mat. Jesse Dentine is the best vampire salesman ever and has dibs on that house. But that doesn't mean he's good at defending himself. Before he reaches the door, I'll jump his cold-blooded ass and steal the mat.
Here I am up in the tree looming over the walkway up to the front door... I'm waiting and feeling a little guilty, but it's for the best because men who steal are desperate: at least that's my excuse. Here he comes. I gotta time this right. Oh fuck, if I fail i'll be found out and late on rent. oh fuck oh fuck just JUMP ALREADY.
I land on top of him, crushing him into the ground. He's fuckin *dead*. Oh shit, I'm a murderer. How am I gonna cover this up? I can't leave the dead body because then human's will find out about us and kill our economy. Can you bury a vampire? What if you don't bury it 6 feet under? Will he become a zombie? Nevermind that I gotta hop Jesse and I outta here before old man jerkins finds us.. because then we'll *all* be fucked.
| |
[WP] Vampires cannot enter a house uninvited. Turns out, they invented Welcome mats to bypass this rule decades ago. | "So tell me about this 'little' theory of yours again Michael", Vince said with an air of amusement.
"It's not a theory, it's a fact. I may have been wrong about the fluoride in the drinking water and the Illuminati running everything but I know of a conspiracy that is far more sinister than aglets."
"Wait, what do you know about aglets? Umm, I mean... what are aglets?"
"Vince, they're the little plastic ends of your shoelaces. The shoemakers created them in a step of permanent, planned obsolence so that you'd have to buy more shoelaces when they break off and unravel."
"How many people believe this nonsense?"
"Not many, but that's not the main point here. Vampires created 'Welcome Mats' as a way to enter peoples homes easily."
"No, no you are mistaken. Vampires don't exist, but this mess about the aglets needs to be dealt with. Who else have you told about them?"
"Why do you care so much about the ag- you're one of them aren't you?"
"You know too much, my family and I make our living off everything surrounding shoes. DON'T FUCK WITH OUR BREAD AND BUTTER!"
*Michael Runs*
"Oh-ho-ho, a chase! Try your best, but I will catch you!"
"You're unreal, stop following me! I'm ENTERING MY HOME, YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED IN!" *cocks shot gun and moves back a few steps*
"How long do you think you can hide in there Michael? A day, a week, a month?"
"Forever, I can work from home and order everything through Amazon bitch!"
"Oh, I'll show you who's the b-"
Vince trips off of the top step and crashes into the entryway of Michael's home. Only...
"You're leaning on air like some kind of preposterous mime, what the-"
As Michael crouches down to look under the body suspended in mid-air, Vince spits at Michael.
"Tatami mat-flip!"
And with vigor, a mat that lay on the ground of the inside doorway of Michael's house deflects the spit, but flies out of Michael's hands while landing at Vinces feet.
"That was a bit undignified of me Michael, but I do thank you for granting me entry to your home."
"I've done no such thing, what just happened here?"
Vince easily steps over the mat that bears the characters:
ようこそ
"Yōkoso Weeaboo. Welcome to hell. You're right about everything, but what happens next will be open to interpretation for each of the parties involved." | My shift is about to end, only one more minute. My boss flies above the mat manufacturing line and rings a bell. Everybody exhales nicely and we go home. The line bustles to an end and the materials are put away. Fur. Rubber. Shit like that. Shit to make mats.
My boss makes a killing off these mats because the best, most experienced and skilled vampires make a killing off of the blood they get using the mats compared to vampires who need to ask to come in, befriend, and then betray their new friends when everybody goes to sleep. These other guys only have to come during the day as a mat salesman and come back later after he's taken a shit or gotten lunch. Then he drains his patrons, resells the blood for profit, gets a real human meal with the 20 bucks they score off the mat, and buys *another* mat. Fuckin geniuses.
The only reason the rest of us factory workers don't do what they do is because we aren't exactly "good at selling," or "people persons," or "human-like," or "can afford a suit, tie, and hat." Plus the mats are too fucking expensive for vampire money. Shit's like .001 on the dollar. We're basically slaves. Yet vampires. Somehow it works, stop asking questions.
This week I'm planning a heist because this week's paycheck won't be enough to pay rent. I know I should lay off the take-out food but I fuckin love me some panda express. What I'll do is wait up in a tree above old man jenkin's home, the only home in town without a welcome mat. Jesse Dentine is the best vampire salesman ever and has dibs on that house. But that doesn't mean he's good at defending himself. Before he reaches the door, I'll jump his cold-blooded ass and steal the mat.
Here I am up in the tree looming over the walkway up to the front door... I'm waiting and feeling a little guilty, but it's for the best because men who steal are desperate: at least that's my excuse. Here he comes. I gotta time this right. Oh fuck, if I fail i'll be found out and late on rent. oh fuck oh fuck just JUMP ALREADY.
I land on top of him, crushing him into the ground. He's fuckin *dead*. Oh shit, I'm a murderer. How am I gonna cover this up? I can't leave the dead body because then human's will find out about us and kill our economy. Can you bury a vampire? What if you don't bury it 6 feet under? Will he become a zombie? Nevermind that I gotta hop Jesse and I outta here before old man jerkins finds us.. because then we'll *all* be fucked.
| |
[WP] Vampires cannot enter a house uninvited. Turns out, they invented Welcome mats to bypass this rule decades ago. | "So tell me about this 'little' theory of yours again Michael", Vince said with an air of amusement.
"It's not a theory, it's a fact. I may have been wrong about the fluoride in the drinking water and the Illuminati running everything but I know of a conspiracy that is far more sinister than aglets."
"Wait, what do you know about aglets? Umm, I mean... what are aglets?"
"Vince, they're the little plastic ends of your shoelaces. The shoemakers created them in a step of permanent, planned obsolence so that you'd have to buy more shoelaces when they break off and unravel."
"How many people believe this nonsense?"
"Not many, but that's not the main point here. Vampires created 'Welcome Mats' as a way to enter peoples homes easily."
"No, no you are mistaken. Vampires don't exist, but this mess about the aglets needs to be dealt with. Who else have you told about them?"
"Why do you care so much about the ag- you're one of them aren't you?"
"You know too much, my family and I make our living off everything surrounding shoes. DON'T FUCK WITH OUR BREAD AND BUTTER!"
*Michael Runs*
"Oh-ho-ho, a chase! Try your best, but I will catch you!"
"You're unreal, stop following me! I'm ENTERING MY HOME, YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED IN!" *cocks shot gun and moves back a few steps*
"How long do you think you can hide in there Michael? A day, a week, a month?"
"Forever, I can work from home and order everything through Amazon bitch!"
"Oh, I'll show you who's the b-"
Vince trips off of the top step and crashes into the entryway of Michael's home. Only...
"You're leaning on air like some kind of preposterous mime, what the-"
As Michael crouches down to look under the body suspended in mid-air, Vince spits at Michael.
"Tatami mat-flip!"
And with vigor, a mat that lay on the ground of the inside doorway of Michael's house deflects the spit, but flies out of Michael's hands while landing at Vinces feet.
"That was a bit undignified of me Michael, but I do thank you for granting me entry to your home."
"I've done no such thing, what just happened here?"
Vince easily steps over the mat that bears the characters:
ようこそ
"Yōkoso Weeaboo. Welcome to hell. You're right about everything, but what happens next will be open to interpretation for each of the parties involved." | "Good evening-" He said. He barely had time for another word as the door was once again slammed in his face. Undeterred, he knocked again, a little more persistently this time.
"Go away!" came the muffled reply from inside.
"Please, I just -". He sighed and rubbed the pale grey skin of his forehead with the back of his hand.
He leaned into the door, listening for the quickening heartbeat which echoed through the wooden door. It sounded delicious. But now was not the time for that. He was determined and relentless.
"I won't ask again. Please let me in. I just want to talk to you." He whispered, knowing his haunting voice would carry through the cracks in the heavy oak door and float like will'o'the wisps inside her head. She shook her head tearfully and put her hands over her ears, as if that would make some sort of difference.
" You leave me no choice. I'm sorry." He sighed as he put down the heavy leather suitcase he was carrying and clicked it open. He took out a rectangle of material and unfolded it, laying it flat an inch or so from the door. He pressed down on the contents of the suitcase and squeezed it closed again. Picking himself up from the floor, he observed the doormat he had just placed, grinning to himself, amused by its overly cheery 'welcome' message.
"Why, thank you" He smiled, bowing politely to the mat as he pushed open the door. Amidst the screams and panicked wailing he wondered as often he did, why it had to be so hard being a vampiric door-to-door salesman.
Disclaimer: this is my first writing prompt piece, hope you like it. | |
[WP] Vampires cannot enter a house uninvited. Turns out, they invented Welcome mats to bypass this rule decades ago. | "I hate this place" Maria thought as she stared out across the barren Transylvanian landscape. Leaning her head against the car window, misery tinged the blur of trees and rolling hills outside in grey. Nevermind that they were in fact mostly grey.
Not even her pulp novel, purchased by a penitent parent, could hold her attention. If only her mother hadn't taken this new job, hadn't taken them away to this land of perpetual twilight. The strangling of the engine ended her reverie. "We are here".
Her parents could have at least tried to find a less ironic house. Towering gothic spires, a yawning entrance into the shingled maw of an old Victorian manor. Even a lone raven hopping around the yard and croaking curses at the new tenants. "Dracula vs Wolfman" tumbled out of her lap and underfoot as she emerged from the car. After unloading she found it lying in the mud, spine broken.
When darkness fell, there came a knock on the door.
Two pale middle aged women, one holding a casserole and the other a parcel wrapped in brown paper, smiled tightly. "Welcome to the neighborhood!" the one with the casserole trilled. Her mom, who had answered the door, invited them in. "Oh, that won't be necessary" the other woman replied, handing her mother the parcel. "Please enjoy this blood pudding as well. It takes some getting used to, but it is a local delicacy and in time you will learn to love it." Maria hung back during this exchange. Something about the women seemed off. Perhaps it was the way they smiled. Without showing their teeth.
After they left, her mom unwrapped the package. It was a welcome mat. "Oh how thoughtful!" her mother exclaimed "See Maria? The people here are just as nice as in Pennsylvania". By the time her mother turned around after placing the mat in front of their door, Maria was already upstairs.
Midnight. The witching hour.
Maria woke up from dreams of dark shifting landscapes with an incredible thirst. She felt her way down the spiral stairs, clutching the banster to fight off disorientation from her concentric descent. The moon afforded just enough light for Maria to see movement in every shadow.
Finally in the kitchen, she grabbed a glass from one of the many cardboard boxes stacked along the walls. Water gushed from the ancient pipes into her cup. She gulped it greedily, some dribbling down her chin, although it had an unpleasant metallic taste. Grimacing, she filled the cup again and turned back to her room.
A figure loomed on the opposite side of the kitchen table, swallowing what little light was left in the room. Maria dropped the glass, shattering it on the ground. "Whwhwhat are you doing here?" She took a step back, too fearful to notice the broken glass piercing her bare feet.
"The same as you my child, a drink".
| "Good evening-" He said. He barely had time for another word as the door was once again slammed in his face. Undeterred, he knocked again, a little more persistently this time.
"Go away!" came the muffled reply from inside.
"Please, I just -". He sighed and rubbed the pale grey skin of his forehead with the back of his hand.
He leaned into the door, listening for the quickening heartbeat which echoed through the wooden door. It sounded delicious. But now was not the time for that. He was determined and relentless.
"I won't ask again. Please let me in. I just want to talk to you." He whispered, knowing his haunting voice would carry through the cracks in the heavy oak door and float like will'o'the wisps inside her head. She shook her head tearfully and put her hands over her ears, as if that would make some sort of difference.
" You leave me no choice. I'm sorry." He sighed as he put down the heavy leather suitcase he was carrying and clicked it open. He took out a rectangle of material and unfolded it, laying it flat an inch or so from the door. He pressed down on the contents of the suitcase and squeezed it closed again. Picking himself up from the floor, he observed the doormat he had just placed, grinning to himself, amused by its overly cheery 'welcome' message.
"Why, thank you" He smiled, bowing politely to the mat as he pushed open the door. Amidst the screams and panicked wailing he wondered as often he did, why it had to be so hard being a vampiric door-to-door salesman.
Disclaimer: this is my first writing prompt piece, hope you like it. | |
[WP] Vampires cannot enter a house uninvited. Turns out, they invented Welcome mats to bypass this rule decades ago. | "That has got to be, without a shadow of a doubt, the dumbest fucking thing I have ever heard."
Sergeant Barnes stood waiting for the coffee machine to finish making noise. Beside him stood Police Constable Williams, with a report in-hand.
"But it has to be the case, sir. There's no other possible connection."
"No other connection *that you can find*."
"Sir, how many victims have there been so far? Seventeen? Eighteen?"
"At least twenty," Barnes replied, as he checked his coat pockets for cigarettes. "Bloodwork suggests there's more than we originally thought. What's your point?"
"My point is that there's no other correlation between them. Do you not think it's odd that there are never any signs of forced entry, given the condition of the bodies?"
"I don't think the killer is choosing his victims because they have a fucking welcome mat."
"To be honest, I'm not too sure of that either. But we're obviously dealing with a complete nutter, so I think it might be worth considering. Maybe he really hates welcome mats."
Barnes let out a short groan. "Fine, I'll read it. *If* you go around the corner and get me some cigs. I've run out."
Williams glanced at the clock above the door (8:37am), then promptly obliged.
With the report and morning coffee in-hand, Barnes walked over to his desk. He waited until he could see Williams in the street through the nearby window, then chuckled as he dropped the report into the bin.
The welcome mat killer. He had now officially heard it all. Williams was a promising young officer, but he could be a real idiot sometimes. | "Good evening-" He said. He barely had time for another word as the door was once again slammed in his face. Undeterred, he knocked again, a little more persistently this time.
"Go away!" came the muffled reply from inside.
"Please, I just -". He sighed and rubbed the pale grey skin of his forehead with the back of his hand.
He leaned into the door, listening for the quickening heartbeat which echoed through the wooden door. It sounded delicious. But now was not the time for that. He was determined and relentless.
"I won't ask again. Please let me in. I just want to talk to you." He whispered, knowing his haunting voice would carry through the cracks in the heavy oak door and float like will'o'the wisps inside her head. She shook her head tearfully and put her hands over her ears, as if that would make some sort of difference.
" You leave me no choice. I'm sorry." He sighed as he put down the heavy leather suitcase he was carrying and clicked it open. He took out a rectangle of material and unfolded it, laying it flat an inch or so from the door. He pressed down on the contents of the suitcase and squeezed it closed again. Picking himself up from the floor, he observed the doormat he had just placed, grinning to himself, amused by its overly cheery 'welcome' message.
"Why, thank you" He smiled, bowing politely to the mat as he pushed open the door. Amidst the screams and panicked wailing he wondered as often he did, why it had to be so hard being a vampiric door-to-door salesman.
Disclaimer: this is my first writing prompt piece, hope you like it. | |
[WP] Vampires cannot enter a house uninvited. Turns out, they invented Welcome mats to bypass this rule decades ago. | "That has got to be, without a shadow of a doubt, the dumbest fucking thing I have ever heard."
Sergeant Barnes stood waiting for the coffee machine to finish making noise. Beside him stood Police Constable Williams, with a report in-hand.
"But it has to be the case, sir. There's no other possible connection."
"No other connection *that you can find*."
"Sir, how many victims have there been so far? Seventeen? Eighteen?"
"At least twenty," Barnes replied, as he checked his coat pockets for cigarettes. "Bloodwork suggests there's more than we originally thought. What's your point?"
"My point is that there's no other correlation between them. Do you not think it's odd that there are never any signs of forced entry, given the condition of the bodies?"
"I don't think the killer is choosing his victims because they have a fucking welcome mat."
"To be honest, I'm not too sure of that either. But we're obviously dealing with a complete nutter, so I think it might be worth considering. Maybe he really hates welcome mats."
Barnes let out a short groan. "Fine, I'll read it. *If* you go around the corner and get me some cigs. I've run out."
Williams glanced at the clock above the door (8:37am), then promptly obliged.
With the report and morning coffee in-hand, Barnes walked over to his desk. He waited until he could see Williams in the street through the nearby window, then chuckled as he dropped the report into the bin.
The welcome mat killer. He had now officially heard it all. Williams was a promising young officer, but he could be a real idiot sometimes. | "I hate this place" Maria thought as she stared out across the barren Transylvanian landscape. Leaning her head against the car window, misery tinged the blur of trees and rolling hills outside in grey. Nevermind that they were in fact mostly grey.
Not even her pulp novel, purchased by a penitent parent, could hold her attention. If only her mother hadn't taken this new job, hadn't taken them away to this land of perpetual twilight. The strangling of the engine ended her reverie. "We are here".
Her parents could have at least tried to find a less ironic house. Towering gothic spires, a yawning entrance into the shingled maw of an old Victorian manor. Even a lone raven hopping around the yard and croaking curses at the new tenants. "Dracula vs Wolfman" tumbled out of her lap and underfoot as she emerged from the car. After unloading she found it lying in the mud, spine broken.
When darkness fell, there came a knock on the door.
Two pale middle aged women, one holding a casserole and the other a parcel wrapped in brown paper, smiled tightly. "Welcome to the neighborhood!" the one with the casserole trilled. Her mom, who had answered the door, invited them in. "Oh, that won't be necessary" the other woman replied, handing her mother the parcel. "Please enjoy this blood pudding as well. It takes some getting used to, but it is a local delicacy and in time you will learn to love it." Maria hung back during this exchange. Something about the women seemed off. Perhaps it was the way they smiled. Without showing their teeth.
After they left, her mom unwrapped the package. It was a welcome mat. "Oh how thoughtful!" her mother exclaimed "See Maria? The people here are just as nice as in Pennsylvania". By the time her mother turned around after placing the mat in front of their door, Maria was already upstairs.
Midnight. The witching hour.
Maria woke up from dreams of dark shifting landscapes with an incredible thirst. She felt her way down the spiral stairs, clutching the banster to fight off disorientation from her concentric descent. The moon afforded just enough light for Maria to see movement in every shadow.
Finally in the kitchen, she grabbed a glass from one of the many cardboard boxes stacked along the walls. Water gushed from the ancient pipes into her cup. She gulped it greedily, some dribbling down her chin, although it had an unpleasant metallic taste. Grimacing, she filled the cup again and turned back to her room.
A figure loomed on the opposite side of the kitchen table, swallowing what little light was left in the room. Maria dropped the glass, shattering it on the ground. "Whwhwhat are you doing here?" She took a step back, too fearful to notice the broken glass piercing her bare feet.
"The same as you my child, a drink".
| |
[WP] Vampires cannot enter a house uninvited. Turns out, they invented Welcome mats to bypass this rule decades ago. | "That has got to be, without a shadow of a doubt, the dumbest fucking thing I have ever heard."
Sergeant Barnes stood waiting for the coffee machine to finish making noise. Beside him stood Police Constable Williams, with a report in-hand.
"But it has to be the case, sir. There's no other possible connection."
"No other connection *that you can find*."
"Sir, how many victims have there been so far? Seventeen? Eighteen?"
"At least twenty," Barnes replied, as he checked his coat pockets for cigarettes. "Bloodwork suggests there's more than we originally thought. What's your point?"
"My point is that there's no other correlation between them. Do you not think it's odd that there are never any signs of forced entry, given the condition of the bodies?"
"I don't think the killer is choosing his victims because they have a fucking welcome mat."
"To be honest, I'm not too sure of that either. But we're obviously dealing with a complete nutter, so I think it might be worth considering. Maybe he really hates welcome mats."
Barnes let out a short groan. "Fine, I'll read it. *If* you go around the corner and get me some cigs. I've run out."
Williams glanced at the clock above the door (8:37am), then promptly obliged.
With the report and morning coffee in-hand, Barnes walked over to his desk. He waited until he could see Williams in the street through the nearby window, then chuckled as he dropped the report into the bin.
The welcome mat killer. He had now officially heard it all. Williams was a promising young officer, but he could be a real idiot sometimes. | Vampires were a dying breed, once. The process of turning a human wreaked havoc on their bodies, and killed more than it saved. Technology was rapidly advancing in ways that it never had before; developing by its side was knowledge. Humans, those fragile things, were becoming wiser. Slowly, even for an immortal, but surely, they were learning.
It was when the head of Vlad of Wallachia fell down the steps of his ancestral home that the eldest among us recognized the issue. These humans, our only source of sustenance, would be the death of us. A council was formed, made of the oldest and most fearsome of our ranks. Vampires, ever the lonely hunters, were quick to rebel against this new authority. But the Council had time, and so they waited.
It took more than a century for the tides to turn in favor of the Council. The rebels were silenced by the humans, eventually. Each dissident met their end; some starved over the long hundred years, while some met their maker at the end of a stake. Our numbers were small, and our backs were against the wall. This was the world I was born into.
I watched as the Council planned. They schemed and they operated alongside the humans they used to terrorize so. Mankind was coaxed through a genesis of sorts, the Industrial Revolution. As technology advanced more rapidly, so did the population. Our numbers grew in strength, but the Council urged caution and stringent measures. Humans had to be minded, like sheep in a field.
And so we became shepherds of humanity. The Council had worked its way into every facet of human life, and had granted us the gift of free entry. Welcome mats are widespread and where they are not found, an ingrained politeness was our invitation instead. No establishment is barred to us, and no life sacred. A nocturnal lifestyle is acceptable, and pale features are fetishized. Gaunt, stretched features are prized above all, and blood can be bought and sold like any commodity (though it comes at a steep price).
The Council still operates, but its hold over my brothers and sisters has weakened. We are wily and young, and adapted to human life in ways they could never dream of. We have evaded detection thus far, though they remain hermits, afraid of the world they themselves created. But it is to them that we owe our lives; vampires were a dying breed, once, and now we control the world.
| |
[WP] Vampires cannot enter a house uninvited. Turns out, they invented Welcome mats to bypass this rule decades ago. | "That has got to be, without a shadow of a doubt, the dumbest fucking thing I have ever heard."
Sergeant Barnes stood waiting for the coffee machine to finish making noise. Beside him stood Police Constable Williams, with a report in-hand.
"But it has to be the case, sir. There's no other possible connection."
"No other connection *that you can find*."
"Sir, how many victims have there been so far? Seventeen? Eighteen?"
"At least twenty," Barnes replied, as he checked his coat pockets for cigarettes. "Bloodwork suggests there's more than we originally thought. What's your point?"
"My point is that there's no other correlation between them. Do you not think it's odd that there are never any signs of forced entry, given the condition of the bodies?"
"I don't think the killer is choosing his victims because they have a fucking welcome mat."
"To be honest, I'm not too sure of that either. But we're obviously dealing with a complete nutter, so I think it might be worth considering. Maybe he really hates welcome mats."
Barnes let out a short groan. "Fine, I'll read it. *If* you go around the corner and get me some cigs. I've run out."
Williams glanced at the clock above the door (8:37am), then promptly obliged.
With the report and morning coffee in-hand, Barnes walked over to his desk. He waited until he could see Williams in the street through the nearby window, then chuckled as he dropped the report into the bin.
The welcome mat killer. He had now officially heard it all. Williams was a promising young officer, but he could be a real idiot sometimes. | Once again, was I sitting there in the darkness. Hungry. Starving. The gossip was going around faster than my non-existing blood flow,. The mortals knew there were shady "people" around who would knock on the door with some poor excuse to try and enter the residence. Some lousy new-blood was captured and tortured for the secret of our brethren. The only way you could get work on the farms was if you were able to enter the house on the land. People were catching up, and more of our brethren were captured and executed. We needed to do something, so I started thinking while my stomach growled, echoing off of the walls. I needed to get invited in to be able to enter a house, that was the curse "Mr. Dest" cast upon us when he created us. The vampires don't like to write the history down, most of us can't even read or write, we are still doing it the old fashioned way. That means searching for any kind of rule book is out of the question. Once I get invited in though, I can freely walk in forever thats a fact. "I wonder if animals can invite us inside?" I muttered to myself before falling into laughter. "I wonder why we can enter businesses and establishments but not personal homes" I thought to myself before loudly yelling "Aha!". I started connecting the dots. All stores in town have a wooden sign that says "Welcome" or something in that variant. "I wonder..." I thought before rushing outside with the biggest grin on my face.
I had to test this! No way it could be this simple. It couldn't be, right? I ran straight towards the salesman of the town, he was a human but he was an ally, getting paid by the vampires for insider information. He didn't care much about us, his eyes only saw gold. In a way we weren't that much different, he would hurt and scam people for gold, we would hurt people for blood. Ah blood, just the thought of it makes me go mad.
I arrived at the store of the salesman. "Hiya, Darren!" I said as my eyes suddenly locked on that one particular blue vein that was sticking out in his neck as if it was the head of a deer that just heard something making a noise in the woods. "You up for making some gold?" I asked while scanning through his items, "Im looking for something people in the town all need. Something like a rocking chair for a porch, or someth..." I didn't even finish my sentence, because I had found it. I pointed my finger at the pile of empty brown doormats. "PERFECT" I grasped out of happiness. "Whats with the strange behaviour?" said Darren. I looked at him like I could murder him at that instance. I want you to paint all these mats with the word "Welcome", use white paint so it's easy to read and make the letters big. I threw a bag of gold on the counter and started waiting.
An hour later he was done, still with a question mark on his face. "I still don't understand why you wanted me to do this." he said as he sighed out of relief that he was done. "Shhhh, no questions" I say as I giggle like a little school girl while cracking my fingers. "Any customers who come in, try to sell them mats for a cheap price, you better get a list of the persons names who buy them and more of those bags will appear" He obeyed like the good little human he was.
The following day I went back there, feeling as ill as a dog who didn't eat anything for weeks. As if maggots were eating me from the inside out, the pain was unbearable. "Got the list for you, we sold out all of them". That gave me an adrenaline rush, as if I was a mortal kid again who just found a toy collection. I rushed out of there and checked the first name on the list. As it was a small town, everyone knew each other by name so that shouldn't be a problem. He lived fairly close so I rushed there. I noticed the welcome mat, even went up and stood on it, knocking on the door at the same time. "Hiya! James" I said. "I was close and was pretty thirsty, mind if I come in for a glass of water?". He opened the door but didn't invite me in, he waited for me to enter. I slowly lifted my foot and tried to step inside, and it worked. "IT WORKED!" I thought to myself. Making it hard for me not to laugh maniacally.
It worked | |
[WP] Vampires cannot enter a house uninvited. Turns out, they invented Welcome mats to bypass this rule decades ago. | Earl and Helena pulled into the condo complex.
"I'm *so* hungry," she complained, tapping her long fingernails on the window.
"That's because you didn't finish that frat boy's blood."
"He was so drunk, I was getting tipsy! And I'm not 21 yet --"
He snickered. "Ah, such a sense of morality."
"Well, yes. Unlike you, I've never killed anyone. I'm part of the Veluvian Order, remember? 'Leave them alive; take just enough to thrive.'"
He rolled his eyes, and pulled crookedly into a parking space.
"Do you see any with welcome mats? Those will be the easiest. Don't even have to get invited in," he said, stepping out of the car.
"I know that, Uncle Earl. Geez." She squinted at the doorways. "There, on the third level, I think." She pointed to a brown dot on the threshold.
"Fantastic."
The two climbed the stairs. Earl huffed and puffed as they got to the final level. "Damn asthma," he said under his breath. They walked towards the door.
"Wait..." she said, trailing off. "This isn't a traditional welcome mat."
"What?"
"Look! It doesn't say 'Welcome'. It says --" her tone turned quizzical -- "'Hi, I'm Mat.'?"
He shook his head in anger. "No, Dammit! These stupid, 'funny' welcome mats --"
"What? You've seen these before?"
"Yeah. They're popular with the younger folk. Think they're being funny and witty and clever and all that. But they're stupid. And they don't let us in."
"Who even makes them?" She crouched down, and curled up the corner of the rug.
"Some kitschy designer who think's he's being *so* witty --"
"That's odd."
"What?"
"It's 'Buffy's Welcome Mats, Incorporated'."
---
r/CSDouglas | Once again, was I sitting there in the darkness. Hungry. Starving. The gossip was going around faster than my non-existing blood flow,. The mortals knew there were shady "people" around who would knock on the door with some poor excuse to try and enter the residence. Some lousy new-blood was captured and tortured for the secret of our brethren. The only way you could get work on the farms was if you were able to enter the house on the land. People were catching up, and more of our brethren were captured and executed. We needed to do something, so I started thinking while my stomach growled, echoing off of the walls. I needed to get invited in to be able to enter a house, that was the curse "Mr. Dest" cast upon us when he created us. The vampires don't like to write the history down, most of us can't even read or write, we are still doing it the old fashioned way. That means searching for any kind of rule book is out of the question. Once I get invited in though, I can freely walk in forever thats a fact. "I wonder if animals can invite us inside?" I muttered to myself before falling into laughter. "I wonder why we can enter businesses and establishments but not personal homes" I thought to myself before loudly yelling "Aha!". I started connecting the dots. All stores in town have a wooden sign that says "Welcome" or something in that variant. "I wonder..." I thought before rushing outside with the biggest grin on my face.
I had to test this! No way it could be this simple. It couldn't be, right? I ran straight towards the salesman of the town, he was a human but he was an ally, getting paid by the vampires for insider information. He didn't care much about us, his eyes only saw gold. In a way we weren't that much different, he would hurt and scam people for gold, we would hurt people for blood. Ah blood, just the thought of it makes me go mad.
I arrived at the store of the salesman. "Hiya, Darren!" I said as my eyes suddenly locked on that one particular blue vein that was sticking out in his neck as if it was the head of a deer that just heard something making a noise in the woods. "You up for making some gold?" I asked while scanning through his items, "Im looking for something people in the town all need. Something like a rocking chair for a porch, or someth..." I didn't even finish my sentence, because I had found it. I pointed my finger at the pile of empty brown doormats. "PERFECT" I grasped out of happiness. "Whats with the strange behaviour?" said Darren. I looked at him like I could murder him at that instance. I want you to paint all these mats with the word "Welcome", use white paint so it's easy to read and make the letters big. I threw a bag of gold on the counter and started waiting.
An hour later he was done, still with a question mark on his face. "I still don't understand why you wanted me to do this." he said as he sighed out of relief that he was done. "Shhhh, no questions" I say as I giggle like a little school girl while cracking my fingers. "Any customers who come in, try to sell them mats for a cheap price, you better get a list of the persons names who buy them and more of those bags will appear" He obeyed like the good little human he was.
The following day I went back there, feeling as ill as a dog who didn't eat anything for weeks. As if maggots were eating me from the inside out, the pain was unbearable. "Got the list for you, we sold out all of them". That gave me an adrenaline rush, as if I was a mortal kid again who just found a toy collection. I rushed out of there and checked the first name on the list. As it was a small town, everyone knew each other by name so that shouldn't be a problem. He lived fairly close so I rushed there. I noticed the welcome mat, even went up and stood on it, knocking on the door at the same time. "Hiya! James" I said. "I was close and was pretty thirsty, mind if I come in for a glass of water?". He opened the door but didn't invite me in, he waited for me to enter. I slowly lifted my foot and tried to step inside, and it worked. "IT WORKED!" I thought to myself. Making it hard for me not to laugh maniacally.
It worked | |
[WP] Vampires cannot enter a house uninvited. Turns out, they invented Welcome mats to bypass this rule decades ago. | Earl and Helena pulled into the condo complex.
"I'm *so* hungry," she complained, tapping her long fingernails on the window.
"That's because you didn't finish that frat boy's blood."
"He was so drunk, I was getting tipsy! And I'm not 21 yet --"
He snickered. "Ah, such a sense of morality."
"Well, yes. Unlike you, I've never killed anyone. I'm part of the Veluvian Order, remember? 'Leave them alive; take just enough to thrive.'"
He rolled his eyes, and pulled crookedly into a parking space.
"Do you see any with welcome mats? Those will be the easiest. Don't even have to get invited in," he said, stepping out of the car.
"I know that, Uncle Earl. Geez." She squinted at the doorways. "There, on the third level, I think." She pointed to a brown dot on the threshold.
"Fantastic."
The two climbed the stairs. Earl huffed and puffed as they got to the final level. "Damn asthma," he said under his breath. They walked towards the door.
"Wait..." she said, trailing off. "This isn't a traditional welcome mat."
"What?"
"Look! It doesn't say 'Welcome'. It says --" her tone turned quizzical -- "'Hi, I'm Mat.'?"
He shook his head in anger. "No, Dammit! These stupid, 'funny' welcome mats --"
"What? You've seen these before?"
"Yeah. They're popular with the younger folk. Think they're being funny and witty and clever and all that. But they're stupid. And they don't let us in."
"Who even makes them?" She crouched down, and curled up the corner of the rug.
"Some kitschy designer who think's he's being *so* witty --"
"That's odd."
"What?"
"It's 'Buffy's Welcome Mats, Incorporated'."
---
r/CSDouglas | The woman comes to the Wal-mart, alone, on a windy evening. The door to the box-store separates for her automatically when it senses her human movements, and she shivers in the vestibule. She is very tired, but still she smiles and nods when Albert the greeter says hello, grinning with his strange teeth. She pulls a shopping cart free, and goes shuffling down the aisles, each full of every commodity imaginable, all stacked atop each other like the towers of some cliffside gothic castle.
She only has twenty dollars cash remaining in her coat pocket. It was given to her by Sandra from the community center, who had just that afternoon also invited the woman to live in her house, now that her mother had at last kicked her out for good. Whether the money was a loan or gift is still not altogether clear to the woman. However, the distinction does not matter. Deep down she knows she does not intend to ever repay it.
"My spare room isn't much bigger than a closet, but this is to help you make it feel like it's yours," Sandra had announced, when she pressed the crumpled bills into the woman's hand, "Get yourself a new little dresser, some sheets, and whatever else it will take. I'll help you set it up tonight after work."
Sandra's kindness had initially measured over two hundred dollars. Alongside the spare room, it was all such a gesture that the woman quickly realized she had no concept of how to respond, so she just stuttered a thank you, and then hugged her savior for over five seconds. She told Sandra that she had already become a second mother to her, who, unlike her real mom, understood addiction, and how when people stumble, they need compassion and support, rather than an eviction, and an oath to no longer enable. The woman promised not to waste the opportunity Sandra had given her. But even though she believed at the time that she had meant what she promised, before she was even a mile from the community center, she found herself detouring on her way to the Wal-mart, over to the park where the men in the puffy jackets are always sitting on the same bench. Soon enough, almost all Sandra's money was gone. And now, meandering through the endless Wal-mart aisles, stuffed full everything a human being could ever covet, the woman encounters the sheets and the small dressers, and the prices on them. She begins to cry.
"Are you alright, miss?" Albert the greeter asks, mincing toward her. He is very old and his skin is quite pale, even under the fluorescent Wal-mart lights. Usually the woman would lie to a stranger and send him along after being asked this sort of question. But, with Albert, for some reason she does want to dismiss him so summarily. Perhaps it is the lilt in the frail man's voice or perhaps it is just the frantic desperation of her situation; regardless, the woman feels compelled to tell him an intimate truth.
"I think I just ruined the last chance I had at a decent life," she says, wiping her nose on her sleeve, "All because I can't control myself. All because I'm a fucking vampire who just can't stop consuming and hurting people."
She goes on to unburden herself to Albert, as if he was a priest, with the kitchenware aisle for his confessional. She tells him about the drugs, how it began with the cooks and other waitresses all reeking of garlic after too-long shifts in the restaurant, how it migrated to parties on the weekends, and then to alleyways and abandoned buildings, how her mother would inspect her forearms with a flashlight and lock up her purse at night, how she went to the meetings, but spent most of it on her cell phone, until it was her turn to speak, when she would stand before the crowd and just lie. She tells Albert about Sandra, and how she doesn't even know what she is doing in the fucking Wal-mart since she has no money left and will never again be able to look that saintly woman in the eyes.
"Well, if you're a vampire, then I'd say you're in the right place," Albert tells the woman, stroking her back gently, "Everyone in Wal-mart is a vampire in one way or another, just insatiably consuming all this garbage. But, you know, maybe being a vampire is the highest, best thing anyone can be these days. So maybe you should just stop fighting against what you really are."
The woman chuckles a little. The old man is more pragmatic than she would have expected. "That's all well and good, but it won't exactly help me find a place to sleep tonight, now will it?" she asks.
"Oh I don't know about that," Albert responds, "I think if you really wanted to, you could still find a way to lay your head at that Sandra lady's place, and I think you could do it without having to ever admit your little slip up to her. Tell me, do you think Sandra has a welcome mat outside her house? If not, this Wal-mart's got a lovely selection of welcome mats, and plenty of them are cheaper than twenty bucks. Maybe all it will take for you to get yourself into Sandra's house tonight is laying down a welcome mat beside her door."
The woman looks at Albert with a furrowed brow. "Okay now you're not making any sense, what does a welcome mat have to -"
Albert puts his wrinkled, liver spotted finger on her lips. He leans in and whispers in her ear. Her eyes go wide.
| |
[WP] Everytime you die, you wake up six years old again on your first day of kindergarten, remembering all your past lives. Today is your twelfth restart. | *"Dang it, that was my best one yet."*
My previous life - yes, previous - I was a mathematical professor, one of the most famous ones. Every time I died, I had to cope in the same time. I can't ever get the date out of my head, when I was born. You know, I'm always told it was January 21st 2006, but I never remember. I mean, I'm not that special. Most people don't remember what it was like being born.
Right?
I don't even remember. All the thoughts and memories would have to be left behind. I'm gonna miss Samantha in England. Now I won't ever see her again, after that **stupid** stunt I did. Now it seemed like I was in America, and instead of going to a nursery or reception, I'm in a kindergarten.
Always a six year old.
Always in kindergarten.
Why couldn't it be different?
A blonde woman was standing next to me waiting for me to go in - my mother, I assume. Inside a teacher was waiting for me.
"So, Matthew is it?"
That must be my name I guess. Matthew. I kind of like it. Same name my best friend had in my 7th lifetime.
The blonde haired woman, or my "mother" (it's going to be so weird calling her that) hugged me and patted me on the back, saying she would be back for me later. I started crying, not because I was going to miss her, but because I started thinking about Samantha and the kids. What will they do without their father? My latest discovery to find out the sequence in Pi gone forever, notes lost in the office under tonnes of paperwork.
She kissed me on the cheek and lightly pushed me in. The teacher must've recognized me as a shy sort for not really responding to her before, although I was just lost in deep thought. I did hear one thing, however.
"He's probably going to struggle a little bit, he isn't that confident."
What a surprise they were in for.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
That was my second ever story here, and I can definitely improve. So yeah, I know it's bad :P | The first time was a relief, it was something I had wished for, oddly enough. I had wanted more than anything to go back to my childhood when everything seemed perfect, magical mysterious and I still had a chance to fix my life. My family had moved out of state during kindergarten year which left me separated from my friends, and the only life I had known. The move was followed by a messy divorce which left me feeling alienated from the other kids in a way I never truly recovered from. I wished then more then anything that I would wake up from that life to find that the past five years had been a coma dream and I would wake to find myself six again. And that, turns out, was exactly what happened. I don't remember exactly how I died that first time, indeed that was so long ago, all I remember was waking up in a hospital bed and being shocked at both how small I looked and the sight of both my parents. I used this life as my second chance, a time to say all the things that had never occurred to me and to use all the opportunities I had missed. While moving houses was inevitable, I managed to stay in touch with one of my friends through the use of phone calls and emails, and for that I was very grateful.
Unfortunately, my first re-run of my life didn't last long; it was sadly only about two years. I'm pretty certain I died due to an accident caused by me not looking when I crossed the street, though I just can’t remember too well. Again I awoke in a hospital bed being six years old, my parents the spitting image of what they had looked like two years ago. I was told that I had fainted and had slipped into a coma for two days. Though I was quite disoriented, I put the memories of my past lives behind me and tried once again to live my life in a way that I was content with. This time I stayed in contact with a few of my out-of-state friends and hung out with other people instead of retreating into myself during my parents divorce. I even lived until I was about to finish middle school but my newfound hobby of gymnastics caused my downfall. I messed up on a backflip, landed on my neck, and there I was, six years old again, back in that hospital bed.
For lives three, four, and five, I focused on becoming a prodigy. In life three, I convinced my parents to put me in music and dance lessons when I was seven. I found that I retained some of the skills from my past lives and this played out in my favor. It led to me, in life five, being able to play the piano quite well for an eight year old and even managing to make it into a competitive dance team despite being naturally clumsy.
The self improvement years all came to and end though, and by life six I was endlessly bored. Even though life can have endless possibilities, everything seemed too much the same, too familiar, and too unchangeable. I tried ending my life on my own — twice — but that just led to me waking up six years old.
By life eight I had resigned to my fate and focused myself instead on wandering through the nostalgia, I learned to find a faint charm the sense of routine and I learned to enjoy the faint bittersweet feeling that followed me everywhere.
On life eleven I tried to change everything I could and I think I went insane in the process. I became so desperate for change that I was willing to do anything; I defaced furniture and toys and broke windows in a ditch effort to make everything look different. That life lasted about three years — three long years until I died from falling out of a window I had tried to break open.
I am now twenty-five years into my current life, the longest I have lived so far. I was once again relieved to be away from the disaster of the past. For the first ten years I lived out my life in an average manner, taking simple pleasure from the monotony I had come to know. I don't know if this loop will ever stop or if I will ever go to sleep one day and never wake up. I don't want to die now, I really don’t. I never want to wake up in that hospital bed again. I've become so afraid of dying, and so protective of my life. I have stopped going outside now, the world seems much too dangerous for me. I don't know what to do anymore. I know my current life will end soon and I will probably wake up six years old again and there will be nothing I can do to stop it. Truly it is quite ironic how the fate I had wished for in order to fix my life’s problems had now caused my personal hell. | |
[WP] Everytime you die, you wake up six years old again on your first day of kindergarten, remembering all your past lives. Today is your twelfth restart. | Ms. Weber was having a rough day. Then again, all her days were rough. She had never intended to teach kids. Truth be told, she hated them. But her degree was in Child Care and there had been an opening and she was getting to that age were alcohol wasn't free anymore, so she took the job.
It was the first day at Von Erner Elementary. Her kids were wild things. Running, biting, spitting, shouting. She watched a boy feed his booger to a girl who treated it like a Maison chocolate. Another child was doing his best impression of King Kong, balanced on a whiteboard stand. Weber supposed she could say something but she honestly wanted to see what would happen.
However, one boy grabbed her attention. He looked half asleep and was staring at the window. His eyes were blank and vacant. It made her shiver. They were hollow looking, like they were waiting to be filled.
A whining noise filled her ear. It increased in volume, making her shrink back behind her desk. She was sure her ears were bleeding, How were the windows not shattered?
Suddenly, the noise stopped. The kindergartners hadn't reacted at all. They were still screaming and laughing. She peeked over her desk and the empty boy was now standing up.
He look pissed.
"GOD DAMMIT!" he shrieked.
She started and accidentally banged her knee on her desk. The noise sounded like a gunshot in the silence that had followed the boy's outburst. He whirled around and his eyes narrowed.
The boy marched over to her with a strange swagger that was much too old.
"What country is this?" he asked. He was speaking English with a perfect accent.
"T-this is Germany," she replied, nervously. Something was wrong.
The boy switched to German without missing a beat. "What year is it?"
"2017," she said. "Sir," she added. It was silly, but seemed like the right thing to do.
"Hmm, a year off. Not bad." He grimaced as he looked down at his clothes. "Who dressed me? Christ, these colors are terrible."
"Ummm..."
His eyes flicked over her. A leer was something she was used to, but this was different. He examined her like slaughtered meat on the butcher block. Sizing up her length and heft like an old hand. "What's your name?"
"Samantha," she croaked. She felt like a animal trapped in a cage. His eyes were ancient. Old and deep like a well in the ruins of a city. It made his cherub face strange to behold.
There was an intelligence there. Not a kind one. But cruel. Weathered by years of experience she could never understand. She watched his old eyes gaze dismissively at his surroundings like he'd seen it all before time and time again. This boy made her feel small.
He reached out and gripped her hand. It was too strong for a child. The bones inside creaked from the pressure. "Listen Samantha. Here's what we're going to do." | The first time was a relief, it was something I had wished for, oddly enough. I had wanted more than anything to go back to my childhood when everything seemed perfect, magical mysterious and I still had a chance to fix my life. My family had moved out of state during kindergarten year which left me separated from my friends, and the only life I had known. The move was followed by a messy divorce which left me feeling alienated from the other kids in a way I never truly recovered from. I wished then more then anything that I would wake up from that life to find that the past five years had been a coma dream and I would wake to find myself six again. And that, turns out, was exactly what happened. I don't remember exactly how I died that first time, indeed that was so long ago, all I remember was waking up in a hospital bed and being shocked at both how small I looked and the sight of both my parents. I used this life as my second chance, a time to say all the things that had never occurred to me and to use all the opportunities I had missed. While moving houses was inevitable, I managed to stay in touch with one of my friends through the use of phone calls and emails, and for that I was very grateful.
Unfortunately, my first re-run of my life didn't last long; it was sadly only about two years. I'm pretty certain I died due to an accident caused by me not looking when I crossed the street, though I just can’t remember too well. Again I awoke in a hospital bed being six years old, my parents the spitting image of what they had looked like two years ago. I was told that I had fainted and had slipped into a coma for two days. Though I was quite disoriented, I put the memories of my past lives behind me and tried once again to live my life in a way that I was content with. This time I stayed in contact with a few of my out-of-state friends and hung out with other people instead of retreating into myself during my parents divorce. I even lived until I was about to finish middle school but my newfound hobby of gymnastics caused my downfall. I messed up on a backflip, landed on my neck, and there I was, six years old again, back in that hospital bed.
For lives three, four, and five, I focused on becoming a prodigy. In life three, I convinced my parents to put me in music and dance lessons when I was seven. I found that I retained some of the skills from my past lives and this played out in my favor. It led to me, in life five, being able to play the piano quite well for an eight year old and even managing to make it into a competitive dance team despite being naturally clumsy.
The self improvement years all came to and end though, and by life six I was endlessly bored. Even though life can have endless possibilities, everything seemed too much the same, too familiar, and too unchangeable. I tried ending my life on my own — twice — but that just led to me waking up six years old.
By life eight I had resigned to my fate and focused myself instead on wandering through the nostalgia, I learned to find a faint charm the sense of routine and I learned to enjoy the faint bittersweet feeling that followed me everywhere.
On life eleven I tried to change everything I could and I think I went insane in the process. I became so desperate for change that I was willing to do anything; I defaced furniture and toys and broke windows in a ditch effort to make everything look different. That life lasted about three years — three long years until I died from falling out of a window I had tried to break open.
I am now twenty-five years into my current life, the longest I have lived so far. I was once again relieved to be away from the disaster of the past. For the first ten years I lived out my life in an average manner, taking simple pleasure from the monotony I had come to know. I don't know if this loop will ever stop or if I will ever go to sleep one day and never wake up. I don't want to die now, I really don’t. I never want to wake up in that hospital bed again. I've become so afraid of dying, and so protective of my life. I have stopped going outside now, the world seems much too dangerous for me. I don't know what to do anymore. I know my current life will end soon and I will probably wake up six years old again and there will be nothing I can do to stop it. Truly it is quite ironic how the fate I had wished for in order to fix my life’s problems had now caused my personal hell. | |
[WP] Everytime you die, you wake up six years old again on your first day of kindergarten, remembering all your past lives. Today is your twelfth restart. | Alright, that last one was a waste, I admit it. Who know how many more attempts I'll get. But to be kind of honest, it really is quite a thrill diving head first into the ocean off the north tower of the Golden Gate Bridge when you're only eight years old. I'd lived a mere two years in my awakened state but had to take advantage of the fact I was an orphan and not many would miss me. Doesn't compare much to suicide by faulty parachute while skydiving though. Now that was something.
Anyways, I need to start being more practical with my lives. I still remember the first life I ever lived. Full of fear, of self-doubt. Paralyzed by a life constantly analyzed—perpetually stuck thinking about what I want to do instead of actually doing. A wife and two kids, yet I still died an empty and lonely life on my deathbed, hardly taken advantage of my status as grandpa of four years.
To have closed my eyes for what I thought'd be the last time in eternity but for it to have actually been a mere blink before I reopened them to a kindergarten classroom, well let's just say it was a lot to process.
My second time around, in spite of this game called life, I lived as a playboy fulfilling only my own desires, but that lead to a quick death. Another empty life.
Round three and four were tame lives, not even worth discussing.
Round five didn't last long given I was a born Black into a slave era. Thought I was one of the lucky ones to be getting a secret education at such a young age but once the Whites found out about it, it was the end of me.
Six through nine were pretty solid though, three iterations of Asian families to build my discipline.
Which lead to the year 1885. My Einstein days were a good haul. I'd say I contributed quite a lot with that life.
Round ten was solid. Exhausted from all the academia, had a quick run through the Olympics. I wanted another shot at science though, hence my skydiving "accident".
Eleven I was born a girl and I just knew given the corrupt and biased state of society, I wouldn't be able to reach the ranks I wanted. Humanity still needed more time to evolve.
And now here we are. The year is 1977. Not the best of lives so far, I admit. I'm bullied quite a bit and my father is emotionally abusive. It's interesting being born in South Africa but I sense a world of opportunity ahead in the United States. I may stick this life out and see what happens.
"Elon?" my teacher called in my direction.
"Present." | The first time was a relief, it was something I had wished for, oddly enough. I had wanted more than anything to go back to my childhood when everything seemed perfect, magical mysterious and I still had a chance to fix my life. My family had moved out of state during kindergarten year which left me separated from my friends, and the only life I had known. The move was followed by a messy divorce which left me feeling alienated from the other kids in a way I never truly recovered from. I wished then more then anything that I would wake up from that life to find that the past five years had been a coma dream and I would wake to find myself six again. And that, turns out, was exactly what happened. I don't remember exactly how I died that first time, indeed that was so long ago, all I remember was waking up in a hospital bed and being shocked at both how small I looked and the sight of both my parents. I used this life as my second chance, a time to say all the things that had never occurred to me and to use all the opportunities I had missed. While moving houses was inevitable, I managed to stay in touch with one of my friends through the use of phone calls and emails, and for that I was very grateful.
Unfortunately, my first re-run of my life didn't last long; it was sadly only about two years. I'm pretty certain I died due to an accident caused by me not looking when I crossed the street, though I just can’t remember too well. Again I awoke in a hospital bed being six years old, my parents the spitting image of what they had looked like two years ago. I was told that I had fainted and had slipped into a coma for two days. Though I was quite disoriented, I put the memories of my past lives behind me and tried once again to live my life in a way that I was content with. This time I stayed in contact with a few of my out-of-state friends and hung out with other people instead of retreating into myself during my parents divorce. I even lived until I was about to finish middle school but my newfound hobby of gymnastics caused my downfall. I messed up on a backflip, landed on my neck, and there I was, six years old again, back in that hospital bed.
For lives three, four, and five, I focused on becoming a prodigy. In life three, I convinced my parents to put me in music and dance lessons when I was seven. I found that I retained some of the skills from my past lives and this played out in my favor. It led to me, in life five, being able to play the piano quite well for an eight year old and even managing to make it into a competitive dance team despite being naturally clumsy.
The self improvement years all came to and end though, and by life six I was endlessly bored. Even though life can have endless possibilities, everything seemed too much the same, too familiar, and too unchangeable. I tried ending my life on my own — twice — but that just led to me waking up six years old.
By life eight I had resigned to my fate and focused myself instead on wandering through the nostalgia, I learned to find a faint charm the sense of routine and I learned to enjoy the faint bittersweet feeling that followed me everywhere.
On life eleven I tried to change everything I could and I think I went insane in the process. I became so desperate for change that I was willing to do anything; I defaced furniture and toys and broke windows in a ditch effort to make everything look different. That life lasted about three years — three long years until I died from falling out of a window I had tried to break open.
I am now twenty-five years into my current life, the longest I have lived so far. I was once again relieved to be away from the disaster of the past. For the first ten years I lived out my life in an average manner, taking simple pleasure from the monotony I had come to know. I don't know if this loop will ever stop or if I will ever go to sleep one day and never wake up. I don't want to die now, I really don’t. I never want to wake up in that hospital bed again. I've become so afraid of dying, and so protective of my life. I have stopped going outside now, the world seems much too dangerous for me. I don't know what to do anymore. I know my current life will end soon and I will probably wake up six years old again and there will be nothing I can do to stop it. Truly it is quite ironic how the fate I had wished for in order to fix my life’s problems had now caused my personal hell. | |
[WP] Everytime you die, you wake up six years old again on your first day of kindergarten, remembering all your past lives. Today is your twelfth restart. | Ms. Weber was having a rough day. Then again, all her days were rough. She had never intended to teach kids. Truth be told, she hated them. But her degree was in Child Care and there had been an opening and she was getting to that age were alcohol wasn't free anymore, so she took the job.
It was the first day at Von Erner Elementary. Her kids were wild things. Running, biting, spitting, shouting. She watched a boy feed his booger to a girl who treated it like a Maison chocolate. Another child was doing his best impression of King Kong, balanced on a whiteboard stand. Weber supposed she could say something but she honestly wanted to see what would happen.
However, one boy grabbed her attention. He looked half asleep and was staring at the window. His eyes were blank and vacant. It made her shiver. They were hollow looking, like they were waiting to be filled.
A whining noise filled her ear. It increased in volume, making her shrink back behind her desk. She was sure her ears were bleeding, How were the windows not shattered?
Suddenly, the noise stopped. The kindergartners hadn't reacted at all. They were still screaming and laughing. She peeked over her desk and the empty boy was now standing up.
He look pissed.
"GOD DAMMIT!" he shrieked.
She started and accidentally banged her knee on her desk. The noise sounded like a gunshot in the silence that had followed the boy's outburst. He whirled around and his eyes narrowed.
The boy marched over to her with a strange swagger that was much too old.
"What country is this?" he asked. He was speaking English with a perfect accent.
"T-this is Germany," she replied, nervously. Something was wrong.
The boy switched to German without missing a beat. "What year is it?"
"2017," she said. "Sir," she added. It was silly, but seemed like the right thing to do.
"Hmm, a year off. Not bad." He grimaced as he looked down at his clothes. "Who dressed me? Christ, these colors are terrible."
"Ummm..."
His eyes flicked over her. A leer was something she was used to, but this was different. He examined her like slaughtered meat on the butcher block. Sizing up her length and heft like an old hand. "What's your name?"
"Samantha," she croaked. She felt like a animal trapped in a cage. His eyes were ancient. Old and deep like a well in the ruins of a city. It made his cherub face strange to behold.
There was an intelligence there. Not a kind one. But cruel. Weathered by years of experience she could never understand. She watched his old eyes gaze dismissively at his surroundings like he'd seen it all before time and time again. This boy made her feel small.
He reached out and gripped her hand. It was too strong for a child. The bones inside creaked from the pressure. "Listen Samantha. Here's what we're going to do." | The bang.
The thud.
The pain.
The numb.
The dark.
The light.
I opened my eyes. The dinosaur stickers on the ceiling hit me with a wave of nausea and nostalgia. “Nap time’s over now kids, up you get”. Mrs Brown. Once so sweet and caring, now seemingly fickle and fake. This must have been what my parents saw. Adult emotions in a child’s body. Where was I this time? Bosnia? No, that was two... *ends*... ago. The bedroom fire? Don’t think so. It was a thudder. I fell. Not a cruncher though, I didn’t fall that far. Not an Iceland, not this time.
Where was I? Somewhere cold, or... was that a leftover from the in-between? No, somewhere cold. Eastern Europe again, but I’d avoided Bosnia this run-around. On purpose. Hungary? The Czech Republic? No, Ukraine. That was stupid, I’d seen the annexation 9 of the 11 lives I’ve had so far. I started to cry. Hormonal five year old bodies. I felt Mrs Brown scooping me up and holding me. Comforting me in a soft manner.
Maybe this time I’d just become an accountant. | |
[WP] Everytime you die, you wake up six years old again on your first day of kindergarten, remembering all your past lives. Today is your twelfth restart. | Alright, that last one was a waste, I admit it. Who know how many more attempts I'll get. But to be kind of honest, it really is quite a thrill diving head first into the ocean off the north tower of the Golden Gate Bridge when you're only eight years old. I'd lived a mere two years in my awakened state but had to take advantage of the fact I was an orphan and not many would miss me. Doesn't compare much to suicide by faulty parachute while skydiving though. Now that was something.
Anyways, I need to start being more practical with my lives. I still remember the first life I ever lived. Full of fear, of self-doubt. Paralyzed by a life constantly analyzed—perpetually stuck thinking about what I want to do instead of actually doing. A wife and two kids, yet I still died an empty and lonely life on my deathbed, hardly taken advantage of my status as grandpa of four years.
To have closed my eyes for what I thought'd be the last time in eternity but for it to have actually been a mere blink before I reopened them to a kindergarten classroom, well let's just say it was a lot to process.
My second time around, in spite of this game called life, I lived as a playboy fulfilling only my own desires, but that lead to a quick death. Another empty life.
Round three and four were tame lives, not even worth discussing.
Round five didn't last long given I was a born Black into a slave era. Thought I was one of the lucky ones to be getting a secret education at such a young age but once the Whites found out about it, it was the end of me.
Six through nine were pretty solid though, three iterations of Asian families to build my discipline.
Which lead to the year 1885. My Einstein days were a good haul. I'd say I contributed quite a lot with that life.
Round ten was solid. Exhausted from all the academia, had a quick run through the Olympics. I wanted another shot at science though, hence my skydiving "accident".
Eleven I was born a girl and I just knew given the corrupt and biased state of society, I wouldn't be able to reach the ranks I wanted. Humanity still needed more time to evolve.
And now here we are. The year is 1977. Not the best of lives so far, I admit. I'm bullied quite a bit and my father is emotionally abusive. It's interesting being born in South Africa but I sense a world of opportunity ahead in the United States. I may stick this life out and see what happens.
"Elon?" my teacher called in my direction.
"Present." | The bang.
The thud.
The pain.
The numb.
The dark.
The light.
I opened my eyes. The dinosaur stickers on the ceiling hit me with a wave of nausea and nostalgia. “Nap time’s over now kids, up you get”. Mrs Brown. Once so sweet and caring, now seemingly fickle and fake. This must have been what my parents saw. Adult emotions in a child’s body. Where was I this time? Bosnia? No, that was two... *ends*... ago. The bedroom fire? Don’t think so. It was a thudder. I fell. Not a cruncher though, I didn’t fall that far. Not an Iceland, not this time.
Where was I? Somewhere cold, or... was that a leftover from the in-between? No, somewhere cold. Eastern Europe again, but I’d avoided Bosnia this run-around. On purpose. Hungary? The Czech Republic? No, Ukraine. That was stupid, I’d seen the annexation 9 of the 11 lives I’ve had so far. I started to cry. Hormonal five year old bodies. I felt Mrs Brown scooping me up and holding me. Comforting me in a soft manner.
Maybe this time I’d just become an accountant. | |
[WP] Everytime you die, you wake up six years old again on your first day of kindergarten, remembering all your past lives. Today is your twelfth restart. | *"Dang it, that was my best one yet."*
My previous life - yes, previous - I was a mathematical professor, one of the most famous ones. Every time I died, I had to cope in the same time. I can't ever get the date out of my head, when I was born. You know, I'm always told it was January 21st 2006, but I never remember. I mean, I'm not that special. Most people don't remember what it was like being born.
Right?
I don't even remember. All the thoughts and memories would have to be left behind. I'm gonna miss Samantha in England. Now I won't ever see her again, after that **stupid** stunt I did. Now it seemed like I was in America, and instead of going to a nursery or reception, I'm in a kindergarten.
Always a six year old.
Always in kindergarten.
Why couldn't it be different?
A blonde woman was standing next to me waiting for me to go in - my mother, I assume. Inside a teacher was waiting for me.
"So, Matthew is it?"
That must be my name I guess. Matthew. I kind of like it. Same name my best friend had in my 7th lifetime.
The blonde haired woman, or my "mother" (it's going to be so weird calling her that) hugged me and patted me on the back, saying she would be back for me later. I started crying, not because I was going to miss her, but because I started thinking about Samantha and the kids. What will they do without their father? My latest discovery to find out the sequence in Pi gone forever, notes lost in the office under tonnes of paperwork.
She kissed me on the cheek and lightly pushed me in. The teacher must've recognized me as a shy sort for not really responding to her before, although I was just lost in deep thought. I did hear one thing, however.
"He's probably going to struggle a little bit, he isn't that confident."
What a surprise they were in for.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
That was my second ever story here, and I can definitely improve. So yeah, I know it's bad :P | I walked in the room to see the familiar, bright colored walls. The sound of children screaming, laughing, and crying fills my ears. The teacher, Ms. Rem, is greeting parents dropping off their children.
"Go on in sweetie." I hear my mother's voice say behind me. I feel her hand on my shoulder, pushing me forward. My eyes fill with tears as I fight to hold back both my joy and sorrow.
This is the thirteenth time hearing those words. Everytime they are sweet, encouraging, and loving. She knows I'm afraid to be in "big kid school", but she also knows that once I adjust, I will have the best time of my six year old life. If only she knew I've lived hundreds of years on repeat.
Everytime I die, I restart here in this very spot. I can't figure out why. At first, I thought I had moved on, but it became quickly apparent that I was alive again. I was reliving my life, but with my old memories.
After adjusting, I tried to figure out why this happened to me. I figured I had to do something in my life to die. Something I didn't do the first time.
I focused more on my family the second time. I even had a third child. When that failed, I tried telling people about tragedies and attacks to try to stop them, but that just landed me in the hands of the government for testing. I died much earlier than I was meant to that time.
I tried so many different things they all started to blur together. I remember shunning family for money, giving up all worldly possessions and becoming a monk, even trying to be a vigilante of justice! But nothing worked. Everytime I end up back here.
I feel like I've tried everything. I'm trapped in an infinite time loop. I'll never be free from this curse. I turn to my mom and hug her tight and start crying. She holds me back and gently says "It'll be okay sweetheat. You'll do great. I love you."
With those words said, she lets me go and leaves. She waves goodbye and I wave back. I walk into the classroom a few steps and stop. On the floor in front of me is the same shiny coin I picked up that first day. I bend down and pick it up once again. "Maybe this time you'll actually bring me some luck." I mutter to myself, shoving it into the pocket of my backpack.
Another new life awaits me. Maybe this time. I'll just let it run its course. After twelve tries, I need a break.
| |
[WP] Everytime you die, you wake up six years old again on your first day of kindergarten, remembering all your past lives. Today is your twelfth restart. | Ms. Weber was having a rough day. Then again, all her days were rough. She had never intended to teach kids. Truth be told, she hated them. But her degree was in Child Care and there had been an opening and she was getting to that age were alcohol wasn't free anymore, so she took the job.
It was the first day at Von Erner Elementary. Her kids were wild things. Running, biting, spitting, shouting. She watched a boy feed his booger to a girl who treated it like a Maison chocolate. Another child was doing his best impression of King Kong, balanced on a whiteboard stand. Weber supposed she could say something but she honestly wanted to see what would happen.
However, one boy grabbed her attention. He looked half asleep and was staring at the window. His eyes were blank and vacant. It made her shiver. They were hollow looking, like they were waiting to be filled.
A whining noise filled her ear. It increased in volume, making her shrink back behind her desk. She was sure her ears were bleeding, How were the windows not shattered?
Suddenly, the noise stopped. The kindergartners hadn't reacted at all. They were still screaming and laughing. She peeked over her desk and the empty boy was now standing up.
He look pissed.
"GOD DAMMIT!" he shrieked.
She started and accidentally banged her knee on her desk. The noise sounded like a gunshot in the silence that had followed the boy's outburst. He whirled around and his eyes narrowed.
The boy marched over to her with a strange swagger that was much too old.
"What country is this?" he asked. He was speaking English with a perfect accent.
"T-this is Germany," she replied, nervously. Something was wrong.
The boy switched to German without missing a beat. "What year is it?"
"2017," she said. "Sir," she added. It was silly, but seemed like the right thing to do.
"Hmm, a year off. Not bad." He grimaced as he looked down at his clothes. "Who dressed me? Christ, these colors are terrible."
"Ummm..."
His eyes flicked over her. A leer was something she was used to, but this was different. He examined her like slaughtered meat on the butcher block. Sizing up her length and heft like an old hand. "What's your name?"
"Samantha," she croaked. She felt like a animal trapped in a cage. His eyes were ancient. Old and deep like a well in the ruins of a city. It made his cherub face strange to behold.
There was an intelligence there. Not a kind one. But cruel. Weathered by years of experience she could never understand. She watched his old eyes gaze dismissively at his surroundings like he'd seen it all before time and time again. This boy made her feel small.
He reached out and gripped her hand. It was too strong for a child. The bones inside creaked from the pressure. "Listen Samantha. Here's what we're going to do." | I walked in the room to see the familiar, bright colored walls. The sound of children screaming, laughing, and crying fills my ears. The teacher, Ms. Rem, is greeting parents dropping off their children.
"Go on in sweetie." I hear my mother's voice say behind me. I feel her hand on my shoulder, pushing me forward. My eyes fill with tears as I fight to hold back both my joy and sorrow.
This is the thirteenth time hearing those words. Everytime they are sweet, encouraging, and loving. She knows I'm afraid to be in "big kid school", but she also knows that once I adjust, I will have the best time of my six year old life. If only she knew I've lived hundreds of years on repeat.
Everytime I die, I restart here in this very spot. I can't figure out why. At first, I thought I had moved on, but it became quickly apparent that I was alive again. I was reliving my life, but with my old memories.
After adjusting, I tried to figure out why this happened to me. I figured I had to do something in my life to die. Something I didn't do the first time.
I focused more on my family the second time. I even had a third child. When that failed, I tried telling people about tragedies and attacks to try to stop them, but that just landed me in the hands of the government for testing. I died much earlier than I was meant to that time.
I tried so many different things they all started to blur together. I remember shunning family for money, giving up all worldly possessions and becoming a monk, even trying to be a vigilante of justice! But nothing worked. Everytime I end up back here.
I feel like I've tried everything. I'm trapped in an infinite time loop. I'll never be free from this curse. I turn to my mom and hug her tight and start crying. She holds me back and gently says "It'll be okay sweetheat. You'll do great. I love you."
With those words said, she lets me go and leaves. She waves goodbye and I wave back. I walk into the classroom a few steps and stop. On the floor in front of me is the same shiny coin I picked up that first day. I bend down and pick it up once again. "Maybe this time you'll actually bring me some luck." I mutter to myself, shoving it into the pocket of my backpack.
Another new life awaits me. Maybe this time. I'll just let it run its course. After twelve tries, I need a break.
| |
[WP] Everytime you die, you wake up six years old again on your first day of kindergarten, remembering all your past lives. Today is your twelfth restart. | I saw the flash and I knew I had failed. Again. The ground shook and the walls came falling down around me.
I woke with a start and yelled "Dammit! I can't stop it!" Mom opened my door and said a bit crossly "I know you don't want to go to school, but you don't need to swear." I sighed and slid out of bed "Sorry mom...its just... I can't stop it." "What hon, going to school? We all have to-" "No" I said a bit too sharply, "The war."
She paused and looked up at me from where she was picking out my clothes for the day. "What war?" she asked with a slight edge.
"The war with China!" I said with as much patience as I could muster.
She gave me a sad smile and said "Your father is doing everything he can to talk with them. He's got Mr Adkins-"
"Adkins is a terrible secretary of state, Dad never should have nominated him."
Mom gave me another look, and then turned and opened the door. She leaned out and said to the secret service agent standing outside "Can you please call Bob? Tim is behaving oddly." The agent nodded "Yes ma'am." He dialed a number and started speaking too it. Mom turned back to me and gave me a reassuring smile "Dad will want to see you off."
I sighed and shook my head. No matter what I did, not matter what I said, no one listened to a six year old boy. No one believed me when I told them of the crisis between Japan and China would lead to nuclear war. No one believed me when I told them we all had six months to live.
| I walked in the room to see the familiar, bright colored walls. The sound of children screaming, laughing, and crying fills my ears. The teacher, Ms. Rem, is greeting parents dropping off their children.
"Go on in sweetie." I hear my mother's voice say behind me. I feel her hand on my shoulder, pushing me forward. My eyes fill with tears as I fight to hold back both my joy and sorrow.
This is the thirteenth time hearing those words. Everytime they are sweet, encouraging, and loving. She knows I'm afraid to be in "big kid school", but she also knows that once I adjust, I will have the best time of my six year old life. If only she knew I've lived hundreds of years on repeat.
Everytime I die, I restart here in this very spot. I can't figure out why. At first, I thought I had moved on, but it became quickly apparent that I was alive again. I was reliving my life, but with my old memories.
After adjusting, I tried to figure out why this happened to me. I figured I had to do something in my life to die. Something I didn't do the first time.
I focused more on my family the second time. I even had a third child. When that failed, I tried telling people about tragedies and attacks to try to stop them, but that just landed me in the hands of the government for testing. I died much earlier than I was meant to that time.
I tried so many different things they all started to blur together. I remember shunning family for money, giving up all worldly possessions and becoming a monk, even trying to be a vigilante of justice! But nothing worked. Everytime I end up back here.
I feel like I've tried everything. I'm trapped in an infinite time loop. I'll never be free from this curse. I turn to my mom and hug her tight and start crying. She holds me back and gently says "It'll be okay sweetheat. You'll do great. I love you."
With those words said, she lets me go and leaves. She waves goodbye and I wave back. I walk into the classroom a few steps and stop. On the floor in front of me is the same shiny coin I picked up that first day. I bend down and pick it up once again. "Maybe this time you'll actually bring me some luck." I mutter to myself, shoving it into the pocket of my backpack.
Another new life awaits me. Maybe this time. I'll just let it run its course. After twelve tries, I need a break.
| |
[WP] Everytime you die, you wake up six years old again on your first day of kindergarten, remembering all your past lives. Today is your twelfth restart. | Alright, that last one was a waste, I admit it. Who know how many more attempts I'll get. But to be kind of honest, it really is quite a thrill diving head first into the ocean off the north tower of the Golden Gate Bridge when you're only eight years old. I'd lived a mere two years in my awakened state but had to take advantage of the fact I was an orphan and not many would miss me. Doesn't compare much to suicide by faulty parachute while skydiving though. Now that was something.
Anyways, I need to start being more practical with my lives. I still remember the first life I ever lived. Full of fear, of self-doubt. Paralyzed by a life constantly analyzed—perpetually stuck thinking about what I want to do instead of actually doing. A wife and two kids, yet I still died an empty and lonely life on my deathbed, hardly taken advantage of my status as grandpa of four years.
To have closed my eyes for what I thought'd be the last time in eternity but for it to have actually been a mere blink before I reopened them to a kindergarten classroom, well let's just say it was a lot to process.
My second time around, in spite of this game called life, I lived as a playboy fulfilling only my own desires, but that lead to a quick death. Another empty life.
Round three and four were tame lives, not even worth discussing.
Round five didn't last long given I was a born Black into a slave era. Thought I was one of the lucky ones to be getting a secret education at such a young age but once the Whites found out about it, it was the end of me.
Six through nine were pretty solid though, three iterations of Asian families to build my discipline.
Which lead to the year 1885. My Einstein days were a good haul. I'd say I contributed quite a lot with that life.
Round ten was solid. Exhausted from all the academia, had a quick run through the Olympics. I wanted another shot at science though, hence my skydiving "accident".
Eleven I was born a girl and I just knew given the corrupt and biased state of society, I wouldn't be able to reach the ranks I wanted. Humanity still needed more time to evolve.
And now here we are. The year is 1977. Not the best of lives so far, I admit. I'm bullied quite a bit and my father is emotionally abusive. It's interesting being born in South Africa but I sense a world of opportunity ahead in the United States. I may stick this life out and see what happens.
"Elon?" my teacher called in my direction.
"Present." | I walked in the room to see the familiar, bright colored walls. The sound of children screaming, laughing, and crying fills my ears. The teacher, Ms. Rem, is greeting parents dropping off their children.
"Go on in sweetie." I hear my mother's voice say behind me. I feel her hand on my shoulder, pushing me forward. My eyes fill with tears as I fight to hold back both my joy and sorrow.
This is the thirteenth time hearing those words. Everytime they are sweet, encouraging, and loving. She knows I'm afraid to be in "big kid school", but she also knows that once I adjust, I will have the best time of my six year old life. If only she knew I've lived hundreds of years on repeat.
Everytime I die, I restart here in this very spot. I can't figure out why. At first, I thought I had moved on, but it became quickly apparent that I was alive again. I was reliving my life, but with my old memories.
After adjusting, I tried to figure out why this happened to me. I figured I had to do something in my life to die. Something I didn't do the first time.
I focused more on my family the second time. I even had a third child. When that failed, I tried telling people about tragedies and attacks to try to stop them, but that just landed me in the hands of the government for testing. I died much earlier than I was meant to that time.
I tried so many different things they all started to blur together. I remember shunning family for money, giving up all worldly possessions and becoming a monk, even trying to be a vigilante of justice! But nothing worked. Everytime I end up back here.
I feel like I've tried everything. I'm trapped in an infinite time loop. I'll never be free from this curse. I turn to my mom and hug her tight and start crying. She holds me back and gently says "It'll be okay sweetheat. You'll do great. I love you."
With those words said, she lets me go and leaves. She waves goodbye and I wave back. I walk into the classroom a few steps and stop. On the floor in front of me is the same shiny coin I picked up that first day. I bend down and pick it up once again. "Maybe this time you'll actually bring me some luck." I mutter to myself, shoving it into the pocket of my backpack.
Another new life awaits me. Maybe this time. I'll just let it run its course. After twelve tries, I need a break.
| |
[WP] Everytime you die, you wake up six years old again on your first day of kindergarten, remembering all your past lives. Today is your twelfth restart. | Alright, that last one was a waste, I admit it. Who know how many more attempts I'll get. But to be kind of honest, it really is quite a thrill diving head first into the ocean off the north tower of the Golden Gate Bridge when you're only eight years old. I'd lived a mere two years in my awakened state but had to take advantage of the fact I was an orphan and not many would miss me. Doesn't compare much to suicide by faulty parachute while skydiving though. Now that was something.
Anyways, I need to start being more practical with my lives. I still remember the first life I ever lived. Full of fear, of self-doubt. Paralyzed by a life constantly analyzed—perpetually stuck thinking about what I want to do instead of actually doing. A wife and two kids, yet I still died an empty and lonely life on my deathbed, hardly taken advantage of my status as grandpa of four years.
To have closed my eyes for what I thought'd be the last time in eternity but for it to have actually been a mere blink before I reopened them to a kindergarten classroom, well let's just say it was a lot to process.
My second time around, in spite of this game called life, I lived as a playboy fulfilling only my own desires, but that lead to a quick death. Another empty life.
Round three and four were tame lives, not even worth discussing.
Round five didn't last long given I was a born Black into a slave era. Thought I was one of the lucky ones to be getting a secret education at such a young age but once the Whites found out about it, it was the end of me.
Six through nine were pretty solid though, three iterations of Asian families to build my discipline.
Which lead to the year 1885. My Einstein days were a good haul. I'd say I contributed quite a lot with that life.
Round ten was solid. Exhausted from all the academia, had a quick run through the Olympics. I wanted another shot at science though, hence my skydiving "accident".
Eleven I was born a girl and I just knew given the corrupt and biased state of society, I wouldn't be able to reach the ranks I wanted. Humanity still needed more time to evolve.
And now here we are. The year is 1977. Not the best of lives so far, I admit. I'm bullied quite a bit and my father is emotionally abusive. It's interesting being born in South Africa but I sense a world of opportunity ahead in the United States. I may stick this life out and see what happens.
"Elon?" my teacher called in my direction.
"Present." | *"Dang it, that was my best one yet."*
My previous life - yes, previous - I was a mathematical professor, one of the most famous ones. Every time I died, I had to cope in the same time. I can't ever get the date out of my head, when I was born. You know, I'm always told it was January 21st 2006, but I never remember. I mean, I'm not that special. Most people don't remember what it was like being born.
Right?
I don't even remember. All the thoughts and memories would have to be left behind. I'm gonna miss Samantha in England. Now I won't ever see her again, after that **stupid** stunt I did. Now it seemed like I was in America, and instead of going to a nursery or reception, I'm in a kindergarten.
Always a six year old.
Always in kindergarten.
Why couldn't it be different?
A blonde woman was standing next to me waiting for me to go in - my mother, I assume. Inside a teacher was waiting for me.
"So, Matthew is it?"
That must be my name I guess. Matthew. I kind of like it. Same name my best friend had in my 7th lifetime.
The blonde haired woman, or my "mother" (it's going to be so weird calling her that) hugged me and patted me on the back, saying she would be back for me later. I started crying, not because I was going to miss her, but because I started thinking about Samantha and the kids. What will they do without their father? My latest discovery to find out the sequence in Pi gone forever, notes lost in the office under tonnes of paperwork.
She kissed me on the cheek and lightly pushed me in. The teacher must've recognized me as a shy sort for not really responding to her before, although I was just lost in deep thought. I did hear one thing, however.
"He's probably going to struggle a little bit, he isn't that confident."
What a surprise they were in for.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
That was my second ever story here, and I can definitely improve. So yeah, I know it's bad :P | |
[WP] Everytime you die, you wake up six years old again on your first day of kindergarten, remembering all your past lives. Today is your twelfth restart. | Alright, that last one was a waste, I admit it. Who know how many more attempts I'll get. But to be kind of honest, it really is quite a thrill diving head first into the ocean off the north tower of the Golden Gate Bridge when you're only eight years old. I'd lived a mere two years in my awakened state but had to take advantage of the fact I was an orphan and not many would miss me. Doesn't compare much to suicide by faulty parachute while skydiving though. Now that was something.
Anyways, I need to start being more practical with my lives. I still remember the first life I ever lived. Full of fear, of self-doubt. Paralyzed by a life constantly analyzed—perpetually stuck thinking about what I want to do instead of actually doing. A wife and two kids, yet I still died an empty and lonely life on my deathbed, hardly taken advantage of my status as grandpa of four years.
To have closed my eyes for what I thought'd be the last time in eternity but for it to have actually been a mere blink before I reopened them to a kindergarten classroom, well let's just say it was a lot to process.
My second time around, in spite of this game called life, I lived as a playboy fulfilling only my own desires, but that lead to a quick death. Another empty life.
Round three and four were tame lives, not even worth discussing.
Round five didn't last long given I was a born Black into a slave era. Thought I was one of the lucky ones to be getting a secret education at such a young age but once the Whites found out about it, it was the end of me.
Six through nine were pretty solid though, three iterations of Asian families to build my discipline.
Which lead to the year 1885. My Einstein days were a good haul. I'd say I contributed quite a lot with that life.
Round ten was solid. Exhausted from all the academia, had a quick run through the Olympics. I wanted another shot at science though, hence my skydiving "accident".
Eleven I was born a girl and I just knew given the corrupt and biased state of society, I wouldn't be able to reach the ranks I wanted. Humanity still needed more time to evolve.
And now here we are. The year is 1977. Not the best of lives so far, I admit. I'm bullied quite a bit and my father is emotionally abusive. It's interesting being born in South Africa but I sense a world of opportunity ahead in the United States. I may stick this life out and see what happens.
"Elon?" my teacher called in my direction.
"Present." | I saw the flash and I knew I had failed. Again. The ground shook and the walls came falling down around me.
I woke with a start and yelled "Dammit! I can't stop it!" Mom opened my door and said a bit crossly "I know you don't want to go to school, but you don't need to swear." I sighed and slid out of bed "Sorry mom...its just... I can't stop it." "What hon, going to school? We all have to-" "No" I said a bit too sharply, "The war."
She paused and looked up at me from where she was picking out my clothes for the day. "What war?" she asked with a slight edge.
"The war with China!" I said with as much patience as I could muster.
She gave me a sad smile and said "Your father is doing everything he can to talk with them. He's got Mr Adkins-"
"Adkins is a terrible secretary of state, Dad never should have nominated him."
Mom gave me another look, and then turned and opened the door. She leaned out and said to the secret service agent standing outside "Can you please call Bob? Tim is behaving oddly." The agent nodded "Yes ma'am." He dialed a number and started speaking too it. Mom turned back to me and gave me a reassuring smile "Dad will want to see you off."
I sighed and shook my head. No matter what I did, not matter what I said, no one listened to a six year old boy. No one believed me when I told them of the crisis between Japan and China would lead to nuclear war. No one believed me when I told them we all had six months to live.
| |
[WP] Everytime you die, you wake up six years old again on your first day of kindergarten, remembering all your past lives. Today is your twelfth restart. | "It's okay, Billy. Your parents will be back soon," the teacher said in a gentle voice. "You'll be home before you know it."
I stopped crying. I knew where I was, but as always, I didn't know why.
And so began another long life. I became a doctor this time, but a woman accused me of groping her, a heinous act I hadn't committed in five lifetimes now at least, and I lost a highly publicized trial, lost my license to practice medicine, became an alcoholic and died in a gutter.
"It's okay, Billy. Your parents will be back soon. You'll be home before you know it."
I went the route of professional basketball. I had medical knowledge, remembered the training routines of NBA players from constantly following the teams, and I think you could argue I was the greatest shooter in NBA history. I lived a privileged life. I got inducted into the Basketball Hall of Fame, and I spent my last few years in Miami, still fucking broads who had just graduated high school. I ended up dying at the ripe old age of 89.
"It's okay, Billy. Your parents will be back soon. You'll be home before you know it."
President of the United States? Meh. I tried. It didn't work out. I ended up groping another woman. Maybe it was the same chick from my life as a doctor. I couldn't remember.
"It's okay, Billy. Your parents will be back soon. You'll be home before you know it."
Tried my hands at being an assassin. My first murder attempt, it was a police sting. I shot a cop. 20 cops shot me.
"It's okay, Billy. Your parents will be back soon. You'll be home before you know it."
Invested in Bitcoin. The empire I created fell apart by 2025. I jumped off the tower in New York that beared my name.
"It's okay, Billy. Your parents will be back soon. You'll be home before you know it."
Nice, simple job as a custodian. Groped a woman, though. Her husband shot me to death.
"It's okay, Billy. Your parents will be back soon. You'll be home before you know it."
I decided to actually look for my parents this time. They were never in the picture. They'd been missing since I was 4 years old in my original life, before all the redos. My grandparents raised me. They looked young enough when I was a kid that people mistook them for my parents. We never corrected anyone.
This time, though, I pressured my grandparents to tell me what happened. I never did that before. I guess I never cared. But with infinite restarts comes the thirst for infinite knowledge.
As luck would it have it, my parents were alive, but not well. They were drug addicts. I wondered if they ever tried making contact in my past lives when I became rich...? I always heard rumblings from the ass kissers around me that so-and-so from Boston claimed to be my long lost cousin or some ho from Australia insisted she was my twin sister. Never anything about any parents, though.
I made it this life's mission to find them. In high school, I invented Facebook months before Zuckerberg could. I was a billionaire by my senior year. I invested tons of money into private investigators to locate my parents. Decades went by without luck. I died not knowing what became of them.
"It's okay, Billy. Your parents will be back soon. You'll be home before you know it."
I tried again. This time, I went the drug addict route. I don't know why I never tried street drugs before. I'd been missing out on a lot.
I joined a street gang. They were brothers to me. We ended up murdering my grandmother to get a fix, but it's okay. I'd see her next time and be one hundred times nicer.
I lost grasp of time inside a drug den. Many times I'd awaken in a jail cell, but California had weak laws. They always let me out due to overcrowding in jails.
"It's okay, Billy. Your parents will be back soon. You'll be home before you know it."
... I don't know what happened. Maybe I overdosed?
Well, time to try something new. No. Never mind. On second thought, that was fun. I'm doing that again.
So I did. This time I skipped the slow introduction via trying weed, then alcohol, then coke, then molly, etc. I just jumped right into acid.
What a trip. I was high as hell. I could've sworn a painting was talking to me.
Wait... It *is*. It beckons me.
I.. I climb into it. Is this present or past? Is it happening now or am I relaying the tale in a new life? I don't know. I can't... tell...
I'm inside a new dimension. What is this? I feel like I'm floating. I am. The ground is waaaaaay below me.
"Son," says a voice. I look up. It's a man. Behind him is a woman.
"We gave you finite lives," the woman says.
"Mom? Dad?"
"You wasted them all."
"I don't understand."
"You wasted them all."
"But I wanted to find you guys!"
"You wasted them all."
"It's okay, Billy. Your parents will be back soon. You'll be home before you know it." | To be immortal is one thing. To live a *Groundhog Day* for eleven full lifetimes has now put me at the start of a dozen; For all I know, this may be what everyone experiences and I just remember them all for some reason. It all sounds absolutely bonkers . . . *expecially* if you are me. But not if you take my words *figuratively* as almost an Allegory or fictional-realism, then it all becomes a rather amusing story.
####My name is Tobias, and today is my first day of school. This is my 12th edition *Manifesto to the Void*
If I only hadn’t gotten us killed Lucy . . . but you showed me a world I hadn’t discovered in a lifetime of lifetimes. Say the word and I am ready to break all the rules, I will cross Oceans at 5 years old if I must. . . Plan Yoda is active, the Force is UP on Day#1. Other contact channels will open once I get ahold of my resources.
Fortunately for me the internet exists and I have a complete memory of 11 different life times. One brain is not really suited for that many experiences, so as a result my brain is like having 12 brains stacked one on top of the other occupying the same space (yes, it sucks.) I became a neurosurgeon in one of my lifetimes, and I also studied Epistemology and read miles of pages in Philosophy; still could never identify this little problem. That was Life 3, and it was way before I met *her.* My life has now become a hunger, a search for the only other one I have ever met who has the same *little problem.*
I met Lucy in Life 9, and I spent my last two lives in endless search of her. Normally, I spend School writing these to pass the time. As a young person, there is very little power in society. By Life 3 I got that message very clearly. Even the internet has its way of filtering the souls power, but not completely. The internet, I have come decipher, is a unique universe humans have created out of necessity. In order to access this universe, every person requires a portal device. If you understand these devices inside and out then the system becomes a free platform for growth. Even after 11 lifetimes, I cannot stop learning more and in a way that is a hunger of itself.
Knowledge is something every person can discover in themself. It is a very natural process to ‘come to terms’ with reality. After the Industrial Revolution, some people got lucky and made it big early enough to stay giants. The only giants who didn’t make it this way came about as a result of the biggest thing in my lifetime placement on the timeline. They became so powerful, they can’t lose that power, and the other giants own the other universe we created later. I tried starting a revolution once to realize that they have gotten controll pretty well over the masses by the start of my life. The ‘what if’ question that lead my first life so backwards weirdly starts to dissolve too after the first few lifetimes.
Turns out even if you live the ‘perfect’ life and do it all right, there is still a hunger to be felt. That is the only thing that drives the ship forward really; this *hunger* pulls me forward like a void pulls in everything. It has never changed from life one to now, and even in that perfect life I still woke up for my first day of school by the end of it. I won’t try and change you Lucy, I understand my folly in Life 10. I want your soul to drive me this time, our differences are nothing like this hunger and your difference is key to our freedom. We may never escape this repeat, but I want to be with you through life 10,000 and beyond to be truly free. You cannot kill yourself, or you’ll wake up the same day like nothing happened just like me. I know you are out there somewhere. . . Why won't you talk to me? | |
[WP] Everytime you die, you wake up six years old again on your first day of kindergarten, remembering all your past lives. Today is your twelfth restart. | "It's okay, Billy. Your parents will be back soon," the teacher said in a gentle voice. "You'll be home before you know it."
I stopped crying. I knew where I was, but as always, I didn't know why.
And so began another long life. I became a doctor this time, but a woman accused me of groping her, a heinous act I hadn't committed in five lifetimes now at least, and I lost a highly publicized trial, lost my license to practice medicine, became an alcoholic and died in a gutter.
"It's okay, Billy. Your parents will be back soon. You'll be home before you know it."
I went the route of professional basketball. I had medical knowledge, remembered the training routines of NBA players from constantly following the teams, and I think you could argue I was the greatest shooter in NBA history. I lived a privileged life. I got inducted into the Basketball Hall of Fame, and I spent my last few years in Miami, still fucking broads who had just graduated high school. I ended up dying at the ripe old age of 89.
"It's okay, Billy. Your parents will be back soon. You'll be home before you know it."
President of the United States? Meh. I tried. It didn't work out. I ended up groping another woman. Maybe it was the same chick from my life as a doctor. I couldn't remember.
"It's okay, Billy. Your parents will be back soon. You'll be home before you know it."
Tried my hands at being an assassin. My first murder attempt, it was a police sting. I shot a cop. 20 cops shot me.
"It's okay, Billy. Your parents will be back soon. You'll be home before you know it."
Invested in Bitcoin. The empire I created fell apart by 2025. I jumped off the tower in New York that beared my name.
"It's okay, Billy. Your parents will be back soon. You'll be home before you know it."
Nice, simple job as a custodian. Groped a woman, though. Her husband shot me to death.
"It's okay, Billy. Your parents will be back soon. You'll be home before you know it."
I decided to actually look for my parents this time. They were never in the picture. They'd been missing since I was 4 years old in my original life, before all the redos. My grandparents raised me. They looked young enough when I was a kid that people mistook them for my parents. We never corrected anyone.
This time, though, I pressured my grandparents to tell me what happened. I never did that before. I guess I never cared. But with infinite restarts comes the thirst for infinite knowledge.
As luck would it have it, my parents were alive, but not well. They were drug addicts. I wondered if they ever tried making contact in my past lives when I became rich...? I always heard rumblings from the ass kissers around me that so-and-so from Boston claimed to be my long lost cousin or some ho from Australia insisted she was my twin sister. Never anything about any parents, though.
I made it this life's mission to find them. In high school, I invented Facebook months before Zuckerberg could. I was a billionaire by my senior year. I invested tons of money into private investigators to locate my parents. Decades went by without luck. I died not knowing what became of them.
"It's okay, Billy. Your parents will be back soon. You'll be home before you know it."
I tried again. This time, I went the drug addict route. I don't know why I never tried street drugs before. I'd been missing out on a lot.
I joined a street gang. They were brothers to me. We ended up murdering my grandmother to get a fix, but it's okay. I'd see her next time and be one hundred times nicer.
I lost grasp of time inside a drug den. Many times I'd awaken in a jail cell, but California had weak laws. They always let me out due to overcrowding in jails.
"It's okay, Billy. Your parents will be back soon. You'll be home before you know it."
... I don't know what happened. Maybe I overdosed?
Well, time to try something new. No. Never mind. On second thought, that was fun. I'm doing that again.
So I did. This time I skipped the slow introduction via trying weed, then alcohol, then coke, then molly, etc. I just jumped right into acid.
What a trip. I was high as hell. I could've sworn a painting was talking to me.
Wait... It *is*. It beckons me.
I.. I climb into it. Is this present or past? Is it happening now or am I relaying the tale in a new life? I don't know. I can't... tell...
I'm inside a new dimension. What is this? I feel like I'm floating. I am. The ground is waaaaaay below me.
"Son," says a voice. I look up. It's a man. Behind him is a woman.
"We gave you finite lives," the woman says.
"Mom? Dad?"
"You wasted them all."
"I don't understand."
"You wasted them all."
"But I wanted to find you guys!"
"You wasted them all."
"It's okay, Billy. Your parents will be back soon. You'll be home before you know it." | *"Oh no, not again."*
"What is it sweetie?" the rotund woman arched down from her great height above me. Placing a comforting hand on my back, cheeks a cartoonish, rosy red.
This was probably her, my latest mother. Her accent was quite shrill, and nasally. I felt the cogs slowly turn in my mind, English speaking for sure, but not British (*not this time*) most likely American.
Instead of engaging her I gave a shrug, and accepted the jacket and backpack she handed me. Why did it always start on the first day of education? Why not birth, or the first birthday?
I contemplated the matter as she helped me into the car; a large, silver thing. It was raining. Droplets of water cascaded down from the amber leaves above. A nice suburb, quiet. White picket fences. I remembered them from photographs, but had never seen them.
This was worlds away from what I had come from, or whom I had passed through. This American adjustment would not be so hard. The last had been English speaking too, at least there was that to ease the transition. The transition from Spain to China had not gone as smoothly.
The last had been a particular favourite. A life I had hoped, would be the last. The curtain call.
I found myself a red-headed man, living in the mountains of Ireland. He, or I, had lived a simple life. Rearing animals, growing food to eat, writing poetry. No family to speak of, that was much too hard. That had stopped after the second time.
Bearing a curse was one thing, but inflicting it on others was an entirely different ordeal.
The silver car pulled up to a small building. It had obnoxious cartoons on the windows, and a neat little flower bed out front. It was brimming with bawling children and their parents. The woman got out, and walked me to the door. She was talking, sort of, through weeping while holding my hand. I barely noticed, I looked all around me at the children.
Physically the same age I now found myself, mentally: the age I perhaps should have been. Was this the same for them? Is that why the short, blonde-haired girl cried her eyes out? Did she mourn for her family, like I had once done?
Or was it just me? As I had always anticipated. Always feared.
A lonely parasite, floating through the infinite time. Eventually becoming so lost and distorted, it would wonder whether it ever truly existed; where it originated from. Stealing the lives of others, for no purpose other than to start again. To keep on existing.
As I stepped into the small kindergarten I caught the first glimpse of myself in an arching rainbow mirror.
The saddest little girl I had ever seen stared back at me, and my heart broke for her. | |
[WP] As you're out for your regular afternoon swim some old lady starts throwing bread at you. Slowly, Horribly you realize that you're actually a duck. | There's nothing I relish more than my afternoon swims. Part of it is my affinity for the water, but mostly it's my affinity for resisting authority. It's illegal to swim in the pond behind my house - a pond that I dug myself.
It was an effort to piss off my next-door neighbour, Circe. In the country "next-door" is about two miles, so you know someone really hates you when the travel the two miles, on foot, to leave a reeking bag of bird shit on your front porch. At first I was actually a bit impressed, since it's notoriously difficult to get a bird to shit on anything you actually *want* it to shit on (the problem is their predilection for resisting authority; they can't be trained!). Unbelievably, she had amassed enough shit to fill a paper lunch bag, which must have taken several weeks at least. I should ask her how she did it sometime.
Regardless, I swore that day to pay her back for her shitnanigans. The question was how? Clearly, I must do something with bird shit, to prove I'm better at her at everything. I did the same thing when she rang on my doorbell when I first moved in.
She must've thought me incredibly naive to try and pull the oldest prank in the book on me - the dong-ditch. She was rakishly terrible at it to - by the time I had opened my door to catch the scoundrel, she was still standing there! She mumbled some excuse for her being there and scampered off before I could really let her have it. The next night, I rigged a wireless device that would trigger her doorbell every second for the next thirty days!
Well, I was done with her amateurish ploys. This was the big one. I had dug a pond two feet wide, six feet deep and two miles long. Due to a surveyor's clerical error, my land actually extended through her property.
However, due to another surveyor's clerical error my house, excluding my front porch, was *her* property. She immediately barred me from entering my own house, and I had resorted to sleeping on a floating piece of driftwood for several months until the pond was completed.
I had invited the whole neighbourhood to my front porch under the pretense of a going-away party for me. For some reason, almost everyone came to wish me farewell. Some of them even baked a cake for me that had some writing on it, but I had never learned to read. It tasted stale, but that's how I like it.
I dove into the water and triumphantly swam to Circe's house. Once there, I waited for my reinforcements.
Suddenly, a small piece of bread hit me in the face.
"Watch what you're throwing! There's people swimming here!" I yelled to an old lady sitting on Circe's back porch.
"Where?" she asked innocently.
"Oh, playing coy, are we?" I shot back, and climbed out of the water. My sopping-wet pants forced me into a waddle, which removed some of my intimidating presence as I moved to confront her.
She hit me with another piece of bread.
"Ok, that was *definitely* on purpose that time, lady!" I shouted, flustered.
The lady seemed confused, and paused for a moment with another piece of bread in her hand. She was obviously aiming to throw it at me.
I stared menacingly at the bread. The lady stared placidly at me, which only angered me further. The bread had no expression, but it did have an air of haughtiness. It was probably one of those French breads.
After what felt like an hour, she let the bread fly - it hit me square in the face.
I flew into a rage. I ululated a ferocious war cry and lunged at her, but the bitch Circe had made her porch seven times taller overnight, and I wasn't able to mount it. She was smarter than I gave her credit for.
"Oh, that's quite enough for you," the lady muttered and went inside, leaving me jumping uselessly at the giant stairs.
Dejected, I settled for taking a shit in her backyard. I went to pull down my pants, but they were already off, weighed down as they were by the water. I smugly took a shit, but that's when I noticed something was dreadfully wrong. It was more like a liquid, not at all like I'm used to.
The old lady reappeared and tore off her mask. It was Circe! "How do you like the bread?" she asked.
*Quack* I answe - wait, what?
"It was magic bread. Each time you touched it, you became more of a duck! It's irreversible, by the way, so don't bother pestering me for a cure. Have a nice life!" With that, she turned and flung aside the bag of bread.
My revenge plot was already forming in my mind. Luckily, I already knew how to shit in a bag... | *It's such lovely weather today. Just perfect for an afternoon swim.*
Making my way down to the local pond, I reach to get my clothes off, but I realize I'm not currently wearing any.
*An odd development to say the least, especially given that it means I've walked to the pond without anyone telling me I wasn't wearing anything.*
Deciding to ignore the aberration for now, I dive in for a jaunty dip in the water, and float along the surface.
Unbeknownst to me, a kind little old lady had been sitting on a bench next to the pond. She opens up a bag beside her and begins to rummage around in it a bit before taking out some chunks of bread and tossing them at my face.
"Cut it out!" I yell. But all I hear is a quack. And that's enough for me to look down at my reflection.
Knocked for a loop by what I see, I begin to flail around and scream, but all I hear are more quacks coming from my mouth.
**Quack. Quack. Quack.**
Unsurprisingly, all this quacking is coming from a duck. Which I am. I am a duck. I am not accepting this in any way.
Again, a piece of bread lands in the water before me. I turn to the woman, who simply sits on the bench with a smile and waves at me for looking at her.
"Can't you see, lady, that I am having trouble?! I'm splashing around and quacking like mad but all you do is wave!"
Kicking myself for even trying to speak to hear when all I say is quack, I swim away in shame. What is a duck like me supposed to even do... | |
[WP] As you're out for your regular afternoon swim some old lady starts throwing bread at you. Slowly, Horribly you realize that you're actually a duck. | mi naem is duck
i lik the bred
this old lady
throws at my haed
i quack once
she quak twice
i think she
is vary neice
i fluff my neck
she runs away
she must faer
my waddling sway
mi naem is duck
i like the bread
fuck with me
i'll peck you ded | *It's such lovely weather today. Just perfect for an afternoon swim.*
Making my way down to the local pond, I reach to get my clothes off, but I realize I'm not currently wearing any.
*An odd development to say the least, especially given that it means I've walked to the pond without anyone telling me I wasn't wearing anything.*
Deciding to ignore the aberration for now, I dive in for a jaunty dip in the water, and float along the surface.
Unbeknownst to me, a kind little old lady had been sitting on a bench next to the pond. She opens up a bag beside her and begins to rummage around in it a bit before taking out some chunks of bread and tossing them at my face.
"Cut it out!" I yell. But all I hear is a quack. And that's enough for me to look down at my reflection.
Knocked for a loop by what I see, I begin to flail around and scream, but all I hear are more quacks coming from my mouth.
**Quack. Quack. Quack.**
Unsurprisingly, all this quacking is coming from a duck. Which I am. I am a duck. I am not accepting this in any way.
Again, a piece of bread lands in the water before me. I turn to the woman, who simply sits on the bench with a smile and waves at me for looking at her.
"Can't you see, lady, that I am having trouble?! I'm splashing around and quacking like mad but all you do is wave!"
Kicking myself for even trying to speak to hear when all I say is quack, I swim away in shame. What is a duck like me supposed to even do... | |
[WP] As you're out for your regular afternoon swim some old lady starts throwing bread at you. Slowly, Horribly you realize that you're actually a duck. | I know that I have a speech impediment that can make me a little difficult to understand. It makes me a little irritated, sometimes, because I feel like I'm having to go through some rather ridiculous pantomimes to get my point across. And, yes, I have been known to have anger-management issues. But that old lady was asking for it!
There I was, in the park, minding my own business sitting on a bench and looking out at the lake. I had just bombed a job interview, and I was seriously considering hitting up my uncle for some money. I hated to do that, because he already considered me so irresponsible. I can't help that people just seem to have no patience for my inability to articulate verbally. So there I was, mid-sulk, when I began to notice something that had been happening for a few minutes, but which until now had failed to sufficiently catch my attention. A little tuft of something or the other landed on the grass in front of me. It was off-white, and when I picked it up it looked oddly familiar. A few more pieces fell to the ground and it was when I realized that some of the orange-brown stuff that was on the side of one was bread crust that it all fell into place for me. I looked around, and realized and older woman was throwing chunks of bread at me! The nerve of this lady! I know I'm in dire straights, but at the very least she could've offered me the bread directly, instead of throwing it at me like I was... some kind of animal!
I got up and really started laying into her, reading her the riot act, but her face was being overtaken by a wider and wider grin. Why! This lady found my antics /amusing/! What unmitigated gall! I felt my face turning red with uncontrollable anger, and I began to really just scream and rant at this lady. I wasn't even really making words anymore, but she did finally seem to be getting the point. After a few moments, I began to calm down, and regain my composure. How embarrassing! How silly I must've looked. I felt the need to flee, and turned on my heel and stalked away. After several minutes of storming off in a fine huff, I found myself simply wandering the city. What had prompted that display? It was as I was passing a window that I glanced at myself. I decided to take an inventory. There I was. Fine white feathers, as always. Proud orange bill. My favorite blue cap. My favorite blue shirt. I mean... I guess, yeah, I am a duck. I never really put it in those terms before, but it felt like a truth. I am a duck, but what would've given her the idea that I'm one of those... duck-ducks? Couldn't she tell that I was a person, too? I needed some clarity from that jarring experience.
I decided to go and see my uncle, after all. Perhaps, even if I didn't ask him for money, being around the cranky old codger would cheer me up. He always had such stories to tell of his adventures. I turned left at the corner, and made my way up the hill to his mansion. I could see the money bin in the distance, and I idly wondered if Uncle Scrooge was swimming in his coins again, today. | *It's such lovely weather today. Just perfect for an afternoon swim.*
Making my way down to the local pond, I reach to get my clothes off, but I realize I'm not currently wearing any.
*An odd development to say the least, especially given that it means I've walked to the pond without anyone telling me I wasn't wearing anything.*
Deciding to ignore the aberration for now, I dive in for a jaunty dip in the water, and float along the surface.
Unbeknownst to me, a kind little old lady had been sitting on a bench next to the pond. She opens up a bag beside her and begins to rummage around in it a bit before taking out some chunks of bread and tossing them at my face.
"Cut it out!" I yell. But all I hear is a quack. And that's enough for me to look down at my reflection.
Knocked for a loop by what I see, I begin to flail around and scream, but all I hear are more quacks coming from my mouth.
**Quack. Quack. Quack.**
Unsurprisingly, all this quacking is coming from a duck. Which I am. I am a duck. I am not accepting this in any way.
Again, a piece of bread lands in the water before me. I turn to the woman, who simply sits on the bench with a smile and waves at me for looking at her.
"Can't you see, lady, that I am having trouble?! I'm splashing around and quacking like mad but all you do is wave!"
Kicking myself for even trying to speak to hear when all I say is quack, I swim away in shame. What is a duck like me supposed to even do... | |
[WP] As you're out for your regular afternoon swim some old lady starts throwing bread at you. Slowly, Horribly you realize that you're actually a duck. | There's nothing I relish more than my afternoon swims. Part of it is my affinity for the water, but mostly it's my affinity for resisting authority. It's illegal to swim in the pond behind my house - a pond that I dug myself.
It was an effort to piss off my next-door neighbour, Circe. In the country "next-door" is about two miles, so you know someone really hates you when the travel the two miles, on foot, to leave a reeking bag of bird shit on your front porch. At first I was actually a bit impressed, since it's notoriously difficult to get a bird to shit on anything you actually *want* it to shit on (the problem is their predilection for resisting authority; they can't be trained!). Unbelievably, she had amassed enough shit to fill a paper lunch bag, which must have taken several weeks at least. I should ask her how she did it sometime.
Regardless, I swore that day to pay her back for her shitnanigans. The question was how? Clearly, I must do something with bird shit, to prove I'm better at her at everything. I did the same thing when she rang on my doorbell when I first moved in.
She must've thought me incredibly naive to try and pull the oldest prank in the book on me - the dong-ditch. She was rakishly terrible at it to - by the time I had opened my door to catch the scoundrel, she was still standing there! She mumbled some excuse for her being there and scampered off before I could really let her have it. The next night, I rigged a wireless device that would trigger her doorbell every second for the next thirty days!
Well, I was done with her amateurish ploys. This was the big one. I had dug a pond two feet wide, six feet deep and two miles long. Due to a surveyor's clerical error, my land actually extended through her property.
However, due to another surveyor's clerical error my house, excluding my front porch, was *her* property. She immediately barred me from entering my own house, and I had resorted to sleeping on a floating piece of driftwood for several months until the pond was completed.
I had invited the whole neighbourhood to my front porch under the pretense of a going-away party for me. For some reason, almost everyone came to wish me farewell. Some of them even baked a cake for me that had some writing on it, but I had never learned to read. It tasted stale, but that's how I like it.
I dove into the water and triumphantly swam to Circe's house. Once there, I waited for my reinforcements.
Suddenly, a small piece of bread hit me in the face.
"Watch what you're throwing! There's people swimming here!" I yelled to an old lady sitting on Circe's back porch.
"Where?" she asked innocently.
"Oh, playing coy, are we?" I shot back, and climbed out of the water. My sopping-wet pants forced me into a waddle, which removed some of my intimidating presence as I moved to confront her.
She hit me with another piece of bread.
"Ok, that was *definitely* on purpose that time, lady!" I shouted, flustered.
The lady seemed confused, and paused for a moment with another piece of bread in her hand. She was obviously aiming to throw it at me.
I stared menacingly at the bread. The lady stared placidly at me, which only angered me further. The bread had no expression, but it did have an air of haughtiness. It was probably one of those French breads.
After what felt like an hour, she let the bread fly - it hit me square in the face.
I flew into a rage. I ululated a ferocious war cry and lunged at her, but the bitch Circe had made her porch seven times taller overnight, and I wasn't able to mount it. She was smarter than I gave her credit for.
"Oh, that's quite enough for you," the lady muttered and went inside, leaving me jumping uselessly at the giant stairs.
Dejected, I settled for taking a shit in her backyard. I went to pull down my pants, but they were already off, weighed down as they were by the water. I smugly took a shit, but that's when I noticed something was dreadfully wrong. It was more like a liquid, not at all like I'm used to.
The old lady reappeared and tore off her mask. It was Circe! "How do you like the bread?" she asked.
*Quack* I answe - wait, what?
"It was magic bread. Each time you touched it, you became more of a duck! It's irreversible, by the way, so don't bother pestering me for a cure. Have a nice life!" With that, she turned and flung aside the bag of bread.
My revenge plot was already forming in my mind. Luckily, I already knew how to shit in a bag... | "I'd like to go for a ride some day, doo doo. Like to fly in a boat some day."
Swimming is what keeps me going these days. I like to hum to myself little ditties. They probably sound like some stupid animal noise to other people, but they seem like music to me.
I go out into the creek every day. I just drift. It's nice. Today, I'm feeling especially chipper. The water is at just the right temperature. Not too hot. Not too cold.
Swimming gives me exercise and exercise is super important! Gosh, it's great to just live sometimes. You know, I almost didn't come out to swim today. I thought, the creek is getting too noisy and dangerous. But then I said, no, I have to swim! And here I am.
"Ow!"
I turn my head to see some weird figure in the distance. It looks a lot bigger than me. Like some giant from another world. It's holding a giant brick of something. It appears to be tearing of chunks of the brick and throwing them in my direction.
With my heart pounding, I swim away as fast as I can. I'm panting by the time I stop. I must have done drugs or something. People that big don't exist.
I try to think back to the night before, it all goes hazy. Something about a pot and bubbling and... I wonder if I was making drugs.
...naw.
I wouldn't make drugs. Besides, it's illegal. I'd get in trouble.
But why the pot then? Why the bubbling? Why the incantations and the... the... I was tied up. Oh, I bet it was an initiation. No wait, I graduated college a long time ago. Hold on.
I drift across the water a bit more, keeping an eye out for the brick-slinging giant.
I was tied up and... what did I *do* last night?
I stop in the water and let a light current push me. Ohhhh, that girl I pissed off. What was her name? Esma something or other. She looked kind of weird. I rejected her advances and then she got all pissy. Granted, I may have insulted her, but I was knockout drunk.
Hmm.
Oh my god. I remember now. She invited me over and boiled me a nice hot, stew. Wow, what a gal. Gosh.
*crack*
A loud noise brings me back to reality. I glance around in a panic to find the source. There's some giant in the distance, holding up a giant rifle. A giant holding up a giant rifle...
Oh boy.
The giant takes aim.
Esmalara didn't invite me over for stew. She... nope, witches aren't real. Neither are giants with guns. Hey, I'll say hello to him.
"Quack! Quack, quack!"
Ok, I'm fairly confident I don't normally make duck sounds.
*crack*
Wow, he is a terrible shot. He's like five feet away. Now he's just... looking at me. Oh, I'll bet he's confused cause I'm not running. Wait, should I run? Is that what ducks do? God, why didn't I pay more attention in school?
Then again, nobody in school said I would have to contend with being a duck. Maybe I can communicate in morse code if I time my quack sounds.
Uh...
"Quack-quack-quack, quaaaack quaaack quaaack, quack-quack-quack."
It's like morse code. He'll pick up on that, I'm sure. He looks super old. Hey, he's reaching for me. He's going to save me.
Or, nope. He's reaching for my neck. | |
[WP] As you're out for your regular afternoon swim some old lady starts throwing bread at you. Slowly, Horribly you realize that you're actually a duck. | mi naem is duck
i lik the bred
this old lady
throws at my haed
i quack once
she quak twice
i think she
is vary neice
i fluff my neck
she runs away
she must faer
my waddling sway
mi naem is duck
i like the bread
fuck with me
i'll peck you ded | "I'd like to go for a ride some day, doo doo. Like to fly in a boat some day."
Swimming is what keeps me going these days. I like to hum to myself little ditties. They probably sound like some stupid animal noise to other people, but they seem like music to me.
I go out into the creek every day. I just drift. It's nice. Today, I'm feeling especially chipper. The water is at just the right temperature. Not too hot. Not too cold.
Swimming gives me exercise and exercise is super important! Gosh, it's great to just live sometimes. You know, I almost didn't come out to swim today. I thought, the creek is getting too noisy and dangerous. But then I said, no, I have to swim! And here I am.
"Ow!"
I turn my head to see some weird figure in the distance. It looks a lot bigger than me. Like some giant from another world. It's holding a giant brick of something. It appears to be tearing of chunks of the brick and throwing them in my direction.
With my heart pounding, I swim away as fast as I can. I'm panting by the time I stop. I must have done drugs or something. People that big don't exist.
I try to think back to the night before, it all goes hazy. Something about a pot and bubbling and... I wonder if I was making drugs.
...naw.
I wouldn't make drugs. Besides, it's illegal. I'd get in trouble.
But why the pot then? Why the bubbling? Why the incantations and the... the... I was tied up. Oh, I bet it was an initiation. No wait, I graduated college a long time ago. Hold on.
I drift across the water a bit more, keeping an eye out for the brick-slinging giant.
I was tied up and... what did I *do* last night?
I stop in the water and let a light current push me. Ohhhh, that girl I pissed off. What was her name? Esma something or other. She looked kind of weird. I rejected her advances and then she got all pissy. Granted, I may have insulted her, but I was knockout drunk.
Hmm.
Oh my god. I remember now. She invited me over and boiled me a nice hot, stew. Wow, what a gal. Gosh.
*crack*
A loud noise brings me back to reality. I glance around in a panic to find the source. There's some giant in the distance, holding up a giant rifle. A giant holding up a giant rifle...
Oh boy.
The giant takes aim.
Esmalara didn't invite me over for stew. She... nope, witches aren't real. Neither are giants with guns. Hey, I'll say hello to him.
"Quack! Quack, quack!"
Ok, I'm fairly confident I don't normally make duck sounds.
*crack*
Wow, he is a terrible shot. He's like five feet away. Now he's just... looking at me. Oh, I'll bet he's confused cause I'm not running. Wait, should I run? Is that what ducks do? God, why didn't I pay more attention in school?
Then again, nobody in school said I would have to contend with being a duck. Maybe I can communicate in morse code if I time my quack sounds.
Uh...
"Quack-quack-quack, quaaaack quaaack quaaack, quack-quack-quack."
It's like morse code. He'll pick up on that, I'm sure. He looks super old. Hey, he's reaching for me. He's going to save me.
Or, nope. He's reaching for my neck. | |
[WP] As you're out for your regular afternoon swim some old lady starts throwing bread at you. Slowly, Horribly you realize that you're actually a duck. | I know that I have a speech impediment that can make me a little difficult to understand. It makes me a little irritated, sometimes, because I feel like I'm having to go through some rather ridiculous pantomimes to get my point across. And, yes, I have been known to have anger-management issues. But that old lady was asking for it!
There I was, in the park, minding my own business sitting on a bench and looking out at the lake. I had just bombed a job interview, and I was seriously considering hitting up my uncle for some money. I hated to do that, because he already considered me so irresponsible. I can't help that people just seem to have no patience for my inability to articulate verbally. So there I was, mid-sulk, when I began to notice something that had been happening for a few minutes, but which until now had failed to sufficiently catch my attention. A little tuft of something or the other landed on the grass in front of me. It was off-white, and when I picked it up it looked oddly familiar. A few more pieces fell to the ground and it was when I realized that some of the orange-brown stuff that was on the side of one was bread crust that it all fell into place for me. I looked around, and realized and older woman was throwing chunks of bread at me! The nerve of this lady! I know I'm in dire straights, but at the very least she could've offered me the bread directly, instead of throwing it at me like I was... some kind of animal!
I got up and really started laying into her, reading her the riot act, but her face was being overtaken by a wider and wider grin. Why! This lady found my antics /amusing/! What unmitigated gall! I felt my face turning red with uncontrollable anger, and I began to really just scream and rant at this lady. I wasn't even really making words anymore, but she did finally seem to be getting the point. After a few moments, I began to calm down, and regain my composure. How embarrassing! How silly I must've looked. I felt the need to flee, and turned on my heel and stalked away. After several minutes of storming off in a fine huff, I found myself simply wandering the city. What had prompted that display? It was as I was passing a window that I glanced at myself. I decided to take an inventory. There I was. Fine white feathers, as always. Proud orange bill. My favorite blue cap. My favorite blue shirt. I mean... I guess, yeah, I am a duck. I never really put it in those terms before, but it felt like a truth. I am a duck, but what would've given her the idea that I'm one of those... duck-ducks? Couldn't she tell that I was a person, too? I needed some clarity from that jarring experience.
I decided to go and see my uncle, after all. Perhaps, even if I didn't ask him for money, being around the cranky old codger would cheer me up. He always had such stories to tell of his adventures. I turned left at the corner, and made my way up the hill to his mansion. I could see the money bin in the distance, and I idly wondered if Uncle Scrooge was swimming in his coins again, today. | "I'd like to go for a ride some day, doo doo. Like to fly in a boat some day."
Swimming is what keeps me going these days. I like to hum to myself little ditties. They probably sound like some stupid animal noise to other people, but they seem like music to me.
I go out into the creek every day. I just drift. It's nice. Today, I'm feeling especially chipper. The water is at just the right temperature. Not too hot. Not too cold.
Swimming gives me exercise and exercise is super important! Gosh, it's great to just live sometimes. You know, I almost didn't come out to swim today. I thought, the creek is getting too noisy and dangerous. But then I said, no, I have to swim! And here I am.
"Ow!"
I turn my head to see some weird figure in the distance. It looks a lot bigger than me. Like some giant from another world. It's holding a giant brick of something. It appears to be tearing of chunks of the brick and throwing them in my direction.
With my heart pounding, I swim away as fast as I can. I'm panting by the time I stop. I must have done drugs or something. People that big don't exist.
I try to think back to the night before, it all goes hazy. Something about a pot and bubbling and... I wonder if I was making drugs.
...naw.
I wouldn't make drugs. Besides, it's illegal. I'd get in trouble.
But why the pot then? Why the bubbling? Why the incantations and the... the... I was tied up. Oh, I bet it was an initiation. No wait, I graduated college a long time ago. Hold on.
I drift across the water a bit more, keeping an eye out for the brick-slinging giant.
I was tied up and... what did I *do* last night?
I stop in the water and let a light current push me. Ohhhh, that girl I pissed off. What was her name? Esma something or other. She looked kind of weird. I rejected her advances and then she got all pissy. Granted, I may have insulted her, but I was knockout drunk.
Hmm.
Oh my god. I remember now. She invited me over and boiled me a nice hot, stew. Wow, what a gal. Gosh.
*crack*
A loud noise brings me back to reality. I glance around in a panic to find the source. There's some giant in the distance, holding up a giant rifle. A giant holding up a giant rifle...
Oh boy.
The giant takes aim.
Esmalara didn't invite me over for stew. She... nope, witches aren't real. Neither are giants with guns. Hey, I'll say hello to him.
"Quack! Quack, quack!"
Ok, I'm fairly confident I don't normally make duck sounds.
*crack*
Wow, he is a terrible shot. He's like five feet away. Now he's just... looking at me. Oh, I'll bet he's confused cause I'm not running. Wait, should I run? Is that what ducks do? God, why didn't I pay more attention in school?
Then again, nobody in school said I would have to contend with being a duck. Maybe I can communicate in morse code if I time my quack sounds.
Uh...
"Quack-quack-quack, quaaaack quaaack quaaack, quack-quack-quack."
It's like morse code. He'll pick up on that, I'm sure. He looks super old. Hey, he's reaching for me. He's going to save me.
Or, nope. He's reaching for my neck. | |
[WP] As you're out for your regular afternoon swim some old lady starts throwing bread at you. Slowly, Horribly you realize that you're actually a duck. | There's nothing I relish more than my afternoon swims. Part of it is my affinity for the water, but mostly it's my affinity for resisting authority. It's illegal to swim in the pond behind my house - a pond that I dug myself.
It was an effort to piss off my next-door neighbour, Circe. In the country "next-door" is about two miles, so you know someone really hates you when the travel the two miles, on foot, to leave a reeking bag of bird shit on your front porch. At first I was actually a bit impressed, since it's notoriously difficult to get a bird to shit on anything you actually *want* it to shit on (the problem is their predilection for resisting authority; they can't be trained!). Unbelievably, she had amassed enough shit to fill a paper lunch bag, which must have taken several weeks at least. I should ask her how she did it sometime.
Regardless, I swore that day to pay her back for her shitnanigans. The question was how? Clearly, I must do something with bird shit, to prove I'm better at her at everything. I did the same thing when she rang on my doorbell when I first moved in.
She must've thought me incredibly naive to try and pull the oldest prank in the book on me - the dong-ditch. She was rakishly terrible at it to - by the time I had opened my door to catch the scoundrel, she was still standing there! She mumbled some excuse for her being there and scampered off before I could really let her have it. The next night, I rigged a wireless device that would trigger her doorbell every second for the next thirty days!
Well, I was done with her amateurish ploys. This was the big one. I had dug a pond two feet wide, six feet deep and two miles long. Due to a surveyor's clerical error, my land actually extended through her property.
However, due to another surveyor's clerical error my house, excluding my front porch, was *her* property. She immediately barred me from entering my own house, and I had resorted to sleeping on a floating piece of driftwood for several months until the pond was completed.
I had invited the whole neighbourhood to my front porch under the pretense of a going-away party for me. For some reason, almost everyone came to wish me farewell. Some of them even baked a cake for me that had some writing on it, but I had never learned to read. It tasted stale, but that's how I like it.
I dove into the water and triumphantly swam to Circe's house. Once there, I waited for my reinforcements.
Suddenly, a small piece of bread hit me in the face.
"Watch what you're throwing! There's people swimming here!" I yelled to an old lady sitting on Circe's back porch.
"Where?" she asked innocently.
"Oh, playing coy, are we?" I shot back, and climbed out of the water. My sopping-wet pants forced me into a waddle, which removed some of my intimidating presence as I moved to confront her.
She hit me with another piece of bread.
"Ok, that was *definitely* on purpose that time, lady!" I shouted, flustered.
The lady seemed confused, and paused for a moment with another piece of bread in her hand. She was obviously aiming to throw it at me.
I stared menacingly at the bread. The lady stared placidly at me, which only angered me further. The bread had no expression, but it did have an air of haughtiness. It was probably one of those French breads.
After what felt like an hour, she let the bread fly - it hit me square in the face.
I flew into a rage. I ululated a ferocious war cry and lunged at her, but the bitch Circe had made her porch seven times taller overnight, and I wasn't able to mount it. She was smarter than I gave her credit for.
"Oh, that's quite enough for you," the lady muttered and went inside, leaving me jumping uselessly at the giant stairs.
Dejected, I settled for taking a shit in her backyard. I went to pull down my pants, but they were already off, weighed down as they were by the water. I smugly took a shit, but that's when I noticed something was dreadfully wrong. It was more like a liquid, not at all like I'm used to.
The old lady reappeared and tore off her mask. It was Circe! "How do you like the bread?" she asked.
*Quack* I answe - wait, what?
"It was magic bread. Each time you touched it, you became more of a duck! It's irreversible, by the way, so don't bother pestering me for a cure. Have a nice life!" With that, she turned and flung aside the bag of bread.
My revenge plot was already forming in my mind. Luckily, I already knew how to shit in a bag... |
this old Chinese man
throws crusts-dried
seaweed ugly candy
he aims for my head-misses
lands in the dirt water
I wade
I wade
I wade
feathers sprout
from hands
arms-webbed
toes
a circus captured me
once-set me in
a cage-bars
too small to slip out
women with big teeth
laughed at me-children
pointed spat-hysterical
old women fainted-or
pretended to
amazing fowl
foul birdgirl
nose curved into sharp
teeth-are there teeth?
must be-no birds
have them
maybe instead I am
a swan or an inverted lion
maybe they should have buried me
when I was an egg-slowly
let me ferment-boil and serve
something beautiful | |
[WP] As you're out for your regular afternoon swim some old lady starts throwing bread at you. Slowly, Horribly you realize that you're actually a duck. | mi naem is duck
i lik the bred
this old lady
throws at my haed
i quack once
she quak twice
i think she
is vary neice
i fluff my neck
she runs away
she must faer
my waddling sway
mi naem is duck
i like the bread
fuck with me
i'll peck you ded |
this old Chinese man
throws crusts-dried
seaweed ugly candy
he aims for my head-misses
lands in the dirt water
I wade
I wade
I wade
feathers sprout
from hands
arms-webbed
toes
a circus captured me
once-set me in
a cage-bars
too small to slip out
women with big teeth
laughed at me-children
pointed spat-hysterical
old women fainted-or
pretended to
amazing fowl
foul birdgirl
nose curved into sharp
teeth-are there teeth?
must be-no birds
have them
maybe instead I am
a swan or an inverted lion
maybe they should have buried me
when I was an egg-slowly
let me ferment-boil and serve
something beautiful | |
[WP] As you're out for your regular afternoon swim some old lady starts throwing bread at you. Slowly, Horribly you realize that you're actually a duck. | I know that I have a speech impediment that can make me a little difficult to understand. It makes me a little irritated, sometimes, because I feel like I'm having to go through some rather ridiculous pantomimes to get my point across. And, yes, I have been known to have anger-management issues. But that old lady was asking for it!
There I was, in the park, minding my own business sitting on a bench and looking out at the lake. I had just bombed a job interview, and I was seriously considering hitting up my uncle for some money. I hated to do that, because he already considered me so irresponsible. I can't help that people just seem to have no patience for my inability to articulate verbally. So there I was, mid-sulk, when I began to notice something that had been happening for a few minutes, but which until now had failed to sufficiently catch my attention. A little tuft of something or the other landed on the grass in front of me. It was off-white, and when I picked it up it looked oddly familiar. A few more pieces fell to the ground and it was when I realized that some of the orange-brown stuff that was on the side of one was bread crust that it all fell into place for me. I looked around, and realized and older woman was throwing chunks of bread at me! The nerve of this lady! I know I'm in dire straights, but at the very least she could've offered me the bread directly, instead of throwing it at me like I was... some kind of animal!
I got up and really started laying into her, reading her the riot act, but her face was being overtaken by a wider and wider grin. Why! This lady found my antics /amusing/! What unmitigated gall! I felt my face turning red with uncontrollable anger, and I began to really just scream and rant at this lady. I wasn't even really making words anymore, but she did finally seem to be getting the point. After a few moments, I began to calm down, and regain my composure. How embarrassing! How silly I must've looked. I felt the need to flee, and turned on my heel and stalked away. After several minutes of storming off in a fine huff, I found myself simply wandering the city. What had prompted that display? It was as I was passing a window that I glanced at myself. I decided to take an inventory. There I was. Fine white feathers, as always. Proud orange bill. My favorite blue cap. My favorite blue shirt. I mean... I guess, yeah, I am a duck. I never really put it in those terms before, but it felt like a truth. I am a duck, but what would've given her the idea that I'm one of those... duck-ducks? Couldn't she tell that I was a person, too? I needed some clarity from that jarring experience.
I decided to go and see my uncle, after all. Perhaps, even if I didn't ask him for money, being around the cranky old codger would cheer me up. He always had such stories to tell of his adventures. I turned left at the corner, and made my way up the hill to his mansion. I could see the money bin in the distance, and I idly wondered if Uncle Scrooge was swimming in his coins again, today. |
this old Chinese man
throws crusts-dried
seaweed ugly candy
he aims for my head-misses
lands in the dirt water
I wade
I wade
I wade
feathers sprout
from hands
arms-webbed
toes
a circus captured me
once-set me in
a cage-bars
too small to slip out
women with big teeth
laughed at me-children
pointed spat-hysterical
old women fainted-or
pretended to
amazing fowl
foul birdgirl
nose curved into sharp
teeth-are there teeth?
must be-no birds
have them
maybe instead I am
a swan or an inverted lion
maybe they should have buried me
when I was an egg-slowly
let me ferment-boil and serve
something beautiful | |
[WP] As you're out for your regular afternoon swim some old lady starts throwing bread at you. Slowly, Horribly you realize that you're actually a duck. | There's nothing I relish more than my afternoon swims. Part of it is my affinity for the water, but mostly it's my affinity for resisting authority. It's illegal to swim in the pond behind my house - a pond that I dug myself.
It was an effort to piss off my next-door neighbour, Circe. In the country "next-door" is about two miles, so you know someone really hates you when the travel the two miles, on foot, to leave a reeking bag of bird shit on your front porch. At first I was actually a bit impressed, since it's notoriously difficult to get a bird to shit on anything you actually *want* it to shit on (the problem is their predilection for resisting authority; they can't be trained!). Unbelievably, she had amassed enough shit to fill a paper lunch bag, which must have taken several weeks at least. I should ask her how she did it sometime.
Regardless, I swore that day to pay her back for her shitnanigans. The question was how? Clearly, I must do something with bird shit, to prove I'm better at her at everything. I did the same thing when she rang on my doorbell when I first moved in.
She must've thought me incredibly naive to try and pull the oldest prank in the book on me - the dong-ditch. She was rakishly terrible at it to - by the time I had opened my door to catch the scoundrel, she was still standing there! She mumbled some excuse for her being there and scampered off before I could really let her have it. The next night, I rigged a wireless device that would trigger her doorbell every second for the next thirty days!
Well, I was done with her amateurish ploys. This was the big one. I had dug a pond two feet wide, six feet deep and two miles long. Due to a surveyor's clerical error, my land actually extended through her property.
However, due to another surveyor's clerical error my house, excluding my front porch, was *her* property. She immediately barred me from entering my own house, and I had resorted to sleeping on a floating piece of driftwood for several months until the pond was completed.
I had invited the whole neighbourhood to my front porch under the pretense of a going-away party for me. For some reason, almost everyone came to wish me farewell. Some of them even baked a cake for me that had some writing on it, but I had never learned to read. It tasted stale, but that's how I like it.
I dove into the water and triumphantly swam to Circe's house. Once there, I waited for my reinforcements.
Suddenly, a small piece of bread hit me in the face.
"Watch what you're throwing! There's people swimming here!" I yelled to an old lady sitting on Circe's back porch.
"Where?" she asked innocently.
"Oh, playing coy, are we?" I shot back, and climbed out of the water. My sopping-wet pants forced me into a waddle, which removed some of my intimidating presence as I moved to confront her.
She hit me with another piece of bread.
"Ok, that was *definitely* on purpose that time, lady!" I shouted, flustered.
The lady seemed confused, and paused for a moment with another piece of bread in her hand. She was obviously aiming to throw it at me.
I stared menacingly at the bread. The lady stared placidly at me, which only angered me further. The bread had no expression, but it did have an air of haughtiness. It was probably one of those French breads.
After what felt like an hour, she let the bread fly - it hit me square in the face.
I flew into a rage. I ululated a ferocious war cry and lunged at her, but the bitch Circe had made her porch seven times taller overnight, and I wasn't able to mount it. She was smarter than I gave her credit for.
"Oh, that's quite enough for you," the lady muttered and went inside, leaving me jumping uselessly at the giant stairs.
Dejected, I settled for taking a shit in her backyard. I went to pull down my pants, but they were already off, weighed down as they were by the water. I smugly took a shit, but that's when I noticed something was dreadfully wrong. It was more like a liquid, not at all like I'm used to.
The old lady reappeared and tore off her mask. It was Circe! "How do you like the bread?" she asked.
*Quack* I answe - wait, what?
"It was magic bread. Each time you touched it, you became more of a duck! It's irreversible, by the way, so don't bother pestering me for a cure. Have a nice life!" With that, she turned and flung aside the bag of bread.
My revenge plot was already forming in my mind. Luckily, I already knew how to shit in a bag... | "Haaah?"
I'm out swimming in the lake, and I get knocked in the head by some sort of missile. My first thought is that it's some sort of mugger, but when I look around I see bread, and ducks. Well, damn. I look down, and all I see are more feathers. I try to shout at this brigand, but I only hear a quack. Hmmm.
This took quite some contemplating, but I know I am a duck. This is news to me, so I immediately begin to think of why this is. Maybe I just drank too much and too much fun, or perhaps this is someone's idea of revenge. The latter makes much more sense, as there are a few people who think they've been wronged by me. Now, I was only dispensing their due justice, but some of my less friendly peers take stuff a little too harshly.
I can't really do much without my regular functions, so I try to make a dramatic speech to the other ducks and try to find out who did this to me, but only a couple others follow me. My new paddled feet march down the road to the nearest town ,which happened to be Thebes, passing a few passers-by. The only interesting thing on the trip was a cloaked, bearded man making his way along. While this could easily have been an ordinary, cloaked, bearded man, my suspicions were raised. When my two followers and I reach the market, most of the citizens react with quizzical looks and flinches. I suppose ducks don't often make it this far into the city; alive, that is. Though if someone thought of me as dinner, that ought to be a battle for the ages.
Well, anyway, I'm a duck and I can only quack, and with such a large city as this, many people ought to not be well-versed in translation. I see this as my only option , and quack my way about town, hoping someone could hear my plight and restore me back to my usual self.
After a short venture in failure, I'm reminded of someone who I had an unfavourable encounter with before, and head to his shop. It wasn't too big of a deal, but I still don't imagine him helping me. I reach the door to his occult shop, but find that I have no power to open it. Will this be my fate forever? The question weighs on my mind as I skulk on over to the fountain for a nice dip. Hopefully life as a fowl won't be too foul.
I'm still sulking when I see a rustling on a nearby cobble street. It appears that there's some old, but not cloaked man waving his sword towards a hapless old lady. Now, when I see this, my blood of justice starts heating up and I paddle my way near the fight. However, it was also at this time I realised I had just forgotten my plight. However I can not allow such a crime to go unpunished. Using my furious wings of fury, I glide towards the assailant and deliver a powerful kick to his cranium! He comes crashing down on the ground. "Ack! You and your dirty tricks! Fine, have your form back! Olympus will hear of this soon enough!"
The apparent villain guy fled for some reason and I returned back to my usual Godly self. Oh well. And speaking of which... this lady was the same before who barraged me with the missiles earlier.
"Hey! Don't feed bread to ducks! It's quite unhealthy!" | |
[WP] As you're out for your regular afternoon swim some old lady starts throwing bread at you. Slowly, Horribly you realize that you're actually a duck. | mi naem is duck
i lik the bred
this old lady
throws at my haed
i quack once
she quak twice
i think she
is vary neice
i fluff my neck
she runs away
she must faer
my waddling sway
mi naem is duck
i like the bread
fuck with me
i'll peck you ded | "Haaah?"
I'm out swimming in the lake, and I get knocked in the head by some sort of missile. My first thought is that it's some sort of mugger, but when I look around I see bread, and ducks. Well, damn. I look down, and all I see are more feathers. I try to shout at this brigand, but I only hear a quack. Hmmm.
This took quite some contemplating, but I know I am a duck. This is news to me, so I immediately begin to think of why this is. Maybe I just drank too much and too much fun, or perhaps this is someone's idea of revenge. The latter makes much more sense, as there are a few people who think they've been wronged by me. Now, I was only dispensing their due justice, but some of my less friendly peers take stuff a little too harshly.
I can't really do much without my regular functions, so I try to make a dramatic speech to the other ducks and try to find out who did this to me, but only a couple others follow me. My new paddled feet march down the road to the nearest town ,which happened to be Thebes, passing a few passers-by. The only interesting thing on the trip was a cloaked, bearded man making his way along. While this could easily have been an ordinary, cloaked, bearded man, my suspicions were raised. When my two followers and I reach the market, most of the citizens react with quizzical looks and flinches. I suppose ducks don't often make it this far into the city; alive, that is. Though if someone thought of me as dinner, that ought to be a battle for the ages.
Well, anyway, I'm a duck and I can only quack, and with such a large city as this, many people ought to not be well-versed in translation. I see this as my only option , and quack my way about town, hoping someone could hear my plight and restore me back to my usual self.
After a short venture in failure, I'm reminded of someone who I had an unfavourable encounter with before, and head to his shop. It wasn't too big of a deal, but I still don't imagine him helping me. I reach the door to his occult shop, but find that I have no power to open it. Will this be my fate forever? The question weighs on my mind as I skulk on over to the fountain for a nice dip. Hopefully life as a fowl won't be too foul.
I'm still sulking when I see a rustling on a nearby cobble street. It appears that there's some old, but not cloaked man waving his sword towards a hapless old lady. Now, when I see this, my blood of justice starts heating up and I paddle my way near the fight. However, it was also at this time I realised I had just forgotten my plight. However I can not allow such a crime to go unpunished. Using my furious wings of fury, I glide towards the assailant and deliver a powerful kick to his cranium! He comes crashing down on the ground. "Ack! You and your dirty tricks! Fine, have your form back! Olympus will hear of this soon enough!"
The apparent villain guy fled for some reason and I returned back to my usual Godly self. Oh well. And speaking of which... this lady was the same before who barraged me with the missiles earlier.
"Hey! Don't feed bread to ducks! It's quite unhealthy!" | |
[WP] As you're out for your regular afternoon swim some old lady starts throwing bread at you. Slowly, Horribly you realize that you're actually a duck. | I know that I have a speech impediment that can make me a little difficult to understand. It makes me a little irritated, sometimes, because I feel like I'm having to go through some rather ridiculous pantomimes to get my point across. And, yes, I have been known to have anger-management issues. But that old lady was asking for it!
There I was, in the park, minding my own business sitting on a bench and looking out at the lake. I had just bombed a job interview, and I was seriously considering hitting up my uncle for some money. I hated to do that, because he already considered me so irresponsible. I can't help that people just seem to have no patience for my inability to articulate verbally. So there I was, mid-sulk, when I began to notice something that had been happening for a few minutes, but which until now had failed to sufficiently catch my attention. A little tuft of something or the other landed on the grass in front of me. It was off-white, and when I picked it up it looked oddly familiar. A few more pieces fell to the ground and it was when I realized that some of the orange-brown stuff that was on the side of one was bread crust that it all fell into place for me. I looked around, and realized and older woman was throwing chunks of bread at me! The nerve of this lady! I know I'm in dire straights, but at the very least she could've offered me the bread directly, instead of throwing it at me like I was... some kind of animal!
I got up and really started laying into her, reading her the riot act, but her face was being overtaken by a wider and wider grin. Why! This lady found my antics /amusing/! What unmitigated gall! I felt my face turning red with uncontrollable anger, and I began to really just scream and rant at this lady. I wasn't even really making words anymore, but she did finally seem to be getting the point. After a few moments, I began to calm down, and regain my composure. How embarrassing! How silly I must've looked. I felt the need to flee, and turned on my heel and stalked away. After several minutes of storming off in a fine huff, I found myself simply wandering the city. What had prompted that display? It was as I was passing a window that I glanced at myself. I decided to take an inventory. There I was. Fine white feathers, as always. Proud orange bill. My favorite blue cap. My favorite blue shirt. I mean... I guess, yeah, I am a duck. I never really put it in those terms before, but it felt like a truth. I am a duck, but what would've given her the idea that I'm one of those... duck-ducks? Couldn't she tell that I was a person, too? I needed some clarity from that jarring experience.
I decided to go and see my uncle, after all. Perhaps, even if I didn't ask him for money, being around the cranky old codger would cheer me up. He always had such stories to tell of his adventures. I turned left at the corner, and made my way up the hill to his mansion. I could see the money bin in the distance, and I idly wondered if Uncle Scrooge was swimming in his coins again, today. | "Haaah?"
I'm out swimming in the lake, and I get knocked in the head by some sort of missile. My first thought is that it's some sort of mugger, but when I look around I see bread, and ducks. Well, damn. I look down, and all I see are more feathers. I try to shout at this brigand, but I only hear a quack. Hmmm.
This took quite some contemplating, but I know I am a duck. This is news to me, so I immediately begin to think of why this is. Maybe I just drank too much and too much fun, or perhaps this is someone's idea of revenge. The latter makes much more sense, as there are a few people who think they've been wronged by me. Now, I was only dispensing their due justice, but some of my less friendly peers take stuff a little too harshly.
I can't really do much without my regular functions, so I try to make a dramatic speech to the other ducks and try to find out who did this to me, but only a couple others follow me. My new paddled feet march down the road to the nearest town ,which happened to be Thebes, passing a few passers-by. The only interesting thing on the trip was a cloaked, bearded man making his way along. While this could easily have been an ordinary, cloaked, bearded man, my suspicions were raised. When my two followers and I reach the market, most of the citizens react with quizzical looks and flinches. I suppose ducks don't often make it this far into the city; alive, that is. Though if someone thought of me as dinner, that ought to be a battle for the ages.
Well, anyway, I'm a duck and I can only quack, and with such a large city as this, many people ought to not be well-versed in translation. I see this as my only option , and quack my way about town, hoping someone could hear my plight and restore me back to my usual self.
After a short venture in failure, I'm reminded of someone who I had an unfavourable encounter with before, and head to his shop. It wasn't too big of a deal, but I still don't imagine him helping me. I reach the door to his occult shop, but find that I have no power to open it. Will this be my fate forever? The question weighs on my mind as I skulk on over to the fountain for a nice dip. Hopefully life as a fowl won't be too foul.
I'm still sulking when I see a rustling on a nearby cobble street. It appears that there's some old, but not cloaked man waving his sword towards a hapless old lady. Now, when I see this, my blood of justice starts heating up and I paddle my way near the fight. However, it was also at this time I realised I had just forgotten my plight. However I can not allow such a crime to go unpunished. Using my furious wings of fury, I glide towards the assailant and deliver a powerful kick to his cranium! He comes crashing down on the ground. "Ack! You and your dirty tricks! Fine, have your form back! Olympus will hear of this soon enough!"
The apparent villain guy fled for some reason and I returned back to my usual Godly self. Oh well. And speaking of which... this lady was the same before who barraged me with the missiles earlier.
"Hey! Don't feed bread to ducks! It's quite unhealthy!" | |
[WP] As you're out for your regular afternoon swim some old lady starts throwing bread at you. Slowly, Horribly you realize that you're actually a duck. | mi naem is duck
i lik the bred
this old lady
throws at my haed
i quack once
she quak twice
i think she
is vary neice
i fluff my neck
she runs away
she must faer
my waddling sway
mi naem is duck
i like the bread
fuck with me
i'll peck you ded | When did this happen?
I tried to think back, but my usual ability to arrange time into a linear narrative was slipping away...
Bread.
Underwater... bubbles, pond weed.
Bubbles... shake off...
I didn't know how this had happened... How what had happened? What was I...?
Quack.
Bread.
Bread.
I like bread. | |
[WP] As you're out for your regular afternoon swim some old lady starts throwing bread at you. Slowly, Horribly you realize that you're actually a duck. | mi naem is duck
i lik the bred
this old lady
throws at my haed
i quack once
she quak twice
i think she
is vary neice
i fluff my neck
she runs away
she must faer
my waddling sway
mi naem is duck
i like the bread
fuck with me
i'll peck you ded | With the blazing sun beating down on the lake, it was not only a perfect day for a swim, but an ideal day for laying on the beach.
But not me.
I always got a daily swim in and skipped the boring "tanning" part of the generic beach-going experience because swimming is what I liked. Little did i know, swimming would become a huge part of my life very soon.
So, I was out on the dock one day, and the beach was crowded. Strange. Usually the beach is desolate on Wednesday, and now it was packed with beachgoers. I ignored them and performed a perfect cannonball into the rippling waters of the lake.
*Kaploosh!*
The lake was exhilarating, and nothing could ruin a day like this!
"Come ere' ducky!" The old woman now standing upon the dock decided to throw something at me. It was a large chunk of white bread, which hit me in the head and then fell into the water in a soggy fashion.
"Hey, what gives!" is what I meant to say, but the words instead came out like a sort of squawk, or a...quack.
I never thought the day would come. I had become what I hated most of all about the open lake, and now it was permanent.
I was a duck, floating about in a cute demeanor, and there was nothing I could do. | |
[WP] As you're out for your regular afternoon swim some old lady starts throwing bread at you. Slowly, Horribly you realize that you're actually a duck. | mi naem is duck
i lik the bred
this old lady
throws at my haed
i quack once
she quak twice
i think she
is vary neice
i fluff my neck
she runs away
she must faer
my waddling sway
mi naem is duck
i like the bread
fuck with me
i'll peck you ded | *And… Fifty!* Donald thought happily to himself as he finished another length of the pond. It had been years since he last went swimming, yet he had managed to swim fifty lengths and was barely out of breath. He floated around for a bit feeling proud of himself.
He had used to come swimming in this pond all the time when he was a child. Technically people weren’t allowed to swim in it, since it was a pond, but no one ever bothered to enforce it when all the local children went swimming there in the summer months.
It had been years since then though, and he hadn’t been near the pond in a long time. But this morning, when he was visiting his family, Donald had decided to go and visit the old pond.
A sudden splash nearby knocked Donald out of his reverie. Looking up, he noticed a woman sitting by the edge of the pond was throwing bread at him. He was about to yell at her, but then suddenly realised he recognised her. However, he couldn’t remember for the life of him how he recognised her. Had he run into her this morning?
Now that he thought about it, he had very little recollection about what had happened after he left the house that morning. He’d left fairly early, since he was meant to be meeting a friend for lunch, and had got to the pond at about 10am.
There hadn’t been anyone around, so to feed his nostalgia, Donald had stripped off and gone for a quick dip.
As he was swimming, a woman had thrown a chunk of bread into the pond, almost hitting him. *It was the same woman who had just thrown some bread at him now!* Realised Donald.
He’d had a bit of a go at her over it, and she’d started telling him off for swimming in the pond. The argument had escalated a little bit, and Donald had insulted her about a wart she had on her cheek.
The woman had been quite upset about this, and in response she had revealed she was a witch, and then…
Donald looked down at himself in a panic. He was a duck!
“What the fuck?!” he began to shout, but stopped when all that came out was a **QUACK!**
“Help me!” he tried to yell. **QUACK QUACK!**
The woman sat by the pond began cackling. “Enjoying your swim in the pond are you little ducky?” she taunted, throwing some more bread at him.
**QUACK!** Donald yelled back at her.
Suddenly, and angry mob charged up to the pond. They grabbed the woman, and lifted her up on their shoulders. “Witch! Witch! Burn the witch!” They were chanting. Once she was lifted up, they began to march off with her.
“Wait! Don’t take her away! I need her to turn me back!” Donald tried to yell.
**Quack! Quack quack quack!!**
One of the mob turned around and saw Donald flailing around in the pond. He grabbed onto him, and carried the duck along with him.
Donald wriggled desperately in the man’s arms. He was rubbing his feathers the wrong way, which was very uncomfortable, although the realisation that he had feathers made him much more uncomfortable than that.
Peering through the mob, Donald saw that they were approaching a large set of scales. The man leading the mob jumped up onto a nearby platform, and began speaking to the mob. “I know we all want to burn the witch…” he began, before being interrupted by a large cheer.
“Burn the witch!” yelled the mob.
“But before we can burn her,” he continued, gesturing at the mob to calm down. “We have to make sure she actually is a witch! Now, as you all know, witches burn, which means that they must be made of wood.” The crowd nods and murmurs agreement. “So, wood floats, and so do ducks, which means that witches weigh the same as ducks!” The man pointed at Donald. “Let’s place the witch and this duck onto the scales, and test to see that they weigh the same!”
The crowd cheered, and placed Donald onto one end of the scales, and the witch onto the other. The scales wobbled a bit, but rested to show that Donald and the woman did indeed weigh the same.
“She’s a witch!” yelled the mob happily. They picked her back up and carried her off, forgetting all about Donald.
“Wait for me!” he tried to yell after them, but once again all that came out was a sad **Quack** that was ignored by the mob.
| |
[WP] As you're out for your regular afternoon swim some old lady starts throwing bread at you. Slowly, Horribly you realize that you're actually a duck. | mi naem is duck
i lik the bred
this old lady
throws at my haed
i quack once
she quak twice
i think she
is vary neice
i fluff my neck
she runs away
she must faer
my waddling sway
mi naem is duck
i like the bread
fuck with me
i'll peck you ded | I sigh, looking out at the perfect calm water with just the softest ripples moving along the surface, drawing me in with their seductive coolness. The day is warm, and I can't wait to dip my feet in the water. I slowly wade out, watching the fish scatter as I stomp down next to them. Soon I am floating, feeling the warmth of the sun on my face and the cool of the water on my chest. It's good to be alive.
I swim out farther, watching the fish swim around me, mesmerizing me. For a laugh, I should just reach out and try to grab one, I think, ducking into the water and coming up with a carp in my mouth. I'm so shocked, I almost drop it. Instead, I bite down, surprised even more at how good this raw, bloody fish tastes in my beak.
WAIT A SECOND. BEAK?! I look in the water at my reflection, and I practically faint when I see what is looking back at me. It's impossible. It can't be. I'm a person! I look up and around at the other people on the river shore. Nothing out of the ordinary there. An old woman stands with her feet in the water, reaching into a bag of bread. I look around for who she is throwing it for, when suddenly a chunk lands in front of me.
"No, no, lady, you got it all wrong! I'm a person, a *person*!" I scream, and she laughs.
"Quack, quack!" She responds. Horrified, I realize she can't understand me. I turn and swim as fast as my little webbed feet will take me into the river. Suddenly, a wave of exhaustion rolls over me, and before I know it I'm asleep.
I awake with a start hours later, looking up at the stars over the river. I always did love a night out in the water, though usually it is too cold to stay in for very long. I shake my feathers a bit, comforted by the warmth they afford on this cold autumn night. I float along the river lazily. Glancing down in the water, I see another fish by my belly, and without thinking I grab it. This fish is even better than the last one, better than anything I've ever eaten. I take a long gulp of water to wash it down, pleased with the ease of my meal. Maybe being a duck is not so bad... | |
[WP] As you're out for your regular afternoon swim some old lady starts throwing bread at you. Slowly, Horribly you realize that you're actually a duck. | I know that I have a speech impediment that can make me a little difficult to understand. It makes me a little irritated, sometimes, because I feel like I'm having to go through some rather ridiculous pantomimes to get my point across. And, yes, I have been known to have anger-management issues. But that old lady was asking for it!
There I was, in the park, minding my own business sitting on a bench and looking out at the lake. I had just bombed a job interview, and I was seriously considering hitting up my uncle for some money. I hated to do that, because he already considered me so irresponsible. I can't help that people just seem to have no patience for my inability to articulate verbally. So there I was, mid-sulk, when I began to notice something that had been happening for a few minutes, but which until now had failed to sufficiently catch my attention. A little tuft of something or the other landed on the grass in front of me. It was off-white, and when I picked it up it looked oddly familiar. A few more pieces fell to the ground and it was when I realized that some of the orange-brown stuff that was on the side of one was bread crust that it all fell into place for me. I looked around, and realized and older woman was throwing chunks of bread at me! The nerve of this lady! I know I'm in dire straights, but at the very least she could've offered me the bread directly, instead of throwing it at me like I was... some kind of animal!
I got up and really started laying into her, reading her the riot act, but her face was being overtaken by a wider and wider grin. Why! This lady found my antics /amusing/! What unmitigated gall! I felt my face turning red with uncontrollable anger, and I began to really just scream and rant at this lady. I wasn't even really making words anymore, but she did finally seem to be getting the point. After a few moments, I began to calm down, and regain my composure. How embarrassing! How silly I must've looked. I felt the need to flee, and turned on my heel and stalked away. After several minutes of storming off in a fine huff, I found myself simply wandering the city. What had prompted that display? It was as I was passing a window that I glanced at myself. I decided to take an inventory. There I was. Fine white feathers, as always. Proud orange bill. My favorite blue cap. My favorite blue shirt. I mean... I guess, yeah, I am a duck. I never really put it in those terms before, but it felt like a truth. I am a duck, but what would've given her the idea that I'm one of those... duck-ducks? Couldn't she tell that I was a person, too? I needed some clarity from that jarring experience.
I decided to go and see my uncle, after all. Perhaps, even if I didn't ask him for money, being around the cranky old codger would cheer me up. He always had such stories to tell of his adventures. I turned left at the corner, and made my way up the hill to his mansion. I could see the money bin in the distance, and I idly wondered if Uncle Scrooge was swimming in his coins again, today. | It was just another summer afternoon and the heat was too much to bear so I went skinny dipping in my family lake. The refreshing caress of the gentle water cajoling me to deeper within her fathomless bosom and I descended deeper and deeper into cold. Every dive invigorated me with a profound feeling of happiness and I chose to idle in the buoyant waters, perhaps far too long I now reminisce. For when i ascended the opaque sky seemed a far cry from the radiance of the season and was a stark opposition - a moody grey of muddled and murky green of the marshes. Nearing the shore I tried to find my clothes to no avail. I was then propositioned by a respectable lady whose offerings of bread were a pitiful attempt to mask her own loneliness. I firmly rejected her “No” I spoke and then the veil broke! “Quack”, I uttered! So surprised I was that I tried again - “Quack”, I muttered! My life was a dream within a dream. I wondered whether I was a man who dreamt that he was a duck or a duck who daydreamed of being a man. All I now know is that my name is Zhuangzi and this is my epistle to the world - “The Transformation of Self”. And in this grand delusion that is life - I Quack! I Laugh! I Leap, I Sleep. My veritable life is a testament to transitory nature of life which is scientifically proven to be a simulation. An amalgamation in the cosmos that we cultivators seek to surpass. Even Lord Third would weep and kowtow to my beautiful feathery complexion without compare in this universe. And I live fast and I die young. Because I Zhuangzi is the duckman who gives no fucks....
| |
[WP] As you're out for your regular afternoon swim some old lady starts throwing bread at you. Slowly, Horribly you realize that you're actually a duck. | I know that I have a speech impediment that can make me a little difficult to understand. It makes me a little irritated, sometimes, because I feel like I'm having to go through some rather ridiculous pantomimes to get my point across. And, yes, I have been known to have anger-management issues. But that old lady was asking for it!
There I was, in the park, minding my own business sitting on a bench and looking out at the lake. I had just bombed a job interview, and I was seriously considering hitting up my uncle for some money. I hated to do that, because he already considered me so irresponsible. I can't help that people just seem to have no patience for my inability to articulate verbally. So there I was, mid-sulk, when I began to notice something that had been happening for a few minutes, but which until now had failed to sufficiently catch my attention. A little tuft of something or the other landed on the grass in front of me. It was off-white, and when I picked it up it looked oddly familiar. A few more pieces fell to the ground and it was when I realized that some of the orange-brown stuff that was on the side of one was bread crust that it all fell into place for me. I looked around, and realized and older woman was throwing chunks of bread at me! The nerve of this lady! I know I'm in dire straights, but at the very least she could've offered me the bread directly, instead of throwing it at me like I was... some kind of animal!
I got up and really started laying into her, reading her the riot act, but her face was being overtaken by a wider and wider grin. Why! This lady found my antics /amusing/! What unmitigated gall! I felt my face turning red with uncontrollable anger, and I began to really just scream and rant at this lady. I wasn't even really making words anymore, but she did finally seem to be getting the point. After a few moments, I began to calm down, and regain my composure. How embarrassing! How silly I must've looked. I felt the need to flee, and turned on my heel and stalked away. After several minutes of storming off in a fine huff, I found myself simply wandering the city. What had prompted that display? It was as I was passing a window that I glanced at myself. I decided to take an inventory. There I was. Fine white feathers, as always. Proud orange bill. My favorite blue cap. My favorite blue shirt. I mean... I guess, yeah, I am a duck. I never really put it in those terms before, but it felt like a truth. I am a duck, but what would've given her the idea that I'm one of those... duck-ducks? Couldn't she tell that I was a person, too? I needed some clarity from that jarring experience.
I decided to go and see my uncle, after all. Perhaps, even if I didn't ask him for money, being around the cranky old codger would cheer me up. He always had such stories to tell of his adventures. I turned left at the corner, and made my way up the hill to his mansion. I could see the money bin in the distance, and I idly wondered if Uncle Scrooge was swimming in his coins again, today. | There's nothing I relish more than my afternoon swims. Part of it is my affinity for the water, but mostly it's my affinity for resisting authority. It's illegal to swim in the pond behind my house - a pond that I dug myself.
It was an effort to piss off my next-door neighbour, Circe. In the country "next-door" is about two miles, so you know someone really hates you when the travel the two miles, on foot, to leave a reeking bag of bird shit on your front porch. At first I was actually a bit impressed, since it's notoriously difficult to get a bird to shit on anything you actually *want* it to shit on (the problem is their predilection for resisting authority; they can't be trained!). Unbelievably, she had amassed enough shit to fill a paper lunch bag, which must have taken several weeks at least. I should ask her how she did it sometime.
Regardless, I swore that day to pay her back for her shitnanigans. The question was how? Clearly, I must do something with bird shit, to prove I'm better at her at everything. I did the same thing when she rang on my doorbell when I first moved in.
She must've thought me incredibly naive to try and pull the oldest prank in the book on me - the dong-ditch. She was rakishly terrible at it to - by the time I had opened my door to catch the scoundrel, she was still standing there! She mumbled some excuse for her being there and scampered off before I could really let her have it. The next night, I rigged a wireless device that would trigger her doorbell every second for the next thirty days!
Well, I was done with her amateurish ploys. This was the big one. I had dug a pond two feet wide, six feet deep and two miles long. Due to a surveyor's clerical error, my land actually extended through her property.
However, due to another surveyor's clerical error my house, excluding my front porch, was *her* property. She immediately barred me from entering my own house, and I had resorted to sleeping on a floating piece of driftwood for several months until the pond was completed.
I had invited the whole neighbourhood to my front porch under the pretense of a going-away party for me. For some reason, almost everyone came to wish me farewell. Some of them even baked a cake for me that had some writing on it, but I had never learned to read. It tasted stale, but that's how I like it.
I dove into the water and triumphantly swam to Circe's house. Once there, I waited for my reinforcements.
Suddenly, a small piece of bread hit me in the face.
"Watch what you're throwing! There's people swimming here!" I yelled to an old lady sitting on Circe's back porch.
"Where?" she asked innocently.
"Oh, playing coy, are we?" I shot back, and climbed out of the water. My sopping-wet pants forced me into a waddle, which removed some of my intimidating presence as I moved to confront her.
She hit me with another piece of bread.
"Ok, that was *definitely* on purpose that time, lady!" I shouted, flustered.
The lady seemed confused, and paused for a moment with another piece of bread in her hand. She was obviously aiming to throw it at me.
I stared menacingly at the bread. The lady stared placidly at me, which only angered me further. The bread had no expression, but it did have an air of haughtiness. It was probably one of those French breads.
After what felt like an hour, she let the bread fly - it hit me square in the face.
I flew into a rage. I ululated a ferocious war cry and lunged at her, but the bitch Circe had made her porch seven times taller overnight, and I wasn't able to mount it. She was smarter than I gave her credit for.
"Oh, that's quite enough for you," the lady muttered and went inside, leaving me jumping uselessly at the giant stairs.
Dejected, I settled for taking a shit in her backyard. I went to pull down my pants, but they were already off, weighed down as they were by the water. I smugly took a shit, but that's when I noticed something was dreadfully wrong. It was more like a liquid, not at all like I'm used to.
The old lady reappeared and tore off her mask. It was Circe! "How do you like the bread?" she asked.
*Quack* I answe - wait, what?
"It was magic bread. Each time you touched it, you became more of a duck! It's irreversible, by the way, so don't bother pestering me for a cure. Have a nice life!" With that, she turned and flung aside the bag of bread.
My revenge plot was already forming in my mind. Luckily, I already knew how to shit in a bag... | |
[WP] You are being executed. | That laugh as blood flowed from his mouth, it's... Deranged. And terrifying. "You think... You think this is the end of me?" His eyes... I don't know how to describe them. Evil? D-Determined? He seems so sure of himself. I never understood why people in movies always did this. Making impossible claims before they die. Now I understand.
Jesus, I'm chilled. My entire spine feels like it's made of ice, oh God, I feel like I can't move, I can't breathe, I just... I just... "Hey, HEY!" Blood splattered all over my face as he spat on me to grab my attention. My eyes are open like that will fix this, my breathing, I feel like I'm going to pass out. "Look at me!"
My neck's so stiff. Can I even move it? "Yeah, come on, look here. That's right. You can't just give in to these guys." Give in? What's that supposed to mean? "Come on. Listen, I think we can 'em. How about you get the three on the right, I'll get the rest?"
OH FUCK! Shut up, just shut up! Jesus, I can't believe he's still alive after that. *"What about you?"* That boot, soaked in shit and blood and who knows what else, oh, my neck feels so dirty. No, don't, just, eugh, eugh, eugh, oh that's filthy. *"Do you too need to learn to keep your mouth shut?"* Oh, shaking my head was a bad idea. Oh, God, Jesus, it's all over the back of my neck now. Fuck! A towel, Jesus, a wet wipe would work, just get that off of me!
"I... Pf. Kker! Gphe. I..." Maybe when you're coughing after each sound should be a sign not to talk. Wait. Is... Is his jaw still on right? "I dou- eugh- dount ehenk weee... hff hff... Done yeeh."
I thought I'd be glad to have the boot off my neck, but I'm already covered in... Why am I thinking about that? Do I not understand I'm about to die? Do I not get that being clean is not the thing I should be worried about right now? Ohhhhhhh! But I just want it off! More than anything, I want it off! If I had a wish right now and the choice was between not dying and getting that shit off my neck, I'd choose a God damned Magic Eraser, scrub it until my skin burns, just fuck! Get rid of the skin!
*"You!"* Oh, not me, don't, why me? *"Look at your friend here! Look! That's better. This is the price of arrogance. See how his jaw hangs loosely off his skull? Can you imagine the pain he is in right now? I would hope you cannot. Can you imagine what it is like when I SHAKE HIS CHIN? HAHAHAHA! Listen to the screams! So many fearsome words before, but now? Only the pain. But he's not so bad, maybe? Stop hurting him, your eyes say to me."*
My eyes say nothing of the sort. My eyes say get this stuff off my neck! *"But your mouth says nothing. I cannot have your eyes disrespecting me when you are out there for the audience."* Just, alright, yes, my eyes are saying don't hurt him NOW! Do you have to keep kicking him to the ground?
*"You have felt my boot on your neck. You know how it feels. I have had many men offer me anything not to feel my boot on their neck again."* I... I would make the same offers. *"But here, I give you a chance. You can keep my boot off your friend's neck. All you have to do is show me respect with your eyes. ... ... ... There. Much better."*
Considering how short my life will be past this moment, I don't think there's much point in saying this. But I will never forget that sound. As the boot- no. Not the boot, that was the bone. As the bone, the teeth, the skull, all shattered inward. Jesus. I wasn't expecting that. I didn't... I don't know how to feel about that. I don't know... I just... I just-I-I-I-Just-I DON'T KNOW!
*"Come, you are the star now. Your death will be quick."* I doe--- I- I don't...
 
 
I just don't know. | Was it all worth it? I’ve always liked to think I have no regrets. But standing here, in front of this crowd of people, I’m not so sure it was worth it. They’ve been throwing stones, rotten fruit, anything they can get their hands on. Their voices a cacophony of sound, all calling for my death. I spot a few of my old friends. Heh. Even them, people who’ve stood beside me in good times and bad, blending in with the crowd, spitting all this venom and hatred at me. My head begins to burn, a hot liquid drips down my face. Someone down there could actually throw. I’m impressed.
I think back to the old days. I was a good kid. Got into some trouble a few times, but nothing ever severe. I was honest and reliable. People could always count on me to get things done. People always came to me to confide. I didn’t judge them, just listened. Never once did I tell any of those secrets. I suppose they go to the grave with me. I wasn’t the smartest kid, but even so I did decent in school. I did my homework, passed my tests. I never pursued anything beyond the average schooling. Met a girl, Abigail, when we were young. Got married, had kids. Lived a happy life. Living without a father will be rough on my children. I can only hope they understand someday.
But no. I don’t regret it. My father was dying. He was in pain. He was suffering. How could you stand by and watch as your family is in pain? I sure as hell couldn’t. He asked for it. Late that night. He wanted to die. He couldn’t take it anymore. I was always the reliable one. I ended his life right there. Nobody gets it. What they saw was a son murdering his sick father in cold blood. No matter how many times I explained it to them, they didn’t get it. They didn’t understand he was in pain! They couldn’t understand. They didn’t sit there at his bedside, they didn’t see his tears or hear him sob himself to sleep. I was there. They weren’t. So no. I wouldn’t change a thing. And if they want me to be the bad guy, then so be it.
“Come on! I haven’t go-“
Was all I managed to get out before the floor gave out and rope constricted my throat, I gasped for air, and clawed at the rope, but to no avail. My vision darkened and I pass knowing I did what I believed to be right. | |
[WP] We all just assumed that aliens would be a completely different species to anything on Earth. No-one suspected that they would be genetically identical to humans. | Michael sat still as a statue on his mesh play mat, his legs folded under him as he watched the television completely transfixed. He held in his right hand his Superman toy and in the other an 'Alien' toy from the Ridley Scott film. SETI scientist were claiming they had confirmed that they have made contact with extraterrestrial beings. Every channel was interrupted for the breaking news, including Michales 'Justice League Action' he had been watching minutes before. What was amazing was that their language was easily decyphered and had linguistically similar organization to human languages. On another channel, Stephen Hawking was speaking to lead scientist of SETI. He wanted humanity to be more secretive about our weapons and abilities, he warned we would have one chance to get this right and if we failed, the death of our species would be the result. The secretary of American defense agreed. Scientist presumed it would take them months to enter our solar system. We had time to prepare.
The ensuing interim was filled with a mad dash of rogue states attempting to acquire nuclear arms. They stated that denying them this basic right in the face of such an outstanding threat to humanity was to deny them the basic right of life and the means to defend themselves. Human rights activist flooded the streets on the behalf of defending other countries in the case of an attack. Riots and protest ensued when the U.N refused to allow nuclear arms to countries. Scientologist, members of the Heavens gate littered the streets with pamphlets claiming that they had known all along and that only those who joined their movement would be saved. Christian members shouted from the steps of churches about false prophets and the coming war between good and evil. Still others believed the aliens would bring peace and guidance, and the parks were full of meditators trying to telepathically communicate good will to the aliens.
The weeks before their ship arrived, astronomers identified an anomaly. A new 'star' appeared in the night sky. The sun's reflection on the ships metal hull as it approached from the void. Messages were relayed in secret between the aliens and multiple countries across the globe. Each one wanting to know more and selfishly prepare itself better but also sharing a bit with everyone else as good measure. Claims that the aliens had sent digital data of their appearance circulated online before it was officially released days later.
They were humanoid. Almost human. They were tall, an average of about 6'2". Angular bone structures that made them look elvish. The key difference we're the eyes. All black, no Iris just what seemed like a large pupil that eclipses the entire eye. And each one was of a pale white color, some with varying tinges of orange or blue or red. Scientist claim this is due to their generations long voyage among the darkness of space. Their bodies no longer produced melanin, which is used as protection from harmful sun rays. Their eyes black to absorb as much light as it could within the darkness of space, though their ships we're fully illuminated.
All in all, other than that they were visually appealing. And late night comedy shows made jokes about wanting to get to Earth faster to commence breeding practies. Sexy art depicting the aliens wearing all manner of human clothing brands and in provocative positions filled every nook of the internet. Scientist stated that based on what they've received from the aliens, they were gentically identical to us and that breeding was indeed possible.
Lin rose from her chair and walked out to her balcony over looking Hong Kong. Hundreds of others were out, camera phones pointed to the sky. The first arrival of the mother ship. It was immense. Larger than any vessel even imagined by mankind. The size of Texas, it actually exerted a gravitational pull on the oceans and caused high tides. It coasted across Europe and Asia, having the largest human populations they were targeted first. Then the America's. Silent. Observing. Spectating.
"What the Hell are they up to?! Why are they in radio silence?"
"I don't know sir. They may be simply enjoying the spectacle of our planet and we as similar alien beings."
"Or looking for our weaponry to shut down!"
American General Manny Harrison scowled as he chewed the end of an unlit cigar. He sat across from secretary of state Jennifer Fitzgerald, secretary of defense Gary Pinkerton, Senior Officer George Smith, a handful of trusted senators and the President of the United States; Sarah Pinkerton. She sat quitely and listened. When she was like this, she practically blended in to the scenery.
"Mrs. President. What do you think?"
"Let us place ourselves in the mind of these beings. They have come to find a planet that harbors life, one of which is very similar to themselves. A planet lush with resources and possible food sources. I suspect one of three things can happen." She rose from the leather arm chair and clasped her hands behind her back as she walked over to the monitors showing multiple satellite images of events. Some satellites had crashed into the ship itself and more than a handful were non-operational.
"They will cruise and decide they like what they see and attempt to mingle with us. Introduce their genetics into ours until we are a single species. Or they will decide to simply observe and study us until taking off. Perhaps they don't care about what is here on Earth and this was just a curiosity to them."
General Manny nodded. "And what's the third thing?"
"Well General. I think you know what the third thing is." She watched a monitor intently showing the slow crawl of the mothership over Brazil.
"If they are like us in more ways than just genetics, we can expect a war for our world. We've never been kind to one another, and now we have a species from the stars with technology that makes our weapons look like legos, that may have the exact psychology of the men and women who enslaved others of their own species. Men and women that kill members of their species for greed and power. Men and women that hate based on fairy tale religions. If they are like us general, you'll have your work cut out for you."
Dozens of more ships appeared in the night sky over the weeks. Not as large as the initial ship. Some wondered if they sent their mothership as a feature of good favor, their most vulnerable ship sent in first. Others wondered if it was meant to display power with it's size.
After a few days of silence they communicated. They wanted to meet face to face. ZenoBiologist and regular biologist lined up, phsycians jumped at the chance to be the one to innoculate the visitors. With their similar genomes we would be able to vaccinate them against the diseases. The events after that were nothing less but incredible.
| "So you're telling me that you're an alien." Alan asked Jace.
He nodded, shrugging off the fact that he looked nothing more than a regular teenage boy.
Alan began poking Jace in various parts of his body, only to find himself sighing in defeat.
He was such an enthusiast about extraterrestrial lifeforms that he never thought aliens would ever take form ala I am Number Four.
"Do you at least have a super power?" He asked Jace.
Jace rubbed his chin in thought, trying to think of something to quell his friends disappointment.
"I can... play a Battle Mercy in Overwatch?" A sarcastic smile planted on his lips.
Alan rolled his eyes and placed his arm over Jace's shoulder. "Whatever. We might as well just go back to playing Overwatch after all. I thought this Alien Coming out of yours would be a lot more exciting."
Jace only shrugged.
"But..." Alan said. "You do realize how many Martian jokes are gonna start happening at school, right?"
Jace rolled his eyes and groaned. He didn't anticipate that at all.
| |
[WP] We all just assumed that aliens would be a completely different species to anything on Earth. No-one suspected that they would be genetically identical to humans. | "It was an experiment." the being said, oh so familiar in his speech and looks. He sparked a cigarette, standing in front of his craft that looked only a few decades ahead of our current technology. "We found a Neanderthal in the ice, frozen in a way that the DNA was intact enough for us to make a clone, add some alterations and with a few adjustments... well, you know the story of Adam and Eve? It was is. We put the first people on Earth. We wanted to take a look into our past, and see how we had grown and developed. Of course, Earth... this Earth... isn't really ground zero for our species. Same name, different planets. But we made this and seeded the species, and it's been phenomenal. Aside from a few instances of contact while gathering research, it's been a smooth process, and people have simply accounted for our jet pack flights to and from the planet as visits from angels, alien encounters, and everything in between. But..." his long speech had exhausted the duration of his cigarette, the last of his smoke hanging in the air like his words "We're not done yet. And now, you'll have to come and wait with the other witnesses." | "So you're telling me that you're an alien." Alan asked Jace.
He nodded, shrugging off the fact that he looked nothing more than a regular teenage boy.
Alan began poking Jace in various parts of his body, only to find himself sighing in defeat.
He was such an enthusiast about extraterrestrial lifeforms that he never thought aliens would ever take form ala I am Number Four.
"Do you at least have a super power?" He asked Jace.
Jace rubbed his chin in thought, trying to think of something to quell his friends disappointment.
"I can... play a Battle Mercy in Overwatch?" A sarcastic smile planted on his lips.
Alan rolled his eyes and placed his arm over Jace's shoulder. "Whatever. We might as well just go back to playing Overwatch after all. I thought this Alien Coming out of yours would be a lot more exciting."
Jace only shrugged.
"But..." Alan said. "You do realize how many Martian jokes are gonna start happening at school, right?"
Jace rolled his eyes and groaned. He didn't anticipate that at all.
| |
[WP] We all just assumed that aliens would be a completely different species to anything on Earth. No-one suspected that they would be genetically identical to humans. | “Ladies and gentlemen, it is exactly what we feared.”
The room erupted in to squabble. Noises and voices crashed in the air as the lead speaker attempted to regain decorum.
“Order! Order!” she shouted. “We must have order!”
“We cannot have more humans land on this planet. They will destroy everything we have been working for,” said a dissenting voice from the crowd.
“Nobody more than you, the killer whale, has had such a rough ride from the humans,” said the speaker. “You deserve to speak your piece.”
“How dare you,” said another voice from the crowd. “The elephants were hunted to near extinction during the years of the evil ivory trade. How can you compare such an atrocity to simply doing sick jack-knife power bombs in a swimming pool?”
“Right, that’s it. Put Blackfish on,” replied the killer whale, waving a DVD copy of the documentary.
“We are not watching Blackfish again. How many times do we have to discuss this? Nobody wants to watch Blackfish anymore. We have gotten over that guilt,” said the speaker.
“We the lions do not welcome humans back to this planet,” said a representative for the Lions, butting in.
The room nodded in agreement.
“That is unless they want to teach us magic again like those two guys Siegfried and Roy. The lions would like to know more magic and possibly have our own resident spot at Vegas.”
“I don’t think that’s how it’s going to play out if the humans return,” said the speaker.
“The lions wish to know if the alien humans have a David Blaine type in their ranks.”
“I’m not doing that.”
“Then it is agreed, we will settle for David Copperfield.”
“Ask them if they have an old black alien human who is willing to narrate over us walking everywhere,” asked a penguin.
“I don’t think any of that is going to happen, gang,” said the speaker. “None of what you two just said.”
An owl perched itself on the podium of the speaker and addressed the audience, “the owls have decided. If the new humans arrive with plans to reboot Harry Potter, we support their reintroduction to society.”
“You get famous off one franchise of films and you’re willing to sell the rest of us out,” said a Gazelle standing at the back of the room.
“Go fuck yourself, you stupid fucking Gazelle,” said the owl, spreading its wings.
“I’ll fuck you up, you one time being in a film Furby fuck,” replied the Gazelle, stomping his feet.
“Everyone!” shouted the speaker. “Please. We must think about this rationally!”
“Oh, you’re one to speak. You’re a dog, of course you want the humans back,” said …
“Well, that is the case but I can stay impartial. That is until we vote and I tell everyone humans are marvellous, we should never have got rid of them and I miss them every day. Actually, where are the new humans? Are they coming home? Is that them? Are they outside? Are the new humans outside? Whose outside? WHO THE FUCK IS OUTSIDE?! I NEED TO KNOW WHO IS OUTSIDE. RIGHT NOW. I NEED TO KNOW WHO IS OUTSIDE RIGHT NOW.”
****
I write shitty, silly stories on /r/BillMurrayMovies. Feel free to come along, not laugh at any of them and leave some judgement. | At first it seemed like a practical joke. A very expensive, utterly disruptive practical joke parked right in front of the Louvre. No injuries, just a big metal pyramid where the glass one used to be.
The global politics scene was a very interesting thing to follow in the few months after the object appeared. Americans blamed the Russians, Russians blamed the Chinese, Chinese we're feigning disinterest very effectively, and the French just wanted the blasted thing gone so people would dare go to the museum again.
After months of inactivity, just as the hastily formed UN board finally approved the first round of tests on the pyramid, our worldview changed dramatically.
Apparently, we weren't alone in the universe. And our "neighbors" were pretty similar to us. Again, a wild ride ensued, with the internet ablaze with flame wars about ancient astronauts, angels and all the other crackpot ideas people managed to come up with.
The biggest barrier to communication with our visitors was unsurprisingly, the language. It seems when two civilizations have a different proto-language, and not enough of similar things to cobble up a functional dictionary, effective communication is a two year effort. They didn't seem to mind the quarantine much.
They apologized for their bad parking space choice, but since they were in hibernation at the time, the French government didn't nag them about that. Much. The issue was solved by moving the ship to Egypt, where everyone felt it would be a good fit.
The technology boom that followed made millennials feel like baby boomers faced with a new device. It wasn't really a singularity, but it was close enough for everyone's way of life.
Tomorrow we're sending the ship back, Tommy. And, while I won't be able to meet you, I hope that you enjoy this new world. I love you, son. | |
[WP] We all just assumed that aliens would be a completely different species to anything on Earth. No-one suspected that they would be genetically identical to humans. | Nobody believed it when the announcement was first made. The words echoed on every TV in every home: "We are quite certain when we say, alien life exists, and we have found it."
That was just two years ago. Working at NASA suddenly got a lot more exciting, we had a goal now, we knew we should be the ones to make first contact. And now we're here.
When the crew had boarded the spaceship, everyone knew what it meant. These astronauts would meet them, but they would never come back. It was a crew of heroes. My crew of heroes.
We said our final goodbyes, and off we went, into the unknown.
Years of training were finally put to the test, and what a test it was. We spent three years travelling through space. I can't explain what that does to a man. Three years in the same room, with the same people, with the same view. But it was all worth it, we knew that the moment we arrived.
The planet became visible long before we reached it, but our excitement only grew. A blue planet, so much like ours. This would be where we would finally meet them.
NASA's readings had been accurate, but there is only so much you can find out all the way from Earth. Only the ocean had been visible until they managed to orbit the planet. Finally, the land had revealed itself. One supercontinent, full of life.
After three years of waiting, it was time to get back in action. Landing on the planet would be their hardest challenge yet, but they had come prepared. With the combined effort of the entire crew, the landing had been flawless. Everyone rushed to the window to see the planet they had traveled so far for.
Astoundingly, the first thing they saw were.. Trees. A large jungle, full of tall trees like they had never seen before. But it got more interesting the further they went. As the crew explored the shrubbery in amazement, they heard a sounds. A beautiful cry, but it's cry was not what astounded them. Over them flew a colorful bird, chirping like those on Earth. The bird was so colorful, like the birds in the tropics. Everywhere they went, the crew found lifeforms, some like earth creatures, and others looked completely alien.
The crew continued their exploration through the jungle, amazed at everything they found. But the biggest surprise was yet to come.
A rustling of the leaves made the crew stand still. Was it the wind, or a foraging creature? The crew looked around, and the rustling came closer. In fear of a predator, the crew hustled close. That was when they spotted it - two eyes, peeking from behind a tree. Cautiously, the crew closed in on the creature. Finally, their eyes met, and the creature fled. With its long arms, the primate swung between branches. Both amazed and confused, the crew discussed the situation. How could there be primates on this planet? How could these aliens evolve the exact same as on Earth?
Their discussion was interrupted by a series of loud grunts. Before them appeared a group of large primates. The crew was flabbergasted. How could this be? The primates appeared scared, but the crew was greatly outnumbered. As the situation became more and more tense, the crew tried to speak, tried to reason, but none of it helped. The scared grunts and screams quickly escalated the situation, as the humans feared for their lives.
It was then that one of the primates attacked. With rudimentary spears and clubs, the crew was overrun in an instant.
Nobody will ever know the story of my crew. Nobody will ever know about the fate of these heroes, on their first expedition to Pangea, 175,000,000 BC.
---
Thanks for reading! I am actively looking for feedback, so I would absolutely love to hear anything and everything you have to say about my story :D Cheers! | At first it seemed like a practical joke. A very expensive, utterly disruptive practical joke parked right in front of the Louvre. No injuries, just a big metal pyramid where the glass one used to be.
The global politics scene was a very interesting thing to follow in the few months after the object appeared. Americans blamed the Russians, Russians blamed the Chinese, Chinese we're feigning disinterest very effectively, and the French just wanted the blasted thing gone so people would dare go to the museum again.
After months of inactivity, just as the hastily formed UN board finally approved the first round of tests on the pyramid, our worldview changed dramatically.
Apparently, we weren't alone in the universe. And our "neighbors" were pretty similar to us. Again, a wild ride ensued, with the internet ablaze with flame wars about ancient astronauts, angels and all the other crackpot ideas people managed to come up with.
The biggest barrier to communication with our visitors was unsurprisingly, the language. It seems when two civilizations have a different proto-language, and not enough of similar things to cobble up a functional dictionary, effective communication is a two year effort. They didn't seem to mind the quarantine much.
They apologized for their bad parking space choice, but since they were in hibernation at the time, the French government didn't nag them about that. Much. The issue was solved by moving the ship to Egypt, where everyone felt it would be a good fit.
The technology boom that followed made millennials feel like baby boomers faced with a new device. It wasn't really a singularity, but it was close enough for everyone's way of life.
Tomorrow we're sending the ship back, Tommy. And, while I won't be able to meet you, I hope that you enjoy this new world. I love you, son. | |
[WP] We all just assumed that aliens would be a completely different species to anything on Earth. No-one suspected that they would be genetically identical to humans. | When I was ten years old my brother Max told me there was an alien living under our shed.
He saw it with his own eyes and needed a partner to take it down. I would be his advisor.
I followed him into our backyard and hid behind his back.
Max carried the rake in front of him, both his hands steady on the wood. The metal spikes pointed forward; he was ready to face anything.
I closed my eyes and gripped Max’s shoulders as he thrust the rake forward. One swift jab at the monster.
“I got it, Em,” he said. “Open your eyes.”
Laying on the grass, skewered by our garden rake, was a small slug.
“That’s not an alien,” I said.
It twitched and withered around the metal.
---
I was thirty-eight when the aliens arrived.
They didn’t look like the slugs in our garden.
They looked exactly like us.
It was a Wednesday morning when they came. I was about to drive Isabelle to school when Max called and told us not to leave the house.
We watched the ships land on the television.
No city was spared from the oncoming throng. Not even our little northern city - the last blip on the map before the urban sprawl faded into forest and rock.
Their leader broadcast his speech that night.
They wanted only a chance to start again.
Their planet was too small, too polluted, too barren.
Any of us could join them. If we surrendered they would take care of us.
Max knocked on my door a half hour later.
“Get Isabelle and a bag. We’re going to the cabin.”
Twenty minutes later we were barrelling down the road. The southern exits from the city were clogged with traffic, but few took the northern routes.
The northern roads lead to forest and lakes and nothing.
I gripped the handle as the speedometer flickered past 150.
Up ahead, hazard lights flashed. A van was crumbled in the ditch.
“Max,” I said. “We should stop.”
He frowned but pressed on the breaks.
A woman in a grey sweatshirt sat on the edge of the road. Blood dripped from her head into the snow.
“Can we help you?” I asked.
She blinked and turned her head slow.
She gazed through me.
“Blood loss and hypothermia, probably,” I said to Max.
“We need to keep going.” He looked back at the road.
I frowned. “We need to *try* to help.”
Max sighed. He stepped forward toward her. “We can get you to somewhere warm. Give you something to drink.”
The woman twitched. “Get away,” she said. She dug her hand into her pocket.
Max placed his hand on the woman’s arm. “We’re here to help.”
She flinched at the touch.
“Get away you fucking alien,” she hissed.
Her hand flittered from her pocket into Max’s chest.
She fell backward.
Max turned to me.
A knife, buried to the hilt, stuck out.
Red blossomed around the wound.
He twitched and withered around the metal.
/r/liswrites
| At first it seemed like a practical joke. A very expensive, utterly disruptive practical joke parked right in front of the Louvre. No injuries, just a big metal pyramid where the glass one used to be.
The global politics scene was a very interesting thing to follow in the few months after the object appeared. Americans blamed the Russians, Russians blamed the Chinese, Chinese we're feigning disinterest very effectively, and the French just wanted the blasted thing gone so people would dare go to the museum again.
After months of inactivity, just as the hastily formed UN board finally approved the first round of tests on the pyramid, our worldview changed dramatically.
Apparently, we weren't alone in the universe. And our "neighbors" were pretty similar to us. Again, a wild ride ensued, with the internet ablaze with flame wars about ancient astronauts, angels and all the other crackpot ideas people managed to come up with.
The biggest barrier to communication with our visitors was unsurprisingly, the language. It seems when two civilizations have a different proto-language, and not enough of similar things to cobble up a functional dictionary, effective communication is a two year effort. They didn't seem to mind the quarantine much.
They apologized for their bad parking space choice, but since they were in hibernation at the time, the French government didn't nag them about that. Much. The issue was solved by moving the ship to Egypt, where everyone felt it would be a good fit.
The technology boom that followed made millennials feel like baby boomers faced with a new device. It wasn't really a singularity, but it was close enough for everyone's way of life.
Tomorrow we're sending the ship back, Tommy. And, while I won't be able to meet you, I hope that you enjoy this new world. I love you, son. | |
[WP] We all just assumed that aliens would be a completely different species to anything on Earth. No-one suspected that they would be genetically identical to humans. | "There is some logic to this, you must admit."
"I'm having trouble believing in logic at all at the moment," Anne said, adjusting the icepack. Her sullen gaze was fixated at the floor, as if looking around the room gave her a technological vertigo. There were too many holograms and little robotic things tinkering around, like some machinist's petting zoo, carrying out the maintenance schedules or whatever other processes they'd been tasked to. Before her, the large central hologram of Earth cast a blue glow on the roughly textured white floor.
"There is admittedly some critical path analysis to evolution," her captor replied. "Certainly, bigger, denser brains are better than none. Opposable thumbs for manipulating the environment, and so on. Of course, this depends on the environment. Gills are useless on land, for example."
"Are you saying on every planet, humans are bound to show up at some point or another?"
"Oh, no, Heavens no!" he replied. "That is the right expression? Heavens? No, on every planet or moon that we've adopted there are of course different initial variables. Differences of atmosphere and so on. But we have had a wealth of experience with these things and so we've developed a certain talent for pointing things in the right direction. Really it's a matter of reverse engineering. It's easier to accomplish what you need to, when you know what it is you're meant to accomplish." He smiled primly, as if he were repeating an oft-quoted maxim that he not so much as believed as staked his entire life on.
"But surely there are always some differences, right?" she replied, despite herself. She felt foolish for indulging this madman, but her environment on the ship had put her in a state of suspended disbelief. Perhaps the light concussion and whiplash helped.
"Oh yes, obviously. There is still much work to be done. Which is why I'm here! The psychological prepwork is far from completed, and in any case there are significant biophysical refinements to be made. My specialty," he smiled that smug smile again. Or had it never left his face. If this was the future, Anne was glad she didn't want any part of it. He went on, ignoring her obvious discomfort. "Mostly we can allow the evolution to continue unimpeded, monitoring instead the global environmental attributes. Necessity is the mother of all invention," he quoted again, like a priest in sermon. "And when we see significant deviations or movements in our desired direction, we adjust the program to accommodate. Think of this as a monthly check-up. I'm sorry to have had to drag you out like this, but you understand that it makes no difference to you or the rest of Earth ultimately. I will be using you to assess your species condition, and then, I will allow you to finish what you started. I can assist in that regard, if you wish."
"How kind," Anne replied. Her captor seemed aware of the sarcasm, however. "You could of course be grateful!" he said, straightening up. "By the way you were going there was little chance for failure. Even if you had survived the impact, you would've been torn limb from limb."
"Well I'd made my mind up, hadn't I?"
"Minds can change," he replied curtly. "That is what I'm here for, after all," he said, striking a pose of melodramatic self-rightousness.
"You're crazier than I am."
"Oh as you will see, that kind of language will die out in less than a century." He looked back down into her eyes, "Or perhaps, you won't."
"Speaking of which, can I go now?"
"I haven't assessed you yet. But very well, we may start."
"This isn't going to involve.. er.. probes is it? I'd like to die with a little dignity."
"Evidence to the contrary," he scoffed.
"Rude."
"Irrelevant."
"You're avoiding the question."
"The answer's no."
"Fine."
"That part of the assessment was completed before you woke up. Unconscious subjects are more docile."
He leaned back, holding his chin with lips pursed in keen interest and mild amusement while she unleashed a torrent of expletives in his direction. Dripping water left a trail of sparks on the force field wall where the icepack had hit it and fallen to the floor. His expression softened little when the shouting turned to sobs.
"Emotional matrix looks good so far," he said, glancing at a panel on the wall. He summoned it, and the hologram extended towards him. "Accounting for the circumstances of course," he muttered to himself. "Okay, let's try..."
A small whimpering joined Anne's own on the couch in the clinic room. She raised her face from her hands, confused, and looked down beside her to see the large black eyes of a month-old labrador gazing back up at her.
She screamed, and scrambled away from the couch. The puppy looked crestfallen.
"Oh, too soon, too soon," muttered the man, and the holographic puppy froze and disintegrated into light. "Fear response looks appropriate though." This is going to take too long, he thought. The trouble with suicides, everything is about them. "I would appreciate your cooperation, if you could just calm down," he announced to his patient.
"What the hell was that?"
"In your modern parlance I believe it's called a pooper?"
"A what?! Pooper?! A pupper! Puppy!"
He looked down over his panel again as the computer helped to trace the etymology for him and let out a soft 'oooh' of understanding.
"Let me out of here!" she yelled at him.
"But we're not finished!"
"I don't care!"
"Will you ever change your mind?"
"No!!"
"Then I have little choice." He dismissed the hologram with a flick of his wrist. "If you will stand still, I will return you to your previous position."
"Fine." Anne brushed back a tear soaked hair that was clinging to her face.
The man pretended to look busy as her body was dissected from every possible angle by scans. A spectrographic laser shone through her breath. Robots the size of bedbugs that had been ingesting skin samples detached and crawled into holes in the floor. Finally, a non-intrusive ultrasonic surgical device locked on her head from behind the thin panel in the ceiling.
The man tried to look nonchalant as the device performed thousands of lobotomies in the space of a mere second. Synapses were snipped, neurons nudged, memories were obliterated. The expression on Anne's face changed as she began to forget where she was.
"I think it's worth mentioning," said the man, as her eyes clouded over. "That if there are greater plans in store for your species, perhaps there are greater plans in store for you, too."
Anne found herself standing at the edge, looking down at the black and white maw of the rocks and sea foam, with the slightest blue hue of the vicious sea that churned beneath it. Her stomach turned like she had the sensation of falling. She felt suddenly terrified, or shocked, as if she had just seen something she'd never expected. And a second feeling, underneath the first. Maybe this wasn't the direction she wanted to go in.
Eventually she felt strong enough to stand again, and brushed herself off and looked back out to the sea. She smelled the sea wind, which only a moment ago had been blowing the other direction. The salt seemed to cling to her face, and sting her eyes. She stood there for a while, already forgetting why she'd been there in the first place. After a while, she left.
From his hidden vantage point, a strange man smiled.
----
[Subreddit](https://www.reddit.com/r/TeddyArmy/) | At first it seemed like a practical joke. A very expensive, utterly disruptive practical joke parked right in front of the Louvre. No injuries, just a big metal pyramid where the glass one used to be.
The global politics scene was a very interesting thing to follow in the few months after the object appeared. Americans blamed the Russians, Russians blamed the Chinese, Chinese we're feigning disinterest very effectively, and the French just wanted the blasted thing gone so people would dare go to the museum again.
After months of inactivity, just as the hastily formed UN board finally approved the first round of tests on the pyramid, our worldview changed dramatically.
Apparently, we weren't alone in the universe. And our "neighbors" were pretty similar to us. Again, a wild ride ensued, with the internet ablaze with flame wars about ancient astronauts, angels and all the other crackpot ideas people managed to come up with.
The biggest barrier to communication with our visitors was unsurprisingly, the language. It seems when two civilizations have a different proto-language, and not enough of similar things to cobble up a functional dictionary, effective communication is a two year effort. They didn't seem to mind the quarantine much.
They apologized for their bad parking space choice, but since they were in hibernation at the time, the French government didn't nag them about that. Much. The issue was solved by moving the ship to Egypt, where everyone felt it would be a good fit.
The technology boom that followed made millennials feel like baby boomers faced with a new device. It wasn't really a singularity, but it was close enough for everyone's way of life.
Tomorrow we're sending the ship back, Tommy. And, while I won't be able to meet you, I hope that you enjoy this new world. I love you, son. | |
[WP] We all just assumed that aliens would be a completely different species to anything on Earth. No-one suspected that they would be genetically identical to humans. | When the Klorians returned, pouring out of the skygates like so many drops of golden dew, Tim Bradshaw was finishing the final harvest run on his farm. He had just enough time to stow away his tractor, order his family into the hall, and to prepare the pitcher of ice-cold lemonade and home-made biscuits.
The Klorian lady who knocked on their door looked no more than twenty, with green eyes and auburn hair. There was a yellow hue about her which persisted, like the aura around a sturdy flame. She cleared her throat, then tapped on the metallic box slung about her shoulder.
“Thank you for having me again,” she said. There was a second’s delay between her original tongue and the dulcet tones issuing from the box. “It’s nice to be back on Earth.”
“We… were almost wondering if you would return, Klor-Ayzo.”
“Why wouldn’t we? A promise is a promise, Tim Bradshaw. Come, show me the progress you have made.”
Tim nodded, then fetched the crystalline pod down from the top of the shelf. He positioned it on the table the way Ayzo had done a month prior, then clasped it firmly in his hand. It buzzed, glowed brightly, and spewed out a radiant array of charts and symbols into the air.
Ayzo studied it for a minute as she sipped at her lemonade. “Not fast enough, Tim. Not fast enough. You have to work harder, or you will not be able to avoid the Dunnzor. Still a long, long way to go.”
“Well, Klor-Ayzo… I’ve tried. We all tried. We’ve used the crops you gave us, we changed our harvest cycles, we did all you asked us to do…”
“I was being too harsh,” Ayzo said. “I did not mean *you* directly. I meant *all of you*. These numbers don’t just represent you. It’s a summation of what every human on Earth is working towards. Tell me, why has it not gone faster?”
Tim’s son, too young to guard his tongue, yet too old to be fettered by decorum, piped up from the sofa. “Not everyone believes you, miss. I heard people on the TV… some of them say the Klorians are actually bad, that we shouldn’t be listening to any of you. There's a hidden agenda, they say. We can deal with the Dunnzor ourselves, they say.”
“Is that true?”
Tim had the decency to blush. “Well, you know how people are. After you left, most of us took your words to heart, but there were those… who chose to believe otherwise. They had questions, you see.”
“But we explained, did we not? We made sure we were understood, right?”
“It’s not that they do not appreciate the advice, Klor-Ayzo. But you must understand, there were a lot of people who lost money because of what you advised us to do. I’m just a farmer, life hasn’t changed much for me. But the engineers, the technologists, the politicians… there are other people from a dozen other professions who have felt that they were disadvantaged by what the Klorians asked them to do…”
“Impossible! We were so careful, we made sure that every human still ended up with more than enough to survive-”
“That’s the problem,” said Tim. “Some people had *more* before.”
The cheer had fallen away from Ayzo’s demeanour, and a frown had begun to etch itself across her forehead. “Well, there is still time, so maybe if we re-double our efforts, show you how to better manage your planet, maybe we will still be in time to avoid the Dunnzor… but we have to move fast…”
“Perhaps, if I may just say something…”
Ayzo nodded, and Tim turned the TV on, flipped to the channel he was looking for. The screen was divided into six, and in each was a talking head, with lines of credentials running under them.
“This show has been running almost 24/7 since the Klorians came,” Tim said. “It’s a show where the government invites the best, brightest minds to debate the Klorian Masterplan – that’s what we’re calling the blueprints you’ve shared with us – and they think they can come up with something better. Masterplan 2.0, they call it. A plan where we can still defeat climate change, but one where we don’t have to give up so much at the end of the day-”
“What has climate change got to do with anything?” Ayzo asked.
“Well, that’s what the Dunnzor is, isn’t it?” Tim said. “Your translation boxes didn’t manage that part the first time round, but that’s what we understood you Klorians to be saying.”
Ayzo had gone quiet, and the aura about her pulsed in waves. Tim plunged ahead, in the hopes that she would see that they truly did understand, that everything would be fine.
“We inferred that from the metaphor you Klorians used,” Tim said. “You know, all that stuff about earth being a garden, and how we humans are the seedlings, and that we need to grow in the right way so that the Dunnzor never comes? Well, what we thought was that-”
“It wasn’t a metaphor, Tim Bradshaw. We were being literal.”
“What do you mean?”
“We explained, didn’t we? Klorians, earthlings… we are the same, genetically. We showed you that. And that is because we are all... in a sense... spores. We drift the galaxy, we find planets hospitable to us, and then we grow, we sprout, we bloom. And wherever we grow, it is a garden.”
“Yes, that part we understood…”
“No, you don’t! Tim Bradshaw, let me try again. You are a farmer, yes?”
“Yes, you already know that.”
“And when your crop grows too bountiful, what do you do?”
“Well, I am happy, of course!”
Ayzo grew increasingly agitated, and she rapped the side of her box in anger, as if the translator were somehow at fault.
“No, I meant… when there are other plants that you *do not* want, and they grow too quickly, when they destroy your garden... what do you do?”
“… you mean like, weeds?”
“Yes! Like weeds!”
A bright-red ticker started crawling across the screen, and the panellists turned in exasperation as they listened to the host read from a prepared statement. The words “Breaking News” and “Breakthrough in Translation” featured prominently on the ticker.
“That’s still… not entirely accurate,” said Ayzo, as she listened to the commentary. “That hardly conveys the urgency of our mission here, or the true despair which it will bring if it comes. But yes, I suppose you can refer to Dunnzor as ‘The Gardener of Planets’”.
---
/r/rarelyfunny
| At first it seemed like a practical joke. A very expensive, utterly disruptive practical joke parked right in front of the Louvre. No injuries, just a big metal pyramid where the glass one used to be.
The global politics scene was a very interesting thing to follow in the few months after the object appeared. Americans blamed the Russians, Russians blamed the Chinese, Chinese we're feigning disinterest very effectively, and the French just wanted the blasted thing gone so people would dare go to the museum again.
After months of inactivity, just as the hastily formed UN board finally approved the first round of tests on the pyramid, our worldview changed dramatically.
Apparently, we weren't alone in the universe. And our "neighbors" were pretty similar to us. Again, a wild ride ensued, with the internet ablaze with flame wars about ancient astronauts, angels and all the other crackpot ideas people managed to come up with.
The biggest barrier to communication with our visitors was unsurprisingly, the language. It seems when two civilizations have a different proto-language, and not enough of similar things to cobble up a functional dictionary, effective communication is a two year effort. They didn't seem to mind the quarantine much.
They apologized for their bad parking space choice, but since they were in hibernation at the time, the French government didn't nag them about that. Much. The issue was solved by moving the ship to Egypt, where everyone felt it would be a good fit.
The technology boom that followed made millennials feel like baby boomers faced with a new device. It wasn't really a singularity, but it was close enough for everyone's way of life.
Tomorrow we're sending the ship back, Tommy. And, while I won't be able to meet you, I hope that you enjoy this new world. I love you, son. | |
[WP] We all just assumed that aliens would be a completely different species to anything on Earth. No-one suspected that they would be genetically identical to humans. | Joe wrapped an arm around his wife's shoulders and pulled her tightly to his chest. Most of the residents of St Bartholomew's Street had already come out of their houses to see the cause of the midnight fracas. They were now gathered around the drive of number thirty-eight, as if patrons around a theatre stage, many of whom were hoping for a particularly blood thirsty production. Others, like Joe, were simply stuck in a state of disbelief. Of *refusing* to believe.
Sarah looked up at her husband. "They can't be, can they? We've known them for so long." Joe felt her hand curl up into a ball against his back. "They looked after the children only last week. Jesus Joe, we *trusted* them."
The Enforcers' Jeep waited empty, but eager, outside their neighbour's drive. A harsh light spiralled out from the vehicle, painting the gathered crowd first in broad red brushstrokes, then blue. Their neighbours' door lay splintered on the brick driveway. Joe shook his head. "We- we don't know that they *are*, yet, sweetheart. Not until the Enforcers bring them out. Until then, I think they both deserve the benefit of the doubt. They've earned at least that much from us."
"Amanda and Tony," his wife continued unperturbed, "they just seemed so *normal*. Just like us. I suppose that was the point - it was all a... a *trick*. To get close to us, so that they could eventually..." Her hands began to tremble.
Joe took her hands in his own and held them tightly. He opened his mouth meaning to reassure her, when the Special Office Enforcers came striding out of the broken doorway.
"Oh God," cried Sarah as she watched her neighbours be dragged out of their house, towards the Jeep, their arms handcuffed behind their backs. "How- how could you!" she screamed at them. "How sick are you freaks? We trusted you with our children!"
Amanda must have heard her, as she glanced up at Sarah. In that moment, Joe saw his neighbour's battered face and the blood dribbling from her nose.
"Go back to your own planet!" Sarah spat. "And take the rest of your kind with you! You're not welcome!"
"Honey," said Joe, blinking back tears. "Please. You don't mean that. They're our friends."
"*Friends?* They're sick freaks, that's what they are! You've read the reports. The things they've done..."
"You can't believe all that? Amanda and Tony have always been good t-"
A yell from nearby interrupted him. "Show us their eyes!"
"Yeah, their eyes!"
"We want proof!"
The Enforcer who held Amanda, pulled her up to her feet. He took out a plastic device, that looked a little like a gun, from his jacket pocket. With one hand, he grabbed Amanda's hair and yanked her head back; with the other, he fired a wide, green beam into her face. Her eyes lit up a bloody, unnatural, red. There were screams and panicked gasps from the crowd.
"I God-damned knew it!" said one resident. "They've always been perfect. *Too* perfect!"
"Hang 'em!" said another.
Tony, who was kneeling on the floor, pushed himself up and thrust himself head first at the Enforcer holding his wife. The Enforcer stumbled, almost falling, but at the last moment just regained her balance. Another Enforcer ran at Tony and threw his fist into the man's throat. The first Enforcer rejoined the fray, stamping her boot into the fallen man's head.
Joe began to tremble. "No..."
"Honey?" said Sarah.
"This isn't right," said Joe defiantly. "It isn't right!"
"Tell that to the children," said Sarah. "This is *exactly* right. It's what they deserve."
A haze of red flashed from the Jeep as its light spun again; Joe saw his hands as the light spilled over them. A moment later, a blue light replaced the red, washing it away. Only, the red wasn't gone. It would never go away, unless he...
"I'm sorry," he whispered, kissing his wife's hair. "They may not be from here, but they're sure as hell human. And more than that, they're our friends."
Sarah screamed, pleading him not to, but he was already in mid sprint. His shoulder landed with a thud against against one of the Enforcers. A right hook took the other off her feet.
"It's okay," said Joe, offering a hand to the beaten, bloodied man.
Tony looked up, through his one, non swollen eye. "Thank you," he croaked. "Are you one of..."
But the question was never finished. More officers had arrived.
A gun shot.
A bullet tore through Tony's head.
A long streak of red spattered the street.
Amanda's blood curdling scream cut through the noise of the frenzied crowd, until the hilt of a gun struck her head and silenced her.
Joe stepped back in sick disbelief. "No..." he muttered. "Oh God, no."
And then, they were on him. Fists and boots battering him down until he became numb and still.
When finally satisfied, the Enforcers dragged Joe back to his feet.
"Show us his eyes!" came a shout from the crowd. "He's one of them for sure!" "Show us his eyes!"
A hand yanked back Joe's head. A fierce green light pierced his retinas. If he could have screamed, he would have done.
"He's not one of them," said a woman who lived two doors down from Joe. The blood-lusting crowd seemed to deflate slightly, shoulders slumping and heads turning. "Just loves him some Second-Worlds."
"That's bad enough, ain't it?!"
Joe saw his wife standing on the doorstep, watching him with tear streaked eyes. Jane and Thea had come to the door and Sarah had her arms wrapped around them, trying to comfort them.
The green light was ripped away from his eyes. As it twisted direction, for a split second, it touched his wife's face.
His entire body began to tremble.
No one else saw: they were all too busy baying like wolves at Joe.
He didn't mean to struggle again - it was instinctive - but it was all it took.
Joe looked a last time at his his family, as a second gun fired.
Sarah had tried to cover her children's eyes, but Thea saw it all through a gap between her mother's fingers. She saw the blood spurt out of her father's chest and his body fall limply to the ground. She saw the inhumanity and unfairness of it all, and felt all the weight of her species fall on her shoulders. Her eyes, if for only a second, burned a brighter red than any before. She squeezed her hand into a ball and made herself a promise.
| At first it seemed like a practical joke. A very expensive, utterly disruptive practical joke parked right in front of the Louvre. No injuries, just a big metal pyramid where the glass one used to be.
The global politics scene was a very interesting thing to follow in the few months after the object appeared. Americans blamed the Russians, Russians blamed the Chinese, Chinese we're feigning disinterest very effectively, and the French just wanted the blasted thing gone so people would dare go to the museum again.
After months of inactivity, just as the hastily formed UN board finally approved the first round of tests on the pyramid, our worldview changed dramatically.
Apparently, we weren't alone in the universe. And our "neighbors" were pretty similar to us. Again, a wild ride ensued, with the internet ablaze with flame wars about ancient astronauts, angels and all the other crackpot ideas people managed to come up with.
The biggest barrier to communication with our visitors was unsurprisingly, the language. It seems when two civilizations have a different proto-language, and not enough of similar things to cobble up a functional dictionary, effective communication is a two year effort. They didn't seem to mind the quarantine much.
They apologized for their bad parking space choice, but since they were in hibernation at the time, the French government didn't nag them about that. Much. The issue was solved by moving the ship to Egypt, where everyone felt it would be a good fit.
The technology boom that followed made millennials feel like baby boomers faced with a new device. It wasn't really a singularity, but it was close enough for everyone's way of life.
Tomorrow we're sending the ship back, Tommy. And, while I won't be able to meet you, I hope that you enjoy this new world. I love you, son. | |
[WP] We all just assumed that aliens would be a completely different species to anything on Earth. No-one suspected that they would be genetically identical to humans. | Nobody believed it when the announcement was first made. The words echoed on every TV in every home: "We are quite certain when we say, alien life exists, and we have found it."
That was just two years ago. Working at NASA suddenly got a lot more exciting, we had a goal now, we knew we should be the ones to make first contact. And now we're here.
When the crew had boarded the spaceship, everyone knew what it meant. These astronauts would meet them, but they would never come back. It was a crew of heroes. My crew of heroes.
We said our final goodbyes, and off we went, into the unknown.
Years of training were finally put to the test, and what a test it was. We spent three years travelling through space. I can't explain what that does to a man. Three years in the same room, with the same people, with the same view. But it was all worth it, we knew that the moment we arrived.
The planet became visible long before we reached it, but our excitement only grew. A blue planet, so much like ours. This would be where we would finally meet them.
NASA's readings had been accurate, but there is only so much you can find out all the way from Earth. Only the ocean had been visible until they managed to orbit the planet. Finally, the land had revealed itself. One supercontinent, full of life.
After three years of waiting, it was time to get back in action. Landing on the planet would be their hardest challenge yet, but they had come prepared. With the combined effort of the entire crew, the landing had been flawless. Everyone rushed to the window to see the planet they had traveled so far for.
Astoundingly, the first thing they saw were.. Trees. A large jungle, full of tall trees like they had never seen before. But it got more interesting the further they went. As the crew explored the shrubbery in amazement, they heard a sounds. A beautiful cry, but it's cry was not what astounded them. Over them flew a colorful bird, chirping like those on Earth. The bird was so colorful, like the birds in the tropics. Everywhere they went, the crew found lifeforms, some like earth creatures, and others looked completely alien.
The crew continued their exploration through the jungle, amazed at everything they found. But the biggest surprise was yet to come.
A rustling of the leaves made the crew stand still. Was it the wind, or a foraging creature? The crew looked around, and the rustling came closer. In fear of a predator, the crew hustled close. That was when they spotted it - two eyes, peeking from behind a tree. Cautiously, the crew closed in on the creature. Finally, their eyes met, and the creature fled. With its long arms, the primate swung between branches. Both amazed and confused, the crew discussed the situation. How could there be primates on this planet? How could these aliens evolve the exact same as on Earth?
Their discussion was interrupted by a series of loud grunts. Before them appeared a group of large primates. The crew was flabbergasted. How could this be? The primates appeared scared, but the crew was greatly outnumbered. As the situation became more and more tense, the crew tried to speak, tried to reason, but none of it helped. The scared grunts and screams quickly escalated the situation, as the humans feared for their lives.
It was then that one of the primates attacked. With rudimentary spears and clubs, the crew was overrun in an instant.
Nobody will ever know the story of my crew. Nobody will ever know about the fate of these heroes, on their first expedition to Pangea, 175,000,000 BC.
---
Thanks for reading! I am actively looking for feedback, so I would absolutely love to hear anything and everything you have to say about my story :D Cheers! | “Ladies and gentlemen, it is exactly what we feared.”
The room erupted in to squabble. Noises and voices crashed in the air as the lead speaker attempted to regain decorum.
“Order! Order!” she shouted. “We must have order!”
“We cannot have more humans land on this planet. They will destroy everything we have been working for,” said a dissenting voice from the crowd.
“Nobody more than you, the killer whale, has had such a rough ride from the humans,” said the speaker. “You deserve to speak your piece.”
“How dare you,” said another voice from the crowd. “The elephants were hunted to near extinction during the years of the evil ivory trade. How can you compare such an atrocity to simply doing sick jack-knife power bombs in a swimming pool?”
“Right, that’s it. Put Blackfish on,” replied the killer whale, waving a DVD copy of the documentary.
“We are not watching Blackfish again. How many times do we have to discuss this? Nobody wants to watch Blackfish anymore. We have gotten over that guilt,” said the speaker.
“We the lions do not welcome humans back to this planet,” said a representative for the Lions, butting in.
The room nodded in agreement.
“That is unless they want to teach us magic again like those two guys Siegfried and Roy. The lions would like to know more magic and possibly have our own resident spot at Vegas.”
“I don’t think that’s how it’s going to play out if the humans return,” said the speaker.
“The lions wish to know if the alien humans have a David Blaine type in their ranks.”
“I’m not doing that.”
“Then it is agreed, we will settle for David Copperfield.”
“Ask them if they have an old black alien human who is willing to narrate over us walking everywhere,” asked a penguin.
“I don’t think any of that is going to happen, gang,” said the speaker. “None of what you two just said.”
An owl perched itself on the podium of the speaker and addressed the audience, “the owls have decided. If the new humans arrive with plans to reboot Harry Potter, we support their reintroduction to society.”
“You get famous off one franchise of films and you’re willing to sell the rest of us out,” said a Gazelle standing at the back of the room.
“Go fuck yourself, you stupid fucking Gazelle,” said the owl, spreading its wings.
“I’ll fuck you up, you one time being in a film Furby fuck,” replied the Gazelle, stomping his feet.
“Everyone!” shouted the speaker. “Please. We must think about this rationally!”
“Oh, you’re one to speak. You’re a dog, of course you want the humans back,” said …
“Well, that is the case but I can stay impartial. That is until we vote and I tell everyone humans are marvellous, we should never have got rid of them and I miss them every day. Actually, where are the new humans? Are they coming home? Is that them? Are they outside? Are the new humans outside? Whose outside? WHO THE FUCK IS OUTSIDE?! I NEED TO KNOW WHO IS OUTSIDE. RIGHT NOW. I NEED TO KNOW WHO IS OUTSIDE RIGHT NOW.”
****
I write shitty, silly stories on /r/BillMurrayMovies. Feel free to come along, not laugh at any of them and leave some judgement. | |
[WP] We all just assumed that aliens would be a completely different species to anything on Earth. No-one suspected that they would be genetically identical to humans. | When I was ten years old my brother Max told me there was an alien living under our shed.
He saw it with his own eyes and needed a partner to take it down. I would be his advisor.
I followed him into our backyard and hid behind his back.
Max carried the rake in front of him, both his hands steady on the wood. The metal spikes pointed forward; he was ready to face anything.
I closed my eyes and gripped Max’s shoulders as he thrust the rake forward. One swift jab at the monster.
“I got it, Em,” he said. “Open your eyes.”
Laying on the grass, skewered by our garden rake, was a small slug.
“That’s not an alien,” I said.
It twitched and withered around the metal.
---
I was thirty-eight when the aliens arrived.
They didn’t look like the slugs in our garden.
They looked exactly like us.
It was a Wednesday morning when they came. I was about to drive Isabelle to school when Max called and told us not to leave the house.
We watched the ships land on the television.
No city was spared from the oncoming throng. Not even our little northern city - the last blip on the map before the urban sprawl faded into forest and rock.
Their leader broadcast his speech that night.
They wanted only a chance to start again.
Their planet was too small, too polluted, too barren.
Any of us could join them. If we surrendered they would take care of us.
Max knocked on my door a half hour later.
“Get Isabelle and a bag. We’re going to the cabin.”
Twenty minutes later we were barrelling down the road. The southern exits from the city were clogged with traffic, but few took the northern routes.
The northern roads lead to forest and lakes and nothing.
I gripped the handle as the speedometer flickered past 150.
Up ahead, hazard lights flashed. A van was crumbled in the ditch.
“Max,” I said. “We should stop.”
He frowned but pressed on the breaks.
A woman in a grey sweatshirt sat on the edge of the road. Blood dripped from her head into the snow.
“Can we help you?” I asked.
She blinked and turned her head slow.
She gazed through me.
“Blood loss and hypothermia, probably,” I said to Max.
“We need to keep going.” He looked back at the road.
I frowned. “We need to *try* to help.”
Max sighed. He stepped forward toward her. “We can get you to somewhere warm. Give you something to drink.”
The woman twitched. “Get away,” she said. She dug her hand into her pocket.
Max placed his hand on the woman’s arm. “We’re here to help.”
She flinched at the touch.
“Get away you fucking alien,” she hissed.
Her hand flittered from her pocket into Max’s chest.
She fell backward.
Max turned to me.
A knife, buried to the hilt, stuck out.
Red blossomed around the wound.
He twitched and withered around the metal.
/r/liswrites
| “Ladies and gentlemen, it is exactly what we feared.”
The room erupted in to squabble. Noises and voices crashed in the air as the lead speaker attempted to regain decorum.
“Order! Order!” she shouted. “We must have order!”
“We cannot have more humans land on this planet. They will destroy everything we have been working for,” said a dissenting voice from the crowd.
“Nobody more than you, the killer whale, has had such a rough ride from the humans,” said the speaker. “You deserve to speak your piece.”
“How dare you,” said another voice from the crowd. “The elephants were hunted to near extinction during the years of the evil ivory trade. How can you compare such an atrocity to simply doing sick jack-knife power bombs in a swimming pool?”
“Right, that’s it. Put Blackfish on,” replied the killer whale, waving a DVD copy of the documentary.
“We are not watching Blackfish again. How many times do we have to discuss this? Nobody wants to watch Blackfish anymore. We have gotten over that guilt,” said the speaker.
“We the lions do not welcome humans back to this planet,” said a representative for the Lions, butting in.
The room nodded in agreement.
“That is unless they want to teach us magic again like those two guys Siegfried and Roy. The lions would like to know more magic and possibly have our own resident spot at Vegas.”
“I don’t think that’s how it’s going to play out if the humans return,” said the speaker.
“The lions wish to know if the alien humans have a David Blaine type in their ranks.”
“I’m not doing that.”
“Then it is agreed, we will settle for David Copperfield.”
“Ask them if they have an old black alien human who is willing to narrate over us walking everywhere,” asked a penguin.
“I don’t think any of that is going to happen, gang,” said the speaker. “None of what you two just said.”
An owl perched itself on the podium of the speaker and addressed the audience, “the owls have decided. If the new humans arrive with plans to reboot Harry Potter, we support their reintroduction to society.”
“You get famous off one franchise of films and you’re willing to sell the rest of us out,” said a Gazelle standing at the back of the room.
“Go fuck yourself, you stupid fucking Gazelle,” said the owl, spreading its wings.
“I’ll fuck you up, you one time being in a film Furby fuck,” replied the Gazelle, stomping his feet.
“Everyone!” shouted the speaker. “Please. We must think about this rationally!”
“Oh, you’re one to speak. You’re a dog, of course you want the humans back,” said …
“Well, that is the case but I can stay impartial. That is until we vote and I tell everyone humans are marvellous, we should never have got rid of them and I miss them every day. Actually, where are the new humans? Are they coming home? Is that them? Are they outside? Are the new humans outside? Whose outside? WHO THE FUCK IS OUTSIDE?! I NEED TO KNOW WHO IS OUTSIDE. RIGHT NOW. I NEED TO KNOW WHO IS OUTSIDE RIGHT NOW.”
****
I write shitty, silly stories on /r/BillMurrayMovies. Feel free to come along, not laugh at any of them and leave some judgement. | |
[WP] We all just assumed that aliens would be a completely different species to anything on Earth. No-one suspected that they would be genetically identical to humans. | "There is some logic to this, you must admit."
"I'm having trouble believing in logic at all at the moment," Anne said, adjusting the icepack. Her sullen gaze was fixated at the floor, as if looking around the room gave her a technological vertigo. There were too many holograms and little robotic things tinkering around, like some machinist's petting zoo, carrying out the maintenance schedules or whatever other processes they'd been tasked to. Before her, the large central hologram of Earth cast a blue glow on the roughly textured white floor.
"There is admittedly some critical path analysis to evolution," her captor replied. "Certainly, bigger, denser brains are better than none. Opposable thumbs for manipulating the environment, and so on. Of course, this depends on the environment. Gills are useless on land, for example."
"Are you saying on every planet, humans are bound to show up at some point or another?"
"Oh, no, Heavens no!" he replied. "That is the right expression? Heavens? No, on every planet or moon that we've adopted there are of course different initial variables. Differences of atmosphere and so on. But we have had a wealth of experience with these things and so we've developed a certain talent for pointing things in the right direction. Really it's a matter of reverse engineering. It's easier to accomplish what you need to, when you know what it is you're meant to accomplish." He smiled primly, as if he were repeating an oft-quoted maxim that he not so much as believed as staked his entire life on.
"But surely there are always some differences, right?" she replied, despite herself. She felt foolish for indulging this madman, but her environment on the ship had put her in a state of suspended disbelief. Perhaps the light concussion and whiplash helped.
"Oh yes, obviously. There is still much work to be done. Which is why I'm here! The psychological prepwork is far from completed, and in any case there are significant biophysical refinements to be made. My specialty," he smiled that smug smile again. Or had it never left his face. If this was the future, Anne was glad she didn't want any part of it. He went on, ignoring her obvious discomfort. "Mostly we can allow the evolution to continue unimpeded, monitoring instead the global environmental attributes. Necessity is the mother of all invention," he quoted again, like a priest in sermon. "And when we see significant deviations or movements in our desired direction, we adjust the program to accommodate. Think of this as a monthly check-up. I'm sorry to have had to drag you out like this, but you understand that it makes no difference to you or the rest of Earth ultimately. I will be using you to assess your species condition, and then, I will allow you to finish what you started. I can assist in that regard, if you wish."
"How kind," Anne replied. Her captor seemed aware of the sarcasm, however. "You could of course be grateful!" he said, straightening up. "By the way you were going there was little chance for failure. Even if you had survived the impact, you would've been torn limb from limb."
"Well I'd made my mind up, hadn't I?"
"Minds can change," he replied curtly. "That is what I'm here for, after all," he said, striking a pose of melodramatic self-rightousness.
"You're crazier than I am."
"Oh as you will see, that kind of language will die out in less than a century." He looked back down into her eyes, "Or perhaps, you won't."
"Speaking of which, can I go now?"
"I haven't assessed you yet. But very well, we may start."
"This isn't going to involve.. er.. probes is it? I'd like to die with a little dignity."
"Evidence to the contrary," he scoffed.
"Rude."
"Irrelevant."
"You're avoiding the question."
"The answer's no."
"Fine."
"That part of the assessment was completed before you woke up. Unconscious subjects are more docile."
He leaned back, holding his chin with lips pursed in keen interest and mild amusement while she unleashed a torrent of expletives in his direction. Dripping water left a trail of sparks on the force field wall where the icepack had hit it and fallen to the floor. His expression softened little when the shouting turned to sobs.
"Emotional matrix looks good so far," he said, glancing at a panel on the wall. He summoned it, and the hologram extended towards him. "Accounting for the circumstances of course," he muttered to himself. "Okay, let's try..."
A small whimpering joined Anne's own on the couch in the clinic room. She raised her face from her hands, confused, and looked down beside her to see the large black eyes of a month-old labrador gazing back up at her.
She screamed, and scrambled away from the couch. The puppy looked crestfallen.
"Oh, too soon, too soon," muttered the man, and the holographic puppy froze and disintegrated into light. "Fear response looks appropriate though." This is going to take too long, he thought. The trouble with suicides, everything is about them. "I would appreciate your cooperation, if you could just calm down," he announced to his patient.
"What the hell was that?"
"In your modern parlance I believe it's called a pooper?"
"A what?! Pooper?! A pupper! Puppy!"
He looked down over his panel again as the computer helped to trace the etymology for him and let out a soft 'oooh' of understanding.
"Let me out of here!" she yelled at him.
"But we're not finished!"
"I don't care!"
"Will you ever change your mind?"
"No!!"
"Then I have little choice." He dismissed the hologram with a flick of his wrist. "If you will stand still, I will return you to your previous position."
"Fine." Anne brushed back a tear soaked hair that was clinging to her face.
The man pretended to look busy as her body was dissected from every possible angle by scans. A spectrographic laser shone through her breath. Robots the size of bedbugs that had been ingesting skin samples detached and crawled into holes in the floor. Finally, a non-intrusive ultrasonic surgical device locked on her head from behind the thin panel in the ceiling.
The man tried to look nonchalant as the device performed thousands of lobotomies in the space of a mere second. Synapses were snipped, neurons nudged, memories were obliterated. The expression on Anne's face changed as she began to forget where she was.
"I think it's worth mentioning," said the man, as her eyes clouded over. "That if there are greater plans in store for your species, perhaps there are greater plans in store for you, too."
Anne found herself standing at the edge, looking down at the black and white maw of the rocks and sea foam, with the slightest blue hue of the vicious sea that churned beneath it. Her stomach turned like she had the sensation of falling. She felt suddenly terrified, or shocked, as if she had just seen something she'd never expected. And a second feeling, underneath the first. Maybe this wasn't the direction she wanted to go in.
Eventually she felt strong enough to stand again, and brushed herself off and looked back out to the sea. She smelled the sea wind, which only a moment ago had been blowing the other direction. The salt seemed to cling to her face, and sting her eyes. She stood there for a while, already forgetting why she'd been there in the first place. After a while, she left.
From his hidden vantage point, a strange man smiled.
----
[Subreddit](https://www.reddit.com/r/TeddyArmy/) | “Ladies and gentlemen, it is exactly what we feared.”
The room erupted in to squabble. Noises and voices crashed in the air as the lead speaker attempted to regain decorum.
“Order! Order!” she shouted. “We must have order!”
“We cannot have more humans land on this planet. They will destroy everything we have been working for,” said a dissenting voice from the crowd.
“Nobody more than you, the killer whale, has had such a rough ride from the humans,” said the speaker. “You deserve to speak your piece.”
“How dare you,” said another voice from the crowd. “The elephants were hunted to near extinction during the years of the evil ivory trade. How can you compare such an atrocity to simply doing sick jack-knife power bombs in a swimming pool?”
“Right, that’s it. Put Blackfish on,” replied the killer whale, waving a DVD copy of the documentary.
“We are not watching Blackfish again. How many times do we have to discuss this? Nobody wants to watch Blackfish anymore. We have gotten over that guilt,” said the speaker.
“We the lions do not welcome humans back to this planet,” said a representative for the Lions, butting in.
The room nodded in agreement.
“That is unless they want to teach us magic again like those two guys Siegfried and Roy. The lions would like to know more magic and possibly have our own resident spot at Vegas.”
“I don’t think that’s how it’s going to play out if the humans return,” said the speaker.
“The lions wish to know if the alien humans have a David Blaine type in their ranks.”
“I’m not doing that.”
“Then it is agreed, we will settle for David Copperfield.”
“Ask them if they have an old black alien human who is willing to narrate over us walking everywhere,” asked a penguin.
“I don’t think any of that is going to happen, gang,” said the speaker. “None of what you two just said.”
An owl perched itself on the podium of the speaker and addressed the audience, “the owls have decided. If the new humans arrive with plans to reboot Harry Potter, we support their reintroduction to society.”
“You get famous off one franchise of films and you’re willing to sell the rest of us out,” said a Gazelle standing at the back of the room.
“Go fuck yourself, you stupid fucking Gazelle,” said the owl, spreading its wings.
“I’ll fuck you up, you one time being in a film Furby fuck,” replied the Gazelle, stomping his feet.
“Everyone!” shouted the speaker. “Please. We must think about this rationally!”
“Oh, you’re one to speak. You’re a dog, of course you want the humans back,” said …
“Well, that is the case but I can stay impartial. That is until we vote and I tell everyone humans are marvellous, we should never have got rid of them and I miss them every day. Actually, where are the new humans? Are they coming home? Is that them? Are they outside? Are the new humans outside? Whose outside? WHO THE FUCK IS OUTSIDE?! I NEED TO KNOW WHO IS OUTSIDE. RIGHT NOW. I NEED TO KNOW WHO IS OUTSIDE RIGHT NOW.”
****
I write shitty, silly stories on /r/BillMurrayMovies. Feel free to come along, not laugh at any of them and leave some judgement. | |
[WP] We all just assumed that aliens would be a completely different species to anything on Earth. No-one suspected that they would be genetically identical to humans. | When the Klorians returned, pouring out of the skygates like so many drops of golden dew, Tim Bradshaw was finishing the final harvest run on his farm. He had just enough time to stow away his tractor, order his family into the hall, and to prepare the pitcher of ice-cold lemonade and home-made biscuits.
The Klorian lady who knocked on their door looked no more than twenty, with green eyes and auburn hair. There was a yellow hue about her which persisted, like the aura around a sturdy flame. She cleared her throat, then tapped on the metallic box slung about her shoulder.
“Thank you for having me again,” she said. There was a second’s delay between her original tongue and the dulcet tones issuing from the box. “It’s nice to be back on Earth.”
“We… were almost wondering if you would return, Klor-Ayzo.”
“Why wouldn’t we? A promise is a promise, Tim Bradshaw. Come, show me the progress you have made.”
Tim nodded, then fetched the crystalline pod down from the top of the shelf. He positioned it on the table the way Ayzo had done a month prior, then clasped it firmly in his hand. It buzzed, glowed brightly, and spewed out a radiant array of charts and symbols into the air.
Ayzo studied it for a minute as she sipped at her lemonade. “Not fast enough, Tim. Not fast enough. You have to work harder, or you will not be able to avoid the Dunnzor. Still a long, long way to go.”
“Well, Klor-Ayzo… I’ve tried. We all tried. We’ve used the crops you gave us, we changed our harvest cycles, we did all you asked us to do…”
“I was being too harsh,” Ayzo said. “I did not mean *you* directly. I meant *all of you*. These numbers don’t just represent you. It’s a summation of what every human on Earth is working towards. Tell me, why has it not gone faster?”
Tim’s son, too young to guard his tongue, yet too old to be fettered by decorum, piped up from the sofa. “Not everyone believes you, miss. I heard people on the TV… some of them say the Klorians are actually bad, that we shouldn’t be listening to any of you. There's a hidden agenda, they say. We can deal with the Dunnzor ourselves, they say.”
“Is that true?”
Tim had the decency to blush. “Well, you know how people are. After you left, most of us took your words to heart, but there were those… who chose to believe otherwise. They had questions, you see.”
“But we explained, did we not? We made sure we were understood, right?”
“It’s not that they do not appreciate the advice, Klor-Ayzo. But you must understand, there were a lot of people who lost money because of what you advised us to do. I’m just a farmer, life hasn’t changed much for me. But the engineers, the technologists, the politicians… there are other people from a dozen other professions who have felt that they were disadvantaged by what the Klorians asked them to do…”
“Impossible! We were so careful, we made sure that every human still ended up with more than enough to survive-”
“That’s the problem,” said Tim. “Some people had *more* before.”
The cheer had fallen away from Ayzo’s demeanour, and a frown had begun to etch itself across her forehead. “Well, there is still time, so maybe if we re-double our efforts, show you how to better manage your planet, maybe we will still be in time to avoid the Dunnzor… but we have to move fast…”
“Perhaps, if I may just say something…”
Ayzo nodded, and Tim turned the TV on, flipped to the channel he was looking for. The screen was divided into six, and in each was a talking head, with lines of credentials running under them.
“This show has been running almost 24/7 since the Klorians came,” Tim said. “It’s a show where the government invites the best, brightest minds to debate the Klorian Masterplan – that’s what we’re calling the blueprints you’ve shared with us – and they think they can come up with something better. Masterplan 2.0, they call it. A plan where we can still defeat climate change, but one where we don’t have to give up so much at the end of the day-”
“What has climate change got to do with anything?” Ayzo asked.
“Well, that’s what the Dunnzor is, isn’t it?” Tim said. “Your translation boxes didn’t manage that part the first time round, but that’s what we understood you Klorians to be saying.”
Ayzo had gone quiet, and the aura about her pulsed in waves. Tim plunged ahead, in the hopes that she would see that they truly did understand, that everything would be fine.
“We inferred that from the metaphor you Klorians used,” Tim said. “You know, all that stuff about earth being a garden, and how we humans are the seedlings, and that we need to grow in the right way so that the Dunnzor never comes? Well, what we thought was that-”
“It wasn’t a metaphor, Tim Bradshaw. We were being literal.”
“What do you mean?”
“We explained, didn’t we? Klorians, earthlings… we are the same, genetically. We showed you that. And that is because we are all... in a sense... spores. We drift the galaxy, we find planets hospitable to us, and then we grow, we sprout, we bloom. And wherever we grow, it is a garden.”
“Yes, that part we understood…”
“No, you don’t! Tim Bradshaw, let me try again. You are a farmer, yes?”
“Yes, you already know that.”
“And when your crop grows too bountiful, what do you do?”
“Well, I am happy, of course!”
Ayzo grew increasingly agitated, and she rapped the side of her box in anger, as if the translator were somehow at fault.
“No, I meant… when there are other plants that you *do not* want, and they grow too quickly, when they destroy your garden... what do you do?”
“… you mean like, weeds?”
“Yes! Like weeds!”
A bright-red ticker started crawling across the screen, and the panellists turned in exasperation as they listened to the host read from a prepared statement. The words “Breaking News” and “Breakthrough in Translation” featured prominently on the ticker.
“That’s still… not entirely accurate,” said Ayzo, as she listened to the commentary. “That hardly conveys the urgency of our mission here, or the true despair which it will bring if it comes. But yes, I suppose you can refer to Dunnzor as ‘The Gardener of Planets’”.
---
/r/rarelyfunny
| “Ladies and gentlemen, it is exactly what we feared.”
The room erupted in to squabble. Noises and voices crashed in the air as the lead speaker attempted to regain decorum.
“Order! Order!” she shouted. “We must have order!”
“We cannot have more humans land on this planet. They will destroy everything we have been working for,” said a dissenting voice from the crowd.
“Nobody more than you, the killer whale, has had such a rough ride from the humans,” said the speaker. “You deserve to speak your piece.”
“How dare you,” said another voice from the crowd. “The elephants were hunted to near extinction during the years of the evil ivory trade. How can you compare such an atrocity to simply doing sick jack-knife power bombs in a swimming pool?”
“Right, that’s it. Put Blackfish on,” replied the killer whale, waving a DVD copy of the documentary.
“We are not watching Blackfish again. How many times do we have to discuss this? Nobody wants to watch Blackfish anymore. We have gotten over that guilt,” said the speaker.
“We the lions do not welcome humans back to this planet,” said a representative for the Lions, butting in.
The room nodded in agreement.
“That is unless they want to teach us magic again like those two guys Siegfried and Roy. The lions would like to know more magic and possibly have our own resident spot at Vegas.”
“I don’t think that’s how it’s going to play out if the humans return,” said the speaker.
“The lions wish to know if the alien humans have a David Blaine type in their ranks.”
“I’m not doing that.”
“Then it is agreed, we will settle for David Copperfield.”
“Ask them if they have an old black alien human who is willing to narrate over us walking everywhere,” asked a penguin.
“I don’t think any of that is going to happen, gang,” said the speaker. “None of what you two just said.”
An owl perched itself on the podium of the speaker and addressed the audience, “the owls have decided. If the new humans arrive with plans to reboot Harry Potter, we support their reintroduction to society.”
“You get famous off one franchise of films and you’re willing to sell the rest of us out,” said a Gazelle standing at the back of the room.
“Go fuck yourself, you stupid fucking Gazelle,” said the owl, spreading its wings.
“I’ll fuck you up, you one time being in a film Furby fuck,” replied the Gazelle, stomping his feet.
“Everyone!” shouted the speaker. “Please. We must think about this rationally!”
“Oh, you’re one to speak. You’re a dog, of course you want the humans back,” said …
“Well, that is the case but I can stay impartial. That is until we vote and I tell everyone humans are marvellous, we should never have got rid of them and I miss them every day. Actually, where are the new humans? Are they coming home? Is that them? Are they outside? Are the new humans outside? Whose outside? WHO THE FUCK IS OUTSIDE?! I NEED TO KNOW WHO IS OUTSIDE. RIGHT NOW. I NEED TO KNOW WHO IS OUTSIDE RIGHT NOW.”
****
I write shitty, silly stories on /r/BillMurrayMovies. Feel free to come along, not laugh at any of them and leave some judgement. | |
[WP] We all just assumed that aliens would be a completely different species to anything on Earth. No-one suspected that they would be genetically identical to humans. | Joe wrapped an arm around his wife's shoulders and pulled her tightly to his chest. Most of the residents of St Bartholomew's Street had already come out of their houses to see the cause of the midnight fracas. They were now gathered around the drive of number thirty-eight, as if patrons around a theatre stage, many of whom were hoping for a particularly blood thirsty production. Others, like Joe, were simply stuck in a state of disbelief. Of *refusing* to believe.
Sarah looked up at her husband. "They can't be, can they? We've known them for so long." Joe felt her hand curl up into a ball against his back. "They looked after the children only last week. Jesus Joe, we *trusted* them."
The Enforcers' Jeep waited empty, but eager, outside their neighbour's drive. A harsh light spiralled out from the vehicle, painting the gathered crowd first in broad red brushstrokes, then blue. Their neighbours' door lay splintered on the brick driveway. Joe shook his head. "We- we don't know that they *are*, yet, sweetheart. Not until the Enforcers bring them out. Until then, I think they both deserve the benefit of the doubt. They've earned at least that much from us."
"Amanda and Tony," his wife continued unperturbed, "they just seemed so *normal*. Just like us. I suppose that was the point - it was all a... a *trick*. To get close to us, so that they could eventually..." Her hands began to tremble.
Joe took her hands in his own and held them tightly. He opened his mouth meaning to reassure her, when the Special Office Enforcers came striding out of the broken doorway.
"Oh God," cried Sarah as she watched her neighbours be dragged out of their house, towards the Jeep, their arms handcuffed behind their backs. "How- how could you!" she screamed at them. "How sick are you freaks? We trusted you with our children!"
Amanda must have heard her, as she glanced up at Sarah. In that moment, Joe saw his neighbour's battered face and the blood dribbling from her nose.
"Go back to your own planet!" Sarah spat. "And take the rest of your kind with you! You're not welcome!"
"Honey," said Joe, blinking back tears. "Please. You don't mean that. They're our friends."
"*Friends?* They're sick freaks, that's what they are! You've read the reports. The things they've done..."
"You can't believe all that? Amanda and Tony have always been good t-"
A yell from nearby interrupted him. "Show us their eyes!"
"Yeah, their eyes!"
"We want proof!"
The Enforcer who held Amanda, pulled her up to her feet. He took out a plastic device, that looked a little like a gun, from his jacket pocket. With one hand, he grabbed Amanda's hair and yanked her head back; with the other, he fired a wide, green beam into her face. Her eyes lit up a bloody, unnatural, red. There were screams and panicked gasps from the crowd.
"I God-damned knew it!" said one resident. "They've always been perfect. *Too* perfect!"
"Hang 'em!" said another.
Tony, who was kneeling on the floor, pushed himself up and thrust himself head first at the Enforcer holding his wife. The Enforcer stumbled, almost falling, but at the last moment just regained her balance. Another Enforcer ran at Tony and threw his fist into the man's throat. The first Enforcer rejoined the fray, stamping her boot into the fallen man's head.
Joe began to tremble. "No..."
"Honey?" said Sarah.
"This isn't right," said Joe defiantly. "It isn't right!"
"Tell that to the children," said Sarah. "This is *exactly* right. It's what they deserve."
A haze of red flashed from the Jeep as its light spun again; Joe saw his hands as the light spilled over them. A moment later, a blue light replaced the red, washing it away. Only, the red wasn't gone. It would never go away, unless he...
"I'm sorry," he whispered, kissing his wife's hair. "They may not be from here, but they're sure as hell human. And more than that, they're our friends."
Sarah screamed, pleading him not to, but he was already in mid sprint. His shoulder landed with a thud against against one of the Enforcers. A right hook took the other off her feet.
"It's okay," said Joe, offering a hand to the beaten, bloodied man.
Tony looked up, through his one, non swollen eye. "Thank you," he croaked. "Are you one of..."
But the question was never finished. More officers had arrived.
A gun shot.
A bullet tore through Tony's head.
A long streak of red spattered the street.
Amanda's blood curdling scream cut through the noise of the frenzied crowd, until the hilt of a gun struck her head and silenced her.
Joe stepped back in sick disbelief. "No..." he muttered. "Oh God, no."
And then, they were on him. Fists and boots battering him down until he became numb and still.
When finally satisfied, the Enforcers dragged Joe back to his feet.
"Show us his eyes!" came a shout from the crowd. "He's one of them for sure!" "Show us his eyes!"
A hand yanked back Joe's head. A fierce green light pierced his retinas. If he could have screamed, he would have done.
"He's not one of them," said a woman who lived two doors down from Joe. The blood-lusting crowd seemed to deflate slightly, shoulders slumping and heads turning. "Just loves him some Second-Worlds."
"That's bad enough, ain't it?!"
Joe saw his wife standing on the doorstep, watching him with tear streaked eyes. Jane and Thea had come to the door and Sarah had her arms wrapped around them, trying to comfort them.
The green light was ripped away from his eyes. As it twisted direction, for a split second, it touched his wife's face.
His entire body began to tremble.
No one else saw: they were all too busy baying like wolves at Joe.
He didn't mean to struggle again - it was instinctive - but it was all it took.
Joe looked a last time at his his family, as a second gun fired.
Sarah had tried to cover her children's eyes, but Thea saw it all through a gap between her mother's fingers. She saw the blood spurt out of her father's chest and his body fall limply to the ground. She saw the inhumanity and unfairness of it all, and felt all the weight of her species fall on her shoulders. Her eyes, if for only a second, burned a brighter red than any before. She squeezed her hand into a ball and made herself a promise.
| “Ladies and gentlemen, it is exactly what we feared.”
The room erupted in to squabble. Noises and voices crashed in the air as the lead speaker attempted to regain decorum.
“Order! Order!” she shouted. “We must have order!”
“We cannot have more humans land on this planet. They will destroy everything we have been working for,” said a dissenting voice from the crowd.
“Nobody more than you, the killer whale, has had such a rough ride from the humans,” said the speaker. “You deserve to speak your piece.”
“How dare you,” said another voice from the crowd. “The elephants were hunted to near extinction during the years of the evil ivory trade. How can you compare such an atrocity to simply doing sick jack-knife power bombs in a swimming pool?”
“Right, that’s it. Put Blackfish on,” replied the killer whale, waving a DVD copy of the documentary.
“We are not watching Blackfish again. How many times do we have to discuss this? Nobody wants to watch Blackfish anymore. We have gotten over that guilt,” said the speaker.
“We the lions do not welcome humans back to this planet,” said a representative for the Lions, butting in.
The room nodded in agreement.
“That is unless they want to teach us magic again like those two guys Siegfried and Roy. The lions would like to know more magic and possibly have our own resident spot at Vegas.”
“I don’t think that’s how it’s going to play out if the humans return,” said the speaker.
“The lions wish to know if the alien humans have a David Blaine type in their ranks.”
“I’m not doing that.”
“Then it is agreed, we will settle for David Copperfield.”
“Ask them if they have an old black alien human who is willing to narrate over us walking everywhere,” asked a penguin.
“I don’t think any of that is going to happen, gang,” said the speaker. “None of what you two just said.”
An owl perched itself on the podium of the speaker and addressed the audience, “the owls have decided. If the new humans arrive with plans to reboot Harry Potter, we support their reintroduction to society.”
“You get famous off one franchise of films and you’re willing to sell the rest of us out,” said a Gazelle standing at the back of the room.
“Go fuck yourself, you stupid fucking Gazelle,” said the owl, spreading its wings.
“I’ll fuck you up, you one time being in a film Furby fuck,” replied the Gazelle, stomping his feet.
“Everyone!” shouted the speaker. “Please. We must think about this rationally!”
“Oh, you’re one to speak. You’re a dog, of course you want the humans back,” said …
“Well, that is the case but I can stay impartial. That is until we vote and I tell everyone humans are marvellous, we should never have got rid of them and I miss them every day. Actually, where are the new humans? Are they coming home? Is that them? Are they outside? Are the new humans outside? Whose outside? WHO THE FUCK IS OUTSIDE?! I NEED TO KNOW WHO IS OUTSIDE. RIGHT NOW. I NEED TO KNOW WHO IS OUTSIDE RIGHT NOW.”
****
I write shitty, silly stories on /r/BillMurrayMovies. Feel free to come along, not laugh at any of them and leave some judgement. | |
[WP] We all just assumed that aliens would be a completely different species to anything on Earth. No-one suspected that they would be genetically identical to humans. | Nobody believed it when the announcement was first made. The words echoed on every TV in every home: "We are quite certain when we say, alien life exists, and we have found it."
That was just two years ago. Working at NASA suddenly got a lot more exciting, we had a goal now, we knew we should be the ones to make first contact. And now we're here.
When the crew had boarded the spaceship, everyone knew what it meant. These astronauts would meet them, but they would never come back. It was a crew of heroes. My crew of heroes.
We said our final goodbyes, and off we went, into the unknown.
Years of training were finally put to the test, and what a test it was. We spent three years travelling through space. I can't explain what that does to a man. Three years in the same room, with the same people, with the same view. But it was all worth it, we knew that the moment we arrived.
The planet became visible long before we reached it, but our excitement only grew. A blue planet, so much like ours. This would be where we would finally meet them.
NASA's readings had been accurate, but there is only so much you can find out all the way from Earth. Only the ocean had been visible until they managed to orbit the planet. Finally, the land had revealed itself. One supercontinent, full of life.
After three years of waiting, it was time to get back in action. Landing on the planet would be their hardest challenge yet, but they had come prepared. With the combined effort of the entire crew, the landing had been flawless. Everyone rushed to the window to see the planet they had traveled so far for.
Astoundingly, the first thing they saw were.. Trees. A large jungle, full of tall trees like they had never seen before. But it got more interesting the further they went. As the crew explored the shrubbery in amazement, they heard a sounds. A beautiful cry, but it's cry was not what astounded them. Over them flew a colorful bird, chirping like those on Earth. The bird was so colorful, like the birds in the tropics. Everywhere they went, the crew found lifeforms, some like earth creatures, and others looked completely alien.
The crew continued their exploration through the jungle, amazed at everything they found. But the biggest surprise was yet to come.
A rustling of the leaves made the crew stand still. Was it the wind, or a foraging creature? The crew looked around, and the rustling came closer. In fear of a predator, the crew hustled close. That was when they spotted it - two eyes, peeking from behind a tree. Cautiously, the crew closed in on the creature. Finally, their eyes met, and the creature fled. With its long arms, the primate swung between branches. Both amazed and confused, the crew discussed the situation. How could there be primates on this planet? How could these aliens evolve the exact same as on Earth?
Their discussion was interrupted by a series of loud grunts. Before them appeared a group of large primates. The crew was flabbergasted. How could this be? The primates appeared scared, but the crew was greatly outnumbered. As the situation became more and more tense, the crew tried to speak, tried to reason, but none of it helped. The scared grunts and screams quickly escalated the situation, as the humans feared for their lives.
It was then that one of the primates attacked. With rudimentary spears and clubs, the crew was overrun in an instant.
Nobody will ever know the story of my crew. Nobody will ever know about the fate of these heroes, on their first expedition to Pangea, 175,000,000 BC.
---
Thanks for reading! I am actively looking for feedback, so I would absolutely love to hear anything and everything you have to say about my story :D Cheers! | Have you ever felt like you’re constantly searching for something? No matter what you accomplish, who you meet, the places you visit, the feeling remains on the back of your head. You’re always disappointed. Maybe some people learn to live with it, but I could never ignore it. I talked to my mom about it, once, and she said that God had a mission planned for me, a great deed for a great man, but I am not a great man.
Before the official news were released, there was a lot of gossip going around. All we, the normal people, knew was that a large unidentified object approached our planet at high speeds. Was it an asteroid? Was it a rogue planet? Was it a spaceship? Either way, whichever was it, were we doomed? Was it all a lie?
We were left to speculate for nearly a week. Fear took over the hearts of many, but most refused to show it. Instead, we continued with our ordinary lives, we went to work, we bought slightly more canned food and bottled water just in case, we laid wide awake wondering what was going to happen to us. And for the first time, I had completely forgotten about my search. I felt content with all I had and everything I had accomplished.
Then, the official announcement was made. We made first contact. We were not alone. Up above, between us and the moon, waited a spaceship full of alien life ready to land on our Earth.
Our Earth, **our** Earth. Suddenly, we were the owners of this planet. For some reason, people at my office were angry when they watched the President welcome these beings on the TV. They didn't want the so called invaders to come.
That's the last thing I saw before I drove home. As soon as I heard the news, an amazing feeling took a grip of my heart. A mix of emotions I had never felt, amazement, anticipation, unrest, wonder...
Actually, they were familiar emotions, but not with this intensity. Something called. I looked up to the mid-day clear sky and an anxious smile found its way to my face. I don't understand why I was grinning like an idiot. I felt the urge to wave with my hand and so I did.
---------------------------------
"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Humber said while looking at the blue planet in front of him, "It's like we returned home," he smiled bitterly and placed a hand on the cold glass in front of him. Besides him, his sister Anrod stared speechlessly. He was never able to understand what she was thinking, but her eyes seemed saddened. He stood up and put a hand on her shoulder, "This is a new beginning. Let's do things right this time around," he said and left.
Anrod felt a sting on the corners of her eyes and a single tear managed to frame her face, before she brushed them off. This feeling...
She waved. Something invited her. She was not all alone.
| |
[WP] We all just assumed that aliens would be a completely different species to anything on Earth. No-one suspected that they would be genetically identical to humans. | When I was ten years old my brother Max told me there was an alien living under our shed.
He saw it with his own eyes and needed a partner to take it down. I would be his advisor.
I followed him into our backyard and hid behind his back.
Max carried the rake in front of him, both his hands steady on the wood. The metal spikes pointed forward; he was ready to face anything.
I closed my eyes and gripped Max’s shoulders as he thrust the rake forward. One swift jab at the monster.
“I got it, Em,” he said. “Open your eyes.”
Laying on the grass, skewered by our garden rake, was a small slug.
“That’s not an alien,” I said.
It twitched and withered around the metal.
---
I was thirty-eight when the aliens arrived.
They didn’t look like the slugs in our garden.
They looked exactly like us.
It was a Wednesday morning when they came. I was about to drive Isabelle to school when Max called and told us not to leave the house.
We watched the ships land on the television.
No city was spared from the oncoming throng. Not even our little northern city - the last blip on the map before the urban sprawl faded into forest and rock.
Their leader broadcast his speech that night.
They wanted only a chance to start again.
Their planet was too small, too polluted, too barren.
Any of us could join them. If we surrendered they would take care of us.
Max knocked on my door a half hour later.
“Get Isabelle and a bag. We’re going to the cabin.”
Twenty minutes later we were barrelling down the road. The southern exits from the city were clogged with traffic, but few took the northern routes.
The northern roads lead to forest and lakes and nothing.
I gripped the handle as the speedometer flickered past 150.
Up ahead, hazard lights flashed. A van was crumbled in the ditch.
“Max,” I said. “We should stop.”
He frowned but pressed on the breaks.
A woman in a grey sweatshirt sat on the edge of the road. Blood dripped from her head into the snow.
“Can we help you?” I asked.
She blinked and turned her head slow.
She gazed through me.
“Blood loss and hypothermia, probably,” I said to Max.
“We need to keep going.” He looked back at the road.
I frowned. “We need to *try* to help.”
Max sighed. He stepped forward toward her. “We can get you to somewhere warm. Give you something to drink.”
The woman twitched. “Get away,” she said. She dug her hand into her pocket.
Max placed his hand on the woman’s arm. “We’re here to help.”
She flinched at the touch.
“Get away you fucking alien,” she hissed.
Her hand flittered from her pocket into Max’s chest.
She fell backward.
Max turned to me.
A knife, buried to the hilt, stuck out.
Red blossomed around the wound.
He twitched and withered around the metal.
/r/liswrites
| Have you ever felt like you’re constantly searching for something? No matter what you accomplish, who you meet, the places you visit, the feeling remains on the back of your head. You’re always disappointed. Maybe some people learn to live with it, but I could never ignore it. I talked to my mom about it, once, and she said that God had a mission planned for me, a great deed for a great man, but I am not a great man.
Before the official news were released, there was a lot of gossip going around. All we, the normal people, knew was that a large unidentified object approached our planet at high speeds. Was it an asteroid? Was it a rogue planet? Was it a spaceship? Either way, whichever was it, were we doomed? Was it all a lie?
We were left to speculate for nearly a week. Fear took over the hearts of many, but most refused to show it. Instead, we continued with our ordinary lives, we went to work, we bought slightly more canned food and bottled water just in case, we laid wide awake wondering what was going to happen to us. And for the first time, I had completely forgotten about my search. I felt content with all I had and everything I had accomplished.
Then, the official announcement was made. We made first contact. We were not alone. Up above, between us and the moon, waited a spaceship full of alien life ready to land on our Earth.
Our Earth, **our** Earth. Suddenly, we were the owners of this planet. For some reason, people at my office were angry when they watched the President welcome these beings on the TV. They didn't want the so called invaders to come.
That's the last thing I saw before I drove home. As soon as I heard the news, an amazing feeling took a grip of my heart. A mix of emotions I had never felt, amazement, anticipation, unrest, wonder...
Actually, they were familiar emotions, but not with this intensity. Something called. I looked up to the mid-day clear sky and an anxious smile found its way to my face. I don't understand why I was grinning like an idiot. I felt the urge to wave with my hand and so I did.
---------------------------------
"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Humber said while looking at the blue planet in front of him, "It's like we returned home," he smiled bitterly and placed a hand on the cold glass in front of him. Besides him, his sister Anrod stared speechlessly. He was never able to understand what she was thinking, but her eyes seemed saddened. He stood up and put a hand on her shoulder, "This is a new beginning. Let's do things right this time around," he said and left.
Anrod felt a sting on the corners of her eyes and a single tear managed to frame her face, before she brushed them off. This feeling...
She waved. Something invited her. She was not all alone.
| |
[WP] We all just assumed that aliens would be a completely different species to anything on Earth. No-one suspected that they would be genetically identical to humans. | "There is some logic to this, you must admit."
"I'm having trouble believing in logic at all at the moment," Anne said, adjusting the icepack. Her sullen gaze was fixated at the floor, as if looking around the room gave her a technological vertigo. There were too many holograms and little robotic things tinkering around, like some machinist's petting zoo, carrying out the maintenance schedules or whatever other processes they'd been tasked to. Before her, the large central hologram of Earth cast a blue glow on the roughly textured white floor.
"There is admittedly some critical path analysis to evolution," her captor replied. "Certainly, bigger, denser brains are better than none. Opposable thumbs for manipulating the environment, and so on. Of course, this depends on the environment. Gills are useless on land, for example."
"Are you saying on every planet, humans are bound to show up at some point or another?"
"Oh, no, Heavens no!" he replied. "That is the right expression? Heavens? No, on every planet or moon that we've adopted there are of course different initial variables. Differences of atmosphere and so on. But we have had a wealth of experience with these things and so we've developed a certain talent for pointing things in the right direction. Really it's a matter of reverse engineering. It's easier to accomplish what you need to, when you know what it is you're meant to accomplish." He smiled primly, as if he were repeating an oft-quoted maxim that he not so much as believed as staked his entire life on.
"But surely there are always some differences, right?" she replied, despite herself. She felt foolish for indulging this madman, but her environment on the ship had put her in a state of suspended disbelief. Perhaps the light concussion and whiplash helped.
"Oh yes, obviously. There is still much work to be done. Which is why I'm here! The psychological prepwork is far from completed, and in any case there are significant biophysical refinements to be made. My specialty," he smiled that smug smile again. Or had it never left his face. If this was the future, Anne was glad she didn't want any part of it. He went on, ignoring her obvious discomfort. "Mostly we can allow the evolution to continue unimpeded, monitoring instead the global environmental attributes. Necessity is the mother of all invention," he quoted again, like a priest in sermon. "And when we see significant deviations or movements in our desired direction, we adjust the program to accommodate. Think of this as a monthly check-up. I'm sorry to have had to drag you out like this, but you understand that it makes no difference to you or the rest of Earth ultimately. I will be using you to assess your species condition, and then, I will allow you to finish what you started. I can assist in that regard, if you wish."
"How kind," Anne replied. Her captor seemed aware of the sarcasm, however. "You could of course be grateful!" he said, straightening up. "By the way you were going there was little chance for failure. Even if you had survived the impact, you would've been torn limb from limb."
"Well I'd made my mind up, hadn't I?"
"Minds can change," he replied curtly. "That is what I'm here for, after all," he said, striking a pose of melodramatic self-rightousness.
"You're crazier than I am."
"Oh as you will see, that kind of language will die out in less than a century." He looked back down into her eyes, "Or perhaps, you won't."
"Speaking of which, can I go now?"
"I haven't assessed you yet. But very well, we may start."
"This isn't going to involve.. er.. probes is it? I'd like to die with a little dignity."
"Evidence to the contrary," he scoffed.
"Rude."
"Irrelevant."
"You're avoiding the question."
"The answer's no."
"Fine."
"That part of the assessment was completed before you woke up. Unconscious subjects are more docile."
He leaned back, holding his chin with lips pursed in keen interest and mild amusement while she unleashed a torrent of expletives in his direction. Dripping water left a trail of sparks on the force field wall where the icepack had hit it and fallen to the floor. His expression softened little when the shouting turned to sobs.
"Emotional matrix looks good so far," he said, glancing at a panel on the wall. He summoned it, and the hologram extended towards him. "Accounting for the circumstances of course," he muttered to himself. "Okay, let's try..."
A small whimpering joined Anne's own on the couch in the clinic room. She raised her face from her hands, confused, and looked down beside her to see the large black eyes of a month-old labrador gazing back up at her.
She screamed, and scrambled away from the couch. The puppy looked crestfallen.
"Oh, too soon, too soon," muttered the man, and the holographic puppy froze and disintegrated into light. "Fear response looks appropriate though." This is going to take too long, he thought. The trouble with suicides, everything is about them. "I would appreciate your cooperation, if you could just calm down," he announced to his patient.
"What the hell was that?"
"In your modern parlance I believe it's called a pooper?"
"A what?! Pooper?! A pupper! Puppy!"
He looked down over his panel again as the computer helped to trace the etymology for him and let out a soft 'oooh' of understanding.
"Let me out of here!" she yelled at him.
"But we're not finished!"
"I don't care!"
"Will you ever change your mind?"
"No!!"
"Then I have little choice." He dismissed the hologram with a flick of his wrist. "If you will stand still, I will return you to your previous position."
"Fine." Anne brushed back a tear soaked hair that was clinging to her face.
The man pretended to look busy as her body was dissected from every possible angle by scans. A spectrographic laser shone through her breath. Robots the size of bedbugs that had been ingesting skin samples detached and crawled into holes in the floor. Finally, a non-intrusive ultrasonic surgical device locked on her head from behind the thin panel in the ceiling.
The man tried to look nonchalant as the device performed thousands of lobotomies in the space of a mere second. Synapses were snipped, neurons nudged, memories were obliterated. The expression on Anne's face changed as she began to forget where she was.
"I think it's worth mentioning," said the man, as her eyes clouded over. "That if there are greater plans in store for your species, perhaps there are greater plans in store for you, too."
Anne found herself standing at the edge, looking down at the black and white maw of the rocks and sea foam, with the slightest blue hue of the vicious sea that churned beneath it. Her stomach turned like she had the sensation of falling. She felt suddenly terrified, or shocked, as if she had just seen something she'd never expected. And a second feeling, underneath the first. Maybe this wasn't the direction she wanted to go in.
Eventually she felt strong enough to stand again, and brushed herself off and looked back out to the sea. She smelled the sea wind, which only a moment ago had been blowing the other direction. The salt seemed to cling to her face, and sting her eyes. She stood there for a while, already forgetting why she'd been there in the first place. After a while, she left.
From his hidden vantage point, a strange man smiled.
----
[Subreddit](https://www.reddit.com/r/TeddyArmy/) | Have you ever felt like you’re constantly searching for something? No matter what you accomplish, who you meet, the places you visit, the feeling remains on the back of your head. You’re always disappointed. Maybe some people learn to live with it, but I could never ignore it. I talked to my mom about it, once, and she said that God had a mission planned for me, a great deed for a great man, but I am not a great man.
Before the official news were released, there was a lot of gossip going around. All we, the normal people, knew was that a large unidentified object approached our planet at high speeds. Was it an asteroid? Was it a rogue planet? Was it a spaceship? Either way, whichever was it, were we doomed? Was it all a lie?
We were left to speculate for nearly a week. Fear took over the hearts of many, but most refused to show it. Instead, we continued with our ordinary lives, we went to work, we bought slightly more canned food and bottled water just in case, we laid wide awake wondering what was going to happen to us. And for the first time, I had completely forgotten about my search. I felt content with all I had and everything I had accomplished.
Then, the official announcement was made. We made first contact. We were not alone. Up above, between us and the moon, waited a spaceship full of alien life ready to land on our Earth.
Our Earth, **our** Earth. Suddenly, we were the owners of this planet. For some reason, people at my office were angry when they watched the President welcome these beings on the TV. They didn't want the so called invaders to come.
That's the last thing I saw before I drove home. As soon as I heard the news, an amazing feeling took a grip of my heart. A mix of emotions I had never felt, amazement, anticipation, unrest, wonder...
Actually, they were familiar emotions, but not with this intensity. Something called. I looked up to the mid-day clear sky and an anxious smile found its way to my face. I don't understand why I was grinning like an idiot. I felt the urge to wave with my hand and so I did.
---------------------------------
"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Humber said while looking at the blue planet in front of him, "It's like we returned home," he smiled bitterly and placed a hand on the cold glass in front of him. Besides him, his sister Anrod stared speechlessly. He was never able to understand what she was thinking, but her eyes seemed saddened. He stood up and put a hand on her shoulder, "This is a new beginning. Let's do things right this time around," he said and left.
Anrod felt a sting on the corners of her eyes and a single tear managed to frame her face, before she brushed them off. This feeling...
She waved. Something invited her. She was not all alone.
| |
[WP] We all just assumed that aliens would be a completely different species to anything on Earth. No-one suspected that they would be genetically identical to humans. | When the Klorians returned, pouring out of the skygates like so many drops of golden dew, Tim Bradshaw was finishing the final harvest run on his farm. He had just enough time to stow away his tractor, order his family into the hall, and to prepare the pitcher of ice-cold lemonade and home-made biscuits.
The Klorian lady who knocked on their door looked no more than twenty, with green eyes and auburn hair. There was a yellow hue about her which persisted, like the aura around a sturdy flame. She cleared her throat, then tapped on the metallic box slung about her shoulder.
“Thank you for having me again,” she said. There was a second’s delay between her original tongue and the dulcet tones issuing from the box. “It’s nice to be back on Earth.”
“We… were almost wondering if you would return, Klor-Ayzo.”
“Why wouldn’t we? A promise is a promise, Tim Bradshaw. Come, show me the progress you have made.”
Tim nodded, then fetched the crystalline pod down from the top of the shelf. He positioned it on the table the way Ayzo had done a month prior, then clasped it firmly in his hand. It buzzed, glowed brightly, and spewed out a radiant array of charts and symbols into the air.
Ayzo studied it for a minute as she sipped at her lemonade. “Not fast enough, Tim. Not fast enough. You have to work harder, or you will not be able to avoid the Dunnzor. Still a long, long way to go.”
“Well, Klor-Ayzo… I’ve tried. We all tried. We’ve used the crops you gave us, we changed our harvest cycles, we did all you asked us to do…”
“I was being too harsh,” Ayzo said. “I did not mean *you* directly. I meant *all of you*. These numbers don’t just represent you. It’s a summation of what every human on Earth is working towards. Tell me, why has it not gone faster?”
Tim’s son, too young to guard his tongue, yet too old to be fettered by decorum, piped up from the sofa. “Not everyone believes you, miss. I heard people on the TV… some of them say the Klorians are actually bad, that we shouldn’t be listening to any of you. There's a hidden agenda, they say. We can deal with the Dunnzor ourselves, they say.”
“Is that true?”
Tim had the decency to blush. “Well, you know how people are. After you left, most of us took your words to heart, but there were those… who chose to believe otherwise. They had questions, you see.”
“But we explained, did we not? We made sure we were understood, right?”
“It’s not that they do not appreciate the advice, Klor-Ayzo. But you must understand, there were a lot of people who lost money because of what you advised us to do. I’m just a farmer, life hasn’t changed much for me. But the engineers, the technologists, the politicians… there are other people from a dozen other professions who have felt that they were disadvantaged by what the Klorians asked them to do…”
“Impossible! We were so careful, we made sure that every human still ended up with more than enough to survive-”
“That’s the problem,” said Tim. “Some people had *more* before.”
The cheer had fallen away from Ayzo’s demeanour, and a frown had begun to etch itself across her forehead. “Well, there is still time, so maybe if we re-double our efforts, show you how to better manage your planet, maybe we will still be in time to avoid the Dunnzor… but we have to move fast…”
“Perhaps, if I may just say something…”
Ayzo nodded, and Tim turned the TV on, flipped to the channel he was looking for. The screen was divided into six, and in each was a talking head, with lines of credentials running under them.
“This show has been running almost 24/7 since the Klorians came,” Tim said. “It’s a show where the government invites the best, brightest minds to debate the Klorian Masterplan – that’s what we’re calling the blueprints you’ve shared with us – and they think they can come up with something better. Masterplan 2.0, they call it. A plan where we can still defeat climate change, but one where we don’t have to give up so much at the end of the day-”
“What has climate change got to do with anything?” Ayzo asked.
“Well, that’s what the Dunnzor is, isn’t it?” Tim said. “Your translation boxes didn’t manage that part the first time round, but that’s what we understood you Klorians to be saying.”
Ayzo had gone quiet, and the aura about her pulsed in waves. Tim plunged ahead, in the hopes that she would see that they truly did understand, that everything would be fine.
“We inferred that from the metaphor you Klorians used,” Tim said. “You know, all that stuff about earth being a garden, and how we humans are the seedlings, and that we need to grow in the right way so that the Dunnzor never comes? Well, what we thought was that-”
“It wasn’t a metaphor, Tim Bradshaw. We were being literal.”
“What do you mean?”
“We explained, didn’t we? Klorians, earthlings… we are the same, genetically. We showed you that. And that is because we are all... in a sense... spores. We drift the galaxy, we find planets hospitable to us, and then we grow, we sprout, we bloom. And wherever we grow, it is a garden.”
“Yes, that part we understood…”
“No, you don’t! Tim Bradshaw, let me try again. You are a farmer, yes?”
“Yes, you already know that.”
“And when your crop grows too bountiful, what do you do?”
“Well, I am happy, of course!”
Ayzo grew increasingly agitated, and she rapped the side of her box in anger, as if the translator were somehow at fault.
“No, I meant… when there are other plants that you *do not* want, and they grow too quickly, when they destroy your garden... what do you do?”
“… you mean like, weeds?”
“Yes! Like weeds!”
A bright-red ticker started crawling across the screen, and the panellists turned in exasperation as they listened to the host read from a prepared statement. The words “Breaking News” and “Breakthrough in Translation” featured prominently on the ticker.
“That’s still… not entirely accurate,” said Ayzo, as she listened to the commentary. “That hardly conveys the urgency of our mission here, or the true despair which it will bring if it comes. But yes, I suppose you can refer to Dunnzor as ‘The Gardener of Planets’”.
---
/r/rarelyfunny
| Have you ever felt like you’re constantly searching for something? No matter what you accomplish, who you meet, the places you visit, the feeling remains on the back of your head. You’re always disappointed. Maybe some people learn to live with it, but I could never ignore it. I talked to my mom about it, once, and she said that God had a mission planned for me, a great deed for a great man, but I am not a great man.
Before the official news were released, there was a lot of gossip going around. All we, the normal people, knew was that a large unidentified object approached our planet at high speeds. Was it an asteroid? Was it a rogue planet? Was it a spaceship? Either way, whichever was it, were we doomed? Was it all a lie?
We were left to speculate for nearly a week. Fear took over the hearts of many, but most refused to show it. Instead, we continued with our ordinary lives, we went to work, we bought slightly more canned food and bottled water just in case, we laid wide awake wondering what was going to happen to us. And for the first time, I had completely forgotten about my search. I felt content with all I had and everything I had accomplished.
Then, the official announcement was made. We made first contact. We were not alone. Up above, between us and the moon, waited a spaceship full of alien life ready to land on our Earth.
Our Earth, **our** Earth. Suddenly, we were the owners of this planet. For some reason, people at my office were angry when they watched the President welcome these beings on the TV. They didn't want the so called invaders to come.
That's the last thing I saw before I drove home. As soon as I heard the news, an amazing feeling took a grip of my heart. A mix of emotions I had never felt, amazement, anticipation, unrest, wonder...
Actually, they were familiar emotions, but not with this intensity. Something called. I looked up to the mid-day clear sky and an anxious smile found its way to my face. I don't understand why I was grinning like an idiot. I felt the urge to wave with my hand and so I did.
---------------------------------
"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Humber said while looking at the blue planet in front of him, "It's like we returned home," he smiled bitterly and placed a hand on the cold glass in front of him. Besides him, his sister Anrod stared speechlessly. He was never able to understand what she was thinking, but her eyes seemed saddened. He stood up and put a hand on her shoulder, "This is a new beginning. Let's do things right this time around," he said and left.
Anrod felt a sting on the corners of her eyes and a single tear managed to frame her face, before she brushed them off. This feeling...
She waved. Something invited her. She was not all alone.
| |
[WP] We all just assumed that aliens would be a completely different species to anything on Earth. No-one suspected that they would be genetically identical to humans. | Joe wrapped an arm around his wife's shoulders and pulled her tightly to his chest. Most of the residents of St Bartholomew's Street had already come out of their houses to see the cause of the midnight fracas. They were now gathered around the drive of number thirty-eight, as if patrons around a theatre stage, many of whom were hoping for a particularly blood thirsty production. Others, like Joe, were simply stuck in a state of disbelief. Of *refusing* to believe.
Sarah looked up at her husband. "They can't be, can they? We've known them for so long." Joe felt her hand curl up into a ball against his back. "They looked after the children only last week. Jesus Joe, we *trusted* them."
The Enforcers' Jeep waited empty, but eager, outside their neighbour's drive. A harsh light spiralled out from the vehicle, painting the gathered crowd first in broad red brushstrokes, then blue. Their neighbours' door lay splintered on the brick driveway. Joe shook his head. "We- we don't know that they *are*, yet, sweetheart. Not until the Enforcers bring them out. Until then, I think they both deserve the benefit of the doubt. They've earned at least that much from us."
"Amanda and Tony," his wife continued unperturbed, "they just seemed so *normal*. Just like us. I suppose that was the point - it was all a... a *trick*. To get close to us, so that they could eventually..." Her hands began to tremble.
Joe took her hands in his own and held them tightly. He opened his mouth meaning to reassure her, when the Special Office Enforcers came striding out of the broken doorway.
"Oh God," cried Sarah as she watched her neighbours be dragged out of their house, towards the Jeep, their arms handcuffed behind their backs. "How- how could you!" she screamed at them. "How sick are you freaks? We trusted you with our children!"
Amanda must have heard her, as she glanced up at Sarah. In that moment, Joe saw his neighbour's battered face and the blood dribbling from her nose.
"Go back to your own planet!" Sarah spat. "And take the rest of your kind with you! You're not welcome!"
"Honey," said Joe, blinking back tears. "Please. You don't mean that. They're our friends."
"*Friends?* They're sick freaks, that's what they are! You've read the reports. The things they've done..."
"You can't believe all that? Amanda and Tony have always been good t-"
A yell from nearby interrupted him. "Show us their eyes!"
"Yeah, their eyes!"
"We want proof!"
The Enforcer who held Amanda, pulled her up to her feet. He took out a plastic device, that looked a little like a gun, from his jacket pocket. With one hand, he grabbed Amanda's hair and yanked her head back; with the other, he fired a wide, green beam into her face. Her eyes lit up a bloody, unnatural, red. There were screams and panicked gasps from the crowd.
"I God-damned knew it!" said one resident. "They've always been perfect. *Too* perfect!"
"Hang 'em!" said another.
Tony, who was kneeling on the floor, pushed himself up and thrust himself head first at the Enforcer holding his wife. The Enforcer stumbled, almost falling, but at the last moment just regained her balance. Another Enforcer ran at Tony and threw his fist into the man's throat. The first Enforcer rejoined the fray, stamping her boot into the fallen man's head.
Joe began to tremble. "No..."
"Honey?" said Sarah.
"This isn't right," said Joe defiantly. "It isn't right!"
"Tell that to the children," said Sarah. "This is *exactly* right. It's what they deserve."
A haze of red flashed from the Jeep as its light spun again; Joe saw his hands as the light spilled over them. A moment later, a blue light replaced the red, washing it away. Only, the red wasn't gone. It would never go away, unless he...
"I'm sorry," he whispered, kissing his wife's hair. "They may not be from here, but they're sure as hell human. And more than that, they're our friends."
Sarah screamed, pleading him not to, but he was already in mid sprint. His shoulder landed with a thud against against one of the Enforcers. A right hook took the other off her feet.
"It's okay," said Joe, offering a hand to the beaten, bloodied man.
Tony looked up, through his one, non swollen eye. "Thank you," he croaked. "Are you one of..."
But the question was never finished. More officers had arrived.
A gun shot.
A bullet tore through Tony's head.
A long streak of red spattered the street.
Amanda's blood curdling scream cut through the noise of the frenzied crowd, until the hilt of a gun struck her head and silenced her.
Joe stepped back in sick disbelief. "No..." he muttered. "Oh God, no."
And then, they were on him. Fists and boots battering him down until he became numb and still.
When finally satisfied, the Enforcers dragged Joe back to his feet.
"Show us his eyes!" came a shout from the crowd. "He's one of them for sure!" "Show us his eyes!"
A hand yanked back Joe's head. A fierce green light pierced his retinas. If he could have screamed, he would have done.
"He's not one of them," said a woman who lived two doors down from Joe. The blood-lusting crowd seemed to deflate slightly, shoulders slumping and heads turning. "Just loves him some Second-Worlds."
"That's bad enough, ain't it?!"
Joe saw his wife standing on the doorstep, watching him with tear streaked eyes. Jane and Thea had come to the door and Sarah had her arms wrapped around them, trying to comfort them.
The green light was ripped away from his eyes. As it twisted direction, for a split second, it touched his wife's face.
His entire body began to tremble.
No one else saw: they were all too busy baying like wolves at Joe.
He didn't mean to struggle again - it was instinctive - but it was all it took.
Joe looked a last time at his his family, as a second gun fired.
Sarah had tried to cover her children's eyes, but Thea saw it all through a gap between her mother's fingers. She saw the blood spurt out of her father's chest and his body fall limply to the ground. She saw the inhumanity and unfairness of it all, and felt all the weight of her species fall on her shoulders. Her eyes, if for only a second, burned a brighter red than any before. She squeezed her hand into a ball and made herself a promise.
| Have you ever felt like you’re constantly searching for something? No matter what you accomplish, who you meet, the places you visit, the feeling remains on the back of your head. You’re always disappointed. Maybe some people learn to live with it, but I could never ignore it. I talked to my mom about it, once, and she said that God had a mission planned for me, a great deed for a great man, but I am not a great man.
Before the official news were released, there was a lot of gossip going around. All we, the normal people, knew was that a large unidentified object approached our planet at high speeds. Was it an asteroid? Was it a rogue planet? Was it a spaceship? Either way, whichever was it, were we doomed? Was it all a lie?
We were left to speculate for nearly a week. Fear took over the hearts of many, but most refused to show it. Instead, we continued with our ordinary lives, we went to work, we bought slightly more canned food and bottled water just in case, we laid wide awake wondering what was going to happen to us. And for the first time, I had completely forgotten about my search. I felt content with all I had and everything I had accomplished.
Then, the official announcement was made. We made first contact. We were not alone. Up above, between us and the moon, waited a spaceship full of alien life ready to land on our Earth.
Our Earth, **our** Earth. Suddenly, we were the owners of this planet. For some reason, people at my office were angry when they watched the President welcome these beings on the TV. They didn't want the so called invaders to come.
That's the last thing I saw before I drove home. As soon as I heard the news, an amazing feeling took a grip of my heart. A mix of emotions I had never felt, amazement, anticipation, unrest, wonder...
Actually, they were familiar emotions, but not with this intensity. Something called. I looked up to the mid-day clear sky and an anxious smile found its way to my face. I don't understand why I was grinning like an idiot. I felt the urge to wave with my hand and so I did.
---------------------------------
"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Humber said while looking at the blue planet in front of him, "It's like we returned home," he smiled bitterly and placed a hand on the cold glass in front of him. Besides him, his sister Anrod stared speechlessly. He was never able to understand what she was thinking, but her eyes seemed saddened. He stood up and put a hand on her shoulder, "This is a new beginning. Let's do things right this time around," he said and left.
Anrod felt a sting on the corners of her eyes and a single tear managed to frame her face, before she brushed them off. This feeling...
She waved. Something invited her. She was not all alone.
| |
[WP] We all just assumed that aliens would be a completely different species to anything on Earth. No-one suspected that they would be genetically identical to humans. | When I was ten years old my brother Max told me there was an alien living under our shed.
He saw it with his own eyes and needed a partner to take it down. I would be his advisor.
I followed him into our backyard and hid behind his back.
Max carried the rake in front of him, both his hands steady on the wood. The metal spikes pointed forward; he was ready to face anything.
I closed my eyes and gripped Max’s shoulders as he thrust the rake forward. One swift jab at the monster.
“I got it, Em,” he said. “Open your eyes.”
Laying on the grass, skewered by our garden rake, was a small slug.
“That’s not an alien,” I said.
It twitched and withered around the metal.
---
I was thirty-eight when the aliens arrived.
They didn’t look like the slugs in our garden.
They looked exactly like us.
It was a Wednesday morning when they came. I was about to drive Isabelle to school when Max called and told us not to leave the house.
We watched the ships land on the television.
No city was spared from the oncoming throng. Not even our little northern city - the last blip on the map before the urban sprawl faded into forest and rock.
Their leader broadcast his speech that night.
They wanted only a chance to start again.
Their planet was too small, too polluted, too barren.
Any of us could join them. If we surrendered they would take care of us.
Max knocked on my door a half hour later.
“Get Isabelle and a bag. We’re going to the cabin.”
Twenty minutes later we were barrelling down the road. The southern exits from the city were clogged with traffic, but few took the northern routes.
The northern roads lead to forest and lakes and nothing.
I gripped the handle as the speedometer flickered past 150.
Up ahead, hazard lights flashed. A van was crumbled in the ditch.
“Max,” I said. “We should stop.”
He frowned but pressed on the breaks.
A woman in a grey sweatshirt sat on the edge of the road. Blood dripped from her head into the snow.
“Can we help you?” I asked.
She blinked and turned her head slow.
She gazed through me.
“Blood loss and hypothermia, probably,” I said to Max.
“We need to keep going.” He looked back at the road.
I frowned. “We need to *try* to help.”
Max sighed. He stepped forward toward her. “We can get you to somewhere warm. Give you something to drink.”
The woman twitched. “Get away,” she said. She dug her hand into her pocket.
Max placed his hand on the woman’s arm. “We’re here to help.”
She flinched at the touch.
“Get away you fucking alien,” she hissed.
Her hand flittered from her pocket into Max’s chest.
She fell backward.
Max turned to me.
A knife, buried to the hilt, stuck out.
Red blossomed around the wound.
He twitched and withered around the metal.
/r/liswrites
| Nobody believed it when the announcement was first made. The words echoed on every TV in every home: "We are quite certain when we say, alien life exists, and we have found it."
That was just two years ago. Working at NASA suddenly got a lot more exciting, we had a goal now, we knew we should be the ones to make first contact. And now we're here.
When the crew had boarded the spaceship, everyone knew what it meant. These astronauts would meet them, but they would never come back. It was a crew of heroes. My crew of heroes.
We said our final goodbyes, and off we went, into the unknown.
Years of training were finally put to the test, and what a test it was. We spent three years travelling through space. I can't explain what that does to a man. Three years in the same room, with the same people, with the same view. But it was all worth it, we knew that the moment we arrived.
The planet became visible long before we reached it, but our excitement only grew. A blue planet, so much like ours. This would be where we would finally meet them.
NASA's readings had been accurate, but there is only so much you can find out all the way from Earth. Only the ocean had been visible until they managed to orbit the planet. Finally, the land had revealed itself. One supercontinent, full of life.
After three years of waiting, it was time to get back in action. Landing on the planet would be their hardest challenge yet, but they had come prepared. With the combined effort of the entire crew, the landing had been flawless. Everyone rushed to the window to see the planet they had traveled so far for.
Astoundingly, the first thing they saw were.. Trees. A large jungle, full of tall trees like they had never seen before. But it got more interesting the further they went. As the crew explored the shrubbery in amazement, they heard a sounds. A beautiful cry, but it's cry was not what astounded them. Over them flew a colorful bird, chirping like those on Earth. The bird was so colorful, like the birds in the tropics. Everywhere they went, the crew found lifeforms, some like earth creatures, and others looked completely alien.
The crew continued their exploration through the jungle, amazed at everything they found. But the biggest surprise was yet to come.
A rustling of the leaves made the crew stand still. Was it the wind, or a foraging creature? The crew looked around, and the rustling came closer. In fear of a predator, the crew hustled close. That was when they spotted it - two eyes, peeking from behind a tree. Cautiously, the crew closed in on the creature. Finally, their eyes met, and the creature fled. With its long arms, the primate swung between branches. Both amazed and confused, the crew discussed the situation. How could there be primates on this planet? How could these aliens evolve the exact same as on Earth?
Their discussion was interrupted by a series of loud grunts. Before them appeared a group of large primates. The crew was flabbergasted. How could this be? The primates appeared scared, but the crew was greatly outnumbered. As the situation became more and more tense, the crew tried to speak, tried to reason, but none of it helped. The scared grunts and screams quickly escalated the situation, as the humans feared for their lives.
It was then that one of the primates attacked. With rudimentary spears and clubs, the crew was overrun in an instant.
Nobody will ever know the story of my crew. Nobody will ever know about the fate of these heroes, on their first expedition to Pangea, 175,000,000 BC.
---
Thanks for reading! I am actively looking for feedback, so I would absolutely love to hear anything and everything you have to say about my story :D Cheers! | |
[WP] We all just assumed that aliens would be a completely different species to anything on Earth. No-one suspected that they would be genetically identical to humans. | "There is some logic to this, you must admit."
"I'm having trouble believing in logic at all at the moment," Anne said, adjusting the icepack. Her sullen gaze was fixated at the floor, as if looking around the room gave her a technological vertigo. There were too many holograms and little robotic things tinkering around, like some machinist's petting zoo, carrying out the maintenance schedules or whatever other processes they'd been tasked to. Before her, the large central hologram of Earth cast a blue glow on the roughly textured white floor.
"There is admittedly some critical path analysis to evolution," her captor replied. "Certainly, bigger, denser brains are better than none. Opposable thumbs for manipulating the environment, and so on. Of course, this depends on the environment. Gills are useless on land, for example."
"Are you saying on every planet, humans are bound to show up at some point or another?"
"Oh, no, Heavens no!" he replied. "That is the right expression? Heavens? No, on every planet or moon that we've adopted there are of course different initial variables. Differences of atmosphere and so on. But we have had a wealth of experience with these things and so we've developed a certain talent for pointing things in the right direction. Really it's a matter of reverse engineering. It's easier to accomplish what you need to, when you know what it is you're meant to accomplish." He smiled primly, as if he were repeating an oft-quoted maxim that he not so much as believed as staked his entire life on.
"But surely there are always some differences, right?" she replied, despite herself. She felt foolish for indulging this madman, but her environment on the ship had put her in a state of suspended disbelief. Perhaps the light concussion and whiplash helped.
"Oh yes, obviously. There is still much work to be done. Which is why I'm here! The psychological prepwork is far from completed, and in any case there are significant biophysical refinements to be made. My specialty," he smiled that smug smile again. Or had it never left his face. If this was the future, Anne was glad she didn't want any part of it. He went on, ignoring her obvious discomfort. "Mostly we can allow the evolution to continue unimpeded, monitoring instead the global environmental attributes. Necessity is the mother of all invention," he quoted again, like a priest in sermon. "And when we see significant deviations or movements in our desired direction, we adjust the program to accommodate. Think of this as a monthly check-up. I'm sorry to have had to drag you out like this, but you understand that it makes no difference to you or the rest of Earth ultimately. I will be using you to assess your species condition, and then, I will allow you to finish what you started. I can assist in that regard, if you wish."
"How kind," Anne replied. Her captor seemed aware of the sarcasm, however. "You could of course be grateful!" he said, straightening up. "By the way you were going there was little chance for failure. Even if you had survived the impact, you would've been torn limb from limb."
"Well I'd made my mind up, hadn't I?"
"Minds can change," he replied curtly. "That is what I'm here for, after all," he said, striking a pose of melodramatic self-rightousness.
"You're crazier than I am."
"Oh as you will see, that kind of language will die out in less than a century." He looked back down into her eyes, "Or perhaps, you won't."
"Speaking of which, can I go now?"
"I haven't assessed you yet. But very well, we may start."
"This isn't going to involve.. er.. probes is it? I'd like to die with a little dignity."
"Evidence to the contrary," he scoffed.
"Rude."
"Irrelevant."
"You're avoiding the question."
"The answer's no."
"Fine."
"That part of the assessment was completed before you woke up. Unconscious subjects are more docile."
He leaned back, holding his chin with lips pursed in keen interest and mild amusement while she unleashed a torrent of expletives in his direction. Dripping water left a trail of sparks on the force field wall where the icepack had hit it and fallen to the floor. His expression softened little when the shouting turned to sobs.
"Emotional matrix looks good so far," he said, glancing at a panel on the wall. He summoned it, and the hologram extended towards him. "Accounting for the circumstances of course," he muttered to himself. "Okay, let's try..."
A small whimpering joined Anne's own on the couch in the clinic room. She raised her face from her hands, confused, and looked down beside her to see the large black eyes of a month-old labrador gazing back up at her.
She screamed, and scrambled away from the couch. The puppy looked crestfallen.
"Oh, too soon, too soon," muttered the man, and the holographic puppy froze and disintegrated into light. "Fear response looks appropriate though." This is going to take too long, he thought. The trouble with suicides, everything is about them. "I would appreciate your cooperation, if you could just calm down," he announced to his patient.
"What the hell was that?"
"In your modern parlance I believe it's called a pooper?"
"A what?! Pooper?! A pupper! Puppy!"
He looked down over his panel again as the computer helped to trace the etymology for him and let out a soft 'oooh' of understanding.
"Let me out of here!" she yelled at him.
"But we're not finished!"
"I don't care!"
"Will you ever change your mind?"
"No!!"
"Then I have little choice." He dismissed the hologram with a flick of his wrist. "If you will stand still, I will return you to your previous position."
"Fine." Anne brushed back a tear soaked hair that was clinging to her face.
The man pretended to look busy as her body was dissected from every possible angle by scans. A spectrographic laser shone through her breath. Robots the size of bedbugs that had been ingesting skin samples detached and crawled into holes in the floor. Finally, a non-intrusive ultrasonic surgical device locked on her head from behind the thin panel in the ceiling.
The man tried to look nonchalant as the device performed thousands of lobotomies in the space of a mere second. Synapses were snipped, neurons nudged, memories were obliterated. The expression on Anne's face changed as she began to forget where she was.
"I think it's worth mentioning," said the man, as her eyes clouded over. "That if there are greater plans in store for your species, perhaps there are greater plans in store for you, too."
Anne found herself standing at the edge, looking down at the black and white maw of the rocks and sea foam, with the slightest blue hue of the vicious sea that churned beneath it. Her stomach turned like she had the sensation of falling. She felt suddenly terrified, or shocked, as if she had just seen something she'd never expected. And a second feeling, underneath the first. Maybe this wasn't the direction she wanted to go in.
Eventually she felt strong enough to stand again, and brushed herself off and looked back out to the sea. She smelled the sea wind, which only a moment ago had been blowing the other direction. The salt seemed to cling to her face, and sting her eyes. She stood there for a while, already forgetting why she'd been there in the first place. After a while, she left.
From his hidden vantage point, a strange man smiled.
----
[Subreddit](https://www.reddit.com/r/TeddyArmy/) | Nobody believed it when the announcement was first made. The words echoed on every TV in every home: "We are quite certain when we say, alien life exists, and we have found it."
That was just two years ago. Working at NASA suddenly got a lot more exciting, we had a goal now, we knew we should be the ones to make first contact. And now we're here.
When the crew had boarded the spaceship, everyone knew what it meant. These astronauts would meet them, but they would never come back. It was a crew of heroes. My crew of heroes.
We said our final goodbyes, and off we went, into the unknown.
Years of training were finally put to the test, and what a test it was. We spent three years travelling through space. I can't explain what that does to a man. Three years in the same room, with the same people, with the same view. But it was all worth it, we knew that the moment we arrived.
The planet became visible long before we reached it, but our excitement only grew. A blue planet, so much like ours. This would be where we would finally meet them.
NASA's readings had been accurate, but there is only so much you can find out all the way from Earth. Only the ocean had been visible until they managed to orbit the planet. Finally, the land had revealed itself. One supercontinent, full of life.
After three years of waiting, it was time to get back in action. Landing on the planet would be their hardest challenge yet, but they had come prepared. With the combined effort of the entire crew, the landing had been flawless. Everyone rushed to the window to see the planet they had traveled so far for.
Astoundingly, the first thing they saw were.. Trees. A large jungle, full of tall trees like they had never seen before. But it got more interesting the further they went. As the crew explored the shrubbery in amazement, they heard a sounds. A beautiful cry, but it's cry was not what astounded them. Over them flew a colorful bird, chirping like those on Earth. The bird was so colorful, like the birds in the tropics. Everywhere they went, the crew found lifeforms, some like earth creatures, and others looked completely alien.
The crew continued their exploration through the jungle, amazed at everything they found. But the biggest surprise was yet to come.
A rustling of the leaves made the crew stand still. Was it the wind, or a foraging creature? The crew looked around, and the rustling came closer. In fear of a predator, the crew hustled close. That was when they spotted it - two eyes, peeking from behind a tree. Cautiously, the crew closed in on the creature. Finally, their eyes met, and the creature fled. With its long arms, the primate swung between branches. Both amazed and confused, the crew discussed the situation. How could there be primates on this planet? How could these aliens evolve the exact same as on Earth?
Their discussion was interrupted by a series of loud grunts. Before them appeared a group of large primates. The crew was flabbergasted. How could this be? The primates appeared scared, but the crew was greatly outnumbered. As the situation became more and more tense, the crew tried to speak, tried to reason, but none of it helped. The scared grunts and screams quickly escalated the situation, as the humans feared for their lives.
It was then that one of the primates attacked. With rudimentary spears and clubs, the crew was overrun in an instant.
Nobody will ever know the story of my crew. Nobody will ever know about the fate of these heroes, on their first expedition to Pangea, 175,000,000 BC.
---
Thanks for reading! I am actively looking for feedback, so I would absolutely love to hear anything and everything you have to say about my story :D Cheers! | |
[WP] We all just assumed that aliens would be a completely different species to anything on Earth. No-one suspected that they would be genetically identical to humans. | When the Klorians returned, pouring out of the skygates like so many drops of golden dew, Tim Bradshaw was finishing the final harvest run on his farm. He had just enough time to stow away his tractor, order his family into the hall, and to prepare the pitcher of ice-cold lemonade and home-made biscuits.
The Klorian lady who knocked on their door looked no more than twenty, with green eyes and auburn hair. There was a yellow hue about her which persisted, like the aura around a sturdy flame. She cleared her throat, then tapped on the metallic box slung about her shoulder.
“Thank you for having me again,” she said. There was a second’s delay between her original tongue and the dulcet tones issuing from the box. “It’s nice to be back on Earth.”
“We… were almost wondering if you would return, Klor-Ayzo.”
“Why wouldn’t we? A promise is a promise, Tim Bradshaw. Come, show me the progress you have made.”
Tim nodded, then fetched the crystalline pod down from the top of the shelf. He positioned it on the table the way Ayzo had done a month prior, then clasped it firmly in his hand. It buzzed, glowed brightly, and spewed out a radiant array of charts and symbols into the air.
Ayzo studied it for a minute as she sipped at her lemonade. “Not fast enough, Tim. Not fast enough. You have to work harder, or you will not be able to avoid the Dunnzor. Still a long, long way to go.”
“Well, Klor-Ayzo… I’ve tried. We all tried. We’ve used the crops you gave us, we changed our harvest cycles, we did all you asked us to do…”
“I was being too harsh,” Ayzo said. “I did not mean *you* directly. I meant *all of you*. These numbers don’t just represent you. It’s a summation of what every human on Earth is working towards. Tell me, why has it not gone faster?”
Tim’s son, too young to guard his tongue, yet too old to be fettered by decorum, piped up from the sofa. “Not everyone believes you, miss. I heard people on the TV… some of them say the Klorians are actually bad, that we shouldn’t be listening to any of you. There's a hidden agenda, they say. We can deal with the Dunnzor ourselves, they say.”
“Is that true?”
Tim had the decency to blush. “Well, you know how people are. After you left, most of us took your words to heart, but there were those… who chose to believe otherwise. They had questions, you see.”
“But we explained, did we not? We made sure we were understood, right?”
“It’s not that they do not appreciate the advice, Klor-Ayzo. But you must understand, there were a lot of people who lost money because of what you advised us to do. I’m just a farmer, life hasn’t changed much for me. But the engineers, the technologists, the politicians… there are other people from a dozen other professions who have felt that they were disadvantaged by what the Klorians asked them to do…”
“Impossible! We were so careful, we made sure that every human still ended up with more than enough to survive-”
“That’s the problem,” said Tim. “Some people had *more* before.”
The cheer had fallen away from Ayzo’s demeanour, and a frown had begun to etch itself across her forehead. “Well, there is still time, so maybe if we re-double our efforts, show you how to better manage your planet, maybe we will still be in time to avoid the Dunnzor… but we have to move fast…”
“Perhaps, if I may just say something…”
Ayzo nodded, and Tim turned the TV on, flipped to the channel he was looking for. The screen was divided into six, and in each was a talking head, with lines of credentials running under them.
“This show has been running almost 24/7 since the Klorians came,” Tim said. “It’s a show where the government invites the best, brightest minds to debate the Klorian Masterplan – that’s what we’re calling the blueprints you’ve shared with us – and they think they can come up with something better. Masterplan 2.0, they call it. A plan where we can still defeat climate change, but one where we don’t have to give up so much at the end of the day-”
“What has climate change got to do with anything?” Ayzo asked.
“Well, that’s what the Dunnzor is, isn’t it?” Tim said. “Your translation boxes didn’t manage that part the first time round, but that’s what we understood you Klorians to be saying.”
Ayzo had gone quiet, and the aura about her pulsed in waves. Tim plunged ahead, in the hopes that she would see that they truly did understand, that everything would be fine.
“We inferred that from the metaphor you Klorians used,” Tim said. “You know, all that stuff about earth being a garden, and how we humans are the seedlings, and that we need to grow in the right way so that the Dunnzor never comes? Well, what we thought was that-”
“It wasn’t a metaphor, Tim Bradshaw. We were being literal.”
“What do you mean?”
“We explained, didn’t we? Klorians, earthlings… we are the same, genetically. We showed you that. And that is because we are all... in a sense... spores. We drift the galaxy, we find planets hospitable to us, and then we grow, we sprout, we bloom. And wherever we grow, it is a garden.”
“Yes, that part we understood…”
“No, you don’t! Tim Bradshaw, let me try again. You are a farmer, yes?”
“Yes, you already know that.”
“And when your crop grows too bountiful, what do you do?”
“Well, I am happy, of course!”
Ayzo grew increasingly agitated, and she rapped the side of her box in anger, as if the translator were somehow at fault.
“No, I meant… when there are other plants that you *do not* want, and they grow too quickly, when they destroy your garden... what do you do?”
“… you mean like, weeds?”
“Yes! Like weeds!”
A bright-red ticker started crawling across the screen, and the panellists turned in exasperation as they listened to the host read from a prepared statement. The words “Breaking News” and “Breakthrough in Translation” featured prominently on the ticker.
“That’s still… not entirely accurate,” said Ayzo, as she listened to the commentary. “That hardly conveys the urgency of our mission here, or the true despair which it will bring if it comes. But yes, I suppose you can refer to Dunnzor as ‘The Gardener of Planets’”.
---
/r/rarelyfunny
| Nobody believed it when the announcement was first made. The words echoed on every TV in every home: "We are quite certain when we say, alien life exists, and we have found it."
That was just two years ago. Working at NASA suddenly got a lot more exciting, we had a goal now, we knew we should be the ones to make first contact. And now we're here.
When the crew had boarded the spaceship, everyone knew what it meant. These astronauts would meet them, but they would never come back. It was a crew of heroes. My crew of heroes.
We said our final goodbyes, and off we went, into the unknown.
Years of training were finally put to the test, and what a test it was. We spent three years travelling through space. I can't explain what that does to a man. Three years in the same room, with the same people, with the same view. But it was all worth it, we knew that the moment we arrived.
The planet became visible long before we reached it, but our excitement only grew. A blue planet, so much like ours. This would be where we would finally meet them.
NASA's readings had been accurate, but there is only so much you can find out all the way from Earth. Only the ocean had been visible until they managed to orbit the planet. Finally, the land had revealed itself. One supercontinent, full of life.
After three years of waiting, it was time to get back in action. Landing on the planet would be their hardest challenge yet, but they had come prepared. With the combined effort of the entire crew, the landing had been flawless. Everyone rushed to the window to see the planet they had traveled so far for.
Astoundingly, the first thing they saw were.. Trees. A large jungle, full of tall trees like they had never seen before. But it got more interesting the further they went. As the crew explored the shrubbery in amazement, they heard a sounds. A beautiful cry, but it's cry was not what astounded them. Over them flew a colorful bird, chirping like those on Earth. The bird was so colorful, like the birds in the tropics. Everywhere they went, the crew found lifeforms, some like earth creatures, and others looked completely alien.
The crew continued their exploration through the jungle, amazed at everything they found. But the biggest surprise was yet to come.
A rustling of the leaves made the crew stand still. Was it the wind, or a foraging creature? The crew looked around, and the rustling came closer. In fear of a predator, the crew hustled close. That was when they spotted it - two eyes, peeking from behind a tree. Cautiously, the crew closed in on the creature. Finally, their eyes met, and the creature fled. With its long arms, the primate swung between branches. Both amazed and confused, the crew discussed the situation. How could there be primates on this planet? How could these aliens evolve the exact same as on Earth?
Their discussion was interrupted by a series of loud grunts. Before them appeared a group of large primates. The crew was flabbergasted. How could this be? The primates appeared scared, but the crew was greatly outnumbered. As the situation became more and more tense, the crew tried to speak, tried to reason, but none of it helped. The scared grunts and screams quickly escalated the situation, as the humans feared for their lives.
It was then that one of the primates attacked. With rudimentary spears and clubs, the crew was overrun in an instant.
Nobody will ever know the story of my crew. Nobody will ever know about the fate of these heroes, on their first expedition to Pangea, 175,000,000 BC.
---
Thanks for reading! I am actively looking for feedback, so I would absolutely love to hear anything and everything you have to say about my story :D Cheers! | |
[WP] We all just assumed that aliens would be a completely different species to anything on Earth. No-one suspected that they would be genetically identical to humans. | Joe wrapped an arm around his wife's shoulders and pulled her tightly to his chest. Most of the residents of St Bartholomew's Street had already come out of their houses to see the cause of the midnight fracas. They were now gathered around the drive of number thirty-eight, as if patrons around a theatre stage, many of whom were hoping for a particularly blood thirsty production. Others, like Joe, were simply stuck in a state of disbelief. Of *refusing* to believe.
Sarah looked up at her husband. "They can't be, can they? We've known them for so long." Joe felt her hand curl up into a ball against his back. "They looked after the children only last week. Jesus Joe, we *trusted* them."
The Enforcers' Jeep waited empty, but eager, outside their neighbour's drive. A harsh light spiralled out from the vehicle, painting the gathered crowd first in broad red brushstrokes, then blue. Their neighbours' door lay splintered on the brick driveway. Joe shook his head. "We- we don't know that they *are*, yet, sweetheart. Not until the Enforcers bring them out. Until then, I think they both deserve the benefit of the doubt. They've earned at least that much from us."
"Amanda and Tony," his wife continued unperturbed, "they just seemed so *normal*. Just like us. I suppose that was the point - it was all a... a *trick*. To get close to us, so that they could eventually..." Her hands began to tremble.
Joe took her hands in his own and held them tightly. He opened his mouth meaning to reassure her, when the Special Office Enforcers came striding out of the broken doorway.
"Oh God," cried Sarah as she watched her neighbours be dragged out of their house, towards the Jeep, their arms handcuffed behind their backs. "How- how could you!" she screamed at them. "How sick are you freaks? We trusted you with our children!"
Amanda must have heard her, as she glanced up at Sarah. In that moment, Joe saw his neighbour's battered face and the blood dribbling from her nose.
"Go back to your own planet!" Sarah spat. "And take the rest of your kind with you! You're not welcome!"
"Honey," said Joe, blinking back tears. "Please. You don't mean that. They're our friends."
"*Friends?* They're sick freaks, that's what they are! You've read the reports. The things they've done..."
"You can't believe all that? Amanda and Tony have always been good t-"
A yell from nearby interrupted him. "Show us their eyes!"
"Yeah, their eyes!"
"We want proof!"
The Enforcer who held Amanda, pulled her up to her feet. He took out a plastic device, that looked a little like a gun, from his jacket pocket. With one hand, he grabbed Amanda's hair and yanked her head back; with the other, he fired a wide, green beam into her face. Her eyes lit up a bloody, unnatural, red. There were screams and panicked gasps from the crowd.
"I God-damned knew it!" said one resident. "They've always been perfect. *Too* perfect!"
"Hang 'em!" said another.
Tony, who was kneeling on the floor, pushed himself up and thrust himself head first at the Enforcer holding his wife. The Enforcer stumbled, almost falling, but at the last moment just regained her balance. Another Enforcer ran at Tony and threw his fist into the man's throat. The first Enforcer rejoined the fray, stamping her boot into the fallen man's head.
Joe began to tremble. "No..."
"Honey?" said Sarah.
"This isn't right," said Joe defiantly. "It isn't right!"
"Tell that to the children," said Sarah. "This is *exactly* right. It's what they deserve."
A haze of red flashed from the Jeep as its light spun again; Joe saw his hands as the light spilled over them. A moment later, a blue light replaced the red, washing it away. Only, the red wasn't gone. It would never go away, unless he...
"I'm sorry," he whispered, kissing his wife's hair. "They may not be from here, but they're sure as hell human. And more than that, they're our friends."
Sarah screamed, pleading him not to, but he was already in mid sprint. His shoulder landed with a thud against against one of the Enforcers. A right hook took the other off her feet.
"It's okay," said Joe, offering a hand to the beaten, bloodied man.
Tony looked up, through his one, non swollen eye. "Thank you," he croaked. "Are you one of..."
But the question was never finished. More officers had arrived.
A gun shot.
A bullet tore through Tony's head.
A long streak of red spattered the street.
Amanda's blood curdling scream cut through the noise of the frenzied crowd, until the hilt of a gun struck her head and silenced her.
Joe stepped back in sick disbelief. "No..." he muttered. "Oh God, no."
And then, they were on him. Fists and boots battering him down until he became numb and still.
When finally satisfied, the Enforcers dragged Joe back to his feet.
"Show us his eyes!" came a shout from the crowd. "He's one of them for sure!" "Show us his eyes!"
A hand yanked back Joe's head. A fierce green light pierced his retinas. If he could have screamed, he would have done.
"He's not one of them," said a woman who lived two doors down from Joe. The blood-lusting crowd seemed to deflate slightly, shoulders slumping and heads turning. "Just loves him some Second-Worlds."
"That's bad enough, ain't it?!"
Joe saw his wife standing on the doorstep, watching him with tear streaked eyes. Jane and Thea had come to the door and Sarah had her arms wrapped around them, trying to comfort them.
The green light was ripped away from his eyes. As it twisted direction, for a split second, it touched his wife's face.
His entire body began to tremble.
No one else saw: they were all too busy baying like wolves at Joe.
He didn't mean to struggle again - it was instinctive - but it was all it took.
Joe looked a last time at his his family, as a second gun fired.
Sarah had tried to cover her children's eyes, but Thea saw it all through a gap between her mother's fingers. She saw the blood spurt out of her father's chest and his body fall limply to the ground. She saw the inhumanity and unfairness of it all, and felt all the weight of her species fall on her shoulders. Her eyes, if for only a second, burned a brighter red than any before. She squeezed her hand into a ball and made herself a promise.
| Nobody believed it when the announcement was first made. The words echoed on every TV in every home: "We are quite certain when we say, alien life exists, and we have found it."
That was just two years ago. Working at NASA suddenly got a lot more exciting, we had a goal now, we knew we should be the ones to make first contact. And now we're here.
When the crew had boarded the spaceship, everyone knew what it meant. These astronauts would meet them, but they would never come back. It was a crew of heroes. My crew of heroes.
We said our final goodbyes, and off we went, into the unknown.
Years of training were finally put to the test, and what a test it was. We spent three years travelling through space. I can't explain what that does to a man. Three years in the same room, with the same people, with the same view. But it was all worth it, we knew that the moment we arrived.
The planet became visible long before we reached it, but our excitement only grew. A blue planet, so much like ours. This would be where we would finally meet them.
NASA's readings had been accurate, but there is only so much you can find out all the way from Earth. Only the ocean had been visible until they managed to orbit the planet. Finally, the land had revealed itself. One supercontinent, full of life.
After three years of waiting, it was time to get back in action. Landing on the planet would be their hardest challenge yet, but they had come prepared. With the combined effort of the entire crew, the landing had been flawless. Everyone rushed to the window to see the planet they had traveled so far for.
Astoundingly, the first thing they saw were.. Trees. A large jungle, full of tall trees like they had never seen before. But it got more interesting the further they went. As the crew explored the shrubbery in amazement, they heard a sounds. A beautiful cry, but it's cry was not what astounded them. Over them flew a colorful bird, chirping like those on Earth. The bird was so colorful, like the birds in the tropics. Everywhere they went, the crew found lifeforms, some like earth creatures, and others looked completely alien.
The crew continued their exploration through the jungle, amazed at everything they found. But the biggest surprise was yet to come.
A rustling of the leaves made the crew stand still. Was it the wind, or a foraging creature? The crew looked around, and the rustling came closer. In fear of a predator, the crew hustled close. That was when they spotted it - two eyes, peeking from behind a tree. Cautiously, the crew closed in on the creature. Finally, their eyes met, and the creature fled. With its long arms, the primate swung between branches. Both amazed and confused, the crew discussed the situation. How could there be primates on this planet? How could these aliens evolve the exact same as on Earth?
Their discussion was interrupted by a series of loud grunts. Before them appeared a group of large primates. The crew was flabbergasted. How could this be? The primates appeared scared, but the crew was greatly outnumbered. As the situation became more and more tense, the crew tried to speak, tried to reason, but none of it helped. The scared grunts and screams quickly escalated the situation, as the humans feared for their lives.
It was then that one of the primates attacked. With rudimentary spears and clubs, the crew was overrun in an instant.
Nobody will ever know the story of my crew. Nobody will ever know about the fate of these heroes, on their first expedition to Pangea, 175,000,000 BC.
---
Thanks for reading! I am actively looking for feedback, so I would absolutely love to hear anything and everything you have to say about my story :D Cheers! | |
[WP] We all just assumed that aliens would be a completely different species to anything on Earth. No-one suspected that they would be genetically identical to humans. | When the Klorians returned, pouring out of the skygates like so many drops of golden dew, Tim Bradshaw was finishing the final harvest run on his farm. He had just enough time to stow away his tractor, order his family into the hall, and to prepare the pitcher of ice-cold lemonade and home-made biscuits.
The Klorian lady who knocked on their door looked no more than twenty, with green eyes and auburn hair. There was a yellow hue about her which persisted, like the aura around a sturdy flame. She cleared her throat, then tapped on the metallic box slung about her shoulder.
“Thank you for having me again,” she said. There was a second’s delay between her original tongue and the dulcet tones issuing from the box. “It’s nice to be back on Earth.”
“We… were almost wondering if you would return, Klor-Ayzo.”
“Why wouldn’t we? A promise is a promise, Tim Bradshaw. Come, show me the progress you have made.”
Tim nodded, then fetched the crystalline pod down from the top of the shelf. He positioned it on the table the way Ayzo had done a month prior, then clasped it firmly in his hand. It buzzed, glowed brightly, and spewed out a radiant array of charts and symbols into the air.
Ayzo studied it for a minute as she sipped at her lemonade. “Not fast enough, Tim. Not fast enough. You have to work harder, or you will not be able to avoid the Dunnzor. Still a long, long way to go.”
“Well, Klor-Ayzo… I’ve tried. We all tried. We’ve used the crops you gave us, we changed our harvest cycles, we did all you asked us to do…”
“I was being too harsh,” Ayzo said. “I did not mean *you* directly. I meant *all of you*. These numbers don’t just represent you. It’s a summation of what every human on Earth is working towards. Tell me, why has it not gone faster?”
Tim’s son, too young to guard his tongue, yet too old to be fettered by decorum, piped up from the sofa. “Not everyone believes you, miss. I heard people on the TV… some of them say the Klorians are actually bad, that we shouldn’t be listening to any of you. There's a hidden agenda, they say. We can deal with the Dunnzor ourselves, they say.”
“Is that true?”
Tim had the decency to blush. “Well, you know how people are. After you left, most of us took your words to heart, but there were those… who chose to believe otherwise. They had questions, you see.”
“But we explained, did we not? We made sure we were understood, right?”
“It’s not that they do not appreciate the advice, Klor-Ayzo. But you must understand, there were a lot of people who lost money because of what you advised us to do. I’m just a farmer, life hasn’t changed much for me. But the engineers, the technologists, the politicians… there are other people from a dozen other professions who have felt that they were disadvantaged by what the Klorians asked them to do…”
“Impossible! We were so careful, we made sure that every human still ended up with more than enough to survive-”
“That’s the problem,” said Tim. “Some people had *more* before.”
The cheer had fallen away from Ayzo’s demeanour, and a frown had begun to etch itself across her forehead. “Well, there is still time, so maybe if we re-double our efforts, show you how to better manage your planet, maybe we will still be in time to avoid the Dunnzor… but we have to move fast…”
“Perhaps, if I may just say something…”
Ayzo nodded, and Tim turned the TV on, flipped to the channel he was looking for. The screen was divided into six, and in each was a talking head, with lines of credentials running under them.
“This show has been running almost 24/7 since the Klorians came,” Tim said. “It’s a show where the government invites the best, brightest minds to debate the Klorian Masterplan – that’s what we’re calling the blueprints you’ve shared with us – and they think they can come up with something better. Masterplan 2.0, they call it. A plan where we can still defeat climate change, but one where we don’t have to give up so much at the end of the day-”
“What has climate change got to do with anything?” Ayzo asked.
“Well, that’s what the Dunnzor is, isn’t it?” Tim said. “Your translation boxes didn’t manage that part the first time round, but that’s what we understood you Klorians to be saying.”
Ayzo had gone quiet, and the aura about her pulsed in waves. Tim plunged ahead, in the hopes that she would see that they truly did understand, that everything would be fine.
“We inferred that from the metaphor you Klorians used,” Tim said. “You know, all that stuff about earth being a garden, and how we humans are the seedlings, and that we need to grow in the right way so that the Dunnzor never comes? Well, what we thought was that-”
“It wasn’t a metaphor, Tim Bradshaw. We were being literal.”
“What do you mean?”
“We explained, didn’t we? Klorians, earthlings… we are the same, genetically. We showed you that. And that is because we are all... in a sense... spores. We drift the galaxy, we find planets hospitable to us, and then we grow, we sprout, we bloom. And wherever we grow, it is a garden.”
“Yes, that part we understood…”
“No, you don’t! Tim Bradshaw, let me try again. You are a farmer, yes?”
“Yes, you already know that.”
“And when your crop grows too bountiful, what do you do?”
“Well, I am happy, of course!”
Ayzo grew increasingly agitated, and she rapped the side of her box in anger, as if the translator were somehow at fault.
“No, I meant… when there are other plants that you *do not* want, and they grow too quickly, when they destroy your garden... what do you do?”
“… you mean like, weeds?”
“Yes! Like weeds!”
A bright-red ticker started crawling across the screen, and the panellists turned in exasperation as they listened to the host read from a prepared statement. The words “Breaking News” and “Breakthrough in Translation” featured prominently on the ticker.
“That’s still… not entirely accurate,” said Ayzo, as she listened to the commentary. “That hardly conveys the urgency of our mission here, or the true despair which it will bring if it comes. But yes, I suppose you can refer to Dunnzor as ‘The Gardener of Planets’”.
---
/r/rarelyfunny
| "There is some logic to this, you must admit."
"I'm having trouble believing in logic at all at the moment," Anne said, adjusting the icepack. Her sullen gaze was fixated at the floor, as if looking around the room gave her a technological vertigo. There were too many holograms and little robotic things tinkering around, like some machinist's petting zoo, carrying out the maintenance schedules or whatever other processes they'd been tasked to. Before her, the large central hologram of Earth cast a blue glow on the roughly textured white floor.
"There is admittedly some critical path analysis to evolution," her captor replied. "Certainly, bigger, denser brains are better than none. Opposable thumbs for manipulating the environment, and so on. Of course, this depends on the environment. Gills are useless on land, for example."
"Are you saying on every planet, humans are bound to show up at some point or another?"
"Oh, no, Heavens no!" he replied. "That is the right expression? Heavens? No, on every planet or moon that we've adopted there are of course different initial variables. Differences of atmosphere and so on. But we have had a wealth of experience with these things and so we've developed a certain talent for pointing things in the right direction. Really it's a matter of reverse engineering. It's easier to accomplish what you need to, when you know what it is you're meant to accomplish." He smiled primly, as if he were repeating an oft-quoted maxim that he not so much as believed as staked his entire life on.
"But surely there are always some differences, right?" she replied, despite herself. She felt foolish for indulging this madman, but her environment on the ship had put her in a state of suspended disbelief. Perhaps the light concussion and whiplash helped.
"Oh yes, obviously. There is still much work to be done. Which is why I'm here! The psychological prepwork is far from completed, and in any case there are significant biophysical refinements to be made. My specialty," he smiled that smug smile again. Or had it never left his face. If this was the future, Anne was glad she didn't want any part of it. He went on, ignoring her obvious discomfort. "Mostly we can allow the evolution to continue unimpeded, monitoring instead the global environmental attributes. Necessity is the mother of all invention," he quoted again, like a priest in sermon. "And when we see significant deviations or movements in our desired direction, we adjust the program to accommodate. Think of this as a monthly check-up. I'm sorry to have had to drag you out like this, but you understand that it makes no difference to you or the rest of Earth ultimately. I will be using you to assess your species condition, and then, I will allow you to finish what you started. I can assist in that regard, if you wish."
"How kind," Anne replied. Her captor seemed aware of the sarcasm, however. "You could of course be grateful!" he said, straightening up. "By the way you were going there was little chance for failure. Even if you had survived the impact, you would've been torn limb from limb."
"Well I'd made my mind up, hadn't I?"
"Minds can change," he replied curtly. "That is what I'm here for, after all," he said, striking a pose of melodramatic self-rightousness.
"You're crazier than I am."
"Oh as you will see, that kind of language will die out in less than a century." He looked back down into her eyes, "Or perhaps, you won't."
"Speaking of which, can I go now?"
"I haven't assessed you yet. But very well, we may start."
"This isn't going to involve.. er.. probes is it? I'd like to die with a little dignity."
"Evidence to the contrary," he scoffed.
"Rude."
"Irrelevant."
"You're avoiding the question."
"The answer's no."
"Fine."
"That part of the assessment was completed before you woke up. Unconscious subjects are more docile."
He leaned back, holding his chin with lips pursed in keen interest and mild amusement while she unleashed a torrent of expletives in his direction. Dripping water left a trail of sparks on the force field wall where the icepack had hit it and fallen to the floor. His expression softened little when the shouting turned to sobs.
"Emotional matrix looks good so far," he said, glancing at a panel on the wall. He summoned it, and the hologram extended towards him. "Accounting for the circumstances of course," he muttered to himself. "Okay, let's try..."
A small whimpering joined Anne's own on the couch in the clinic room. She raised her face from her hands, confused, and looked down beside her to see the large black eyes of a month-old labrador gazing back up at her.
She screamed, and scrambled away from the couch. The puppy looked crestfallen.
"Oh, too soon, too soon," muttered the man, and the holographic puppy froze and disintegrated into light. "Fear response looks appropriate though." This is going to take too long, he thought. The trouble with suicides, everything is about them. "I would appreciate your cooperation, if you could just calm down," he announced to his patient.
"What the hell was that?"
"In your modern parlance I believe it's called a pooper?"
"A what?! Pooper?! A pupper! Puppy!"
He looked down over his panel again as the computer helped to trace the etymology for him and let out a soft 'oooh' of understanding.
"Let me out of here!" she yelled at him.
"But we're not finished!"
"I don't care!"
"Will you ever change your mind?"
"No!!"
"Then I have little choice." He dismissed the hologram with a flick of his wrist. "If you will stand still, I will return you to your previous position."
"Fine." Anne brushed back a tear soaked hair that was clinging to her face.
The man pretended to look busy as her body was dissected from every possible angle by scans. A spectrographic laser shone through her breath. Robots the size of bedbugs that had been ingesting skin samples detached and crawled into holes in the floor. Finally, a non-intrusive ultrasonic surgical device locked on her head from behind the thin panel in the ceiling.
The man tried to look nonchalant as the device performed thousands of lobotomies in the space of a mere second. Synapses were snipped, neurons nudged, memories were obliterated. The expression on Anne's face changed as she began to forget where she was.
"I think it's worth mentioning," said the man, as her eyes clouded over. "That if there are greater plans in store for your species, perhaps there are greater plans in store for you, too."
Anne found herself standing at the edge, looking down at the black and white maw of the rocks and sea foam, with the slightest blue hue of the vicious sea that churned beneath it. Her stomach turned like she had the sensation of falling. She felt suddenly terrified, or shocked, as if she had just seen something she'd never expected. And a second feeling, underneath the first. Maybe this wasn't the direction she wanted to go in.
Eventually she felt strong enough to stand again, and brushed herself off and looked back out to the sea. She smelled the sea wind, which only a moment ago had been blowing the other direction. The salt seemed to cling to her face, and sting her eyes. She stood there for a while, already forgetting why she'd been there in the first place. After a while, she left.
From his hidden vantage point, a strange man smiled.
----
[Subreddit](https://www.reddit.com/r/TeddyArmy/) | |
[WP] We all just assumed that aliens would be a completely different species to anything on Earth. No-one suspected that they would be genetically identical to humans. | Joe wrapped an arm around his wife's shoulders and pulled her tightly to his chest. Most of the residents of St Bartholomew's Street had already come out of their houses to see the cause of the midnight fracas. They were now gathered around the drive of number thirty-eight, as if patrons around a theatre stage, many of whom were hoping for a particularly blood thirsty production. Others, like Joe, were simply stuck in a state of disbelief. Of *refusing* to believe.
Sarah looked up at her husband. "They can't be, can they? We've known them for so long." Joe felt her hand curl up into a ball against his back. "They looked after the children only last week. Jesus Joe, we *trusted* them."
The Enforcers' Jeep waited empty, but eager, outside their neighbour's drive. A harsh light spiralled out from the vehicle, painting the gathered crowd first in broad red brushstrokes, then blue. Their neighbours' door lay splintered on the brick driveway. Joe shook his head. "We- we don't know that they *are*, yet, sweetheart. Not until the Enforcers bring them out. Until then, I think they both deserve the benefit of the doubt. They've earned at least that much from us."
"Amanda and Tony," his wife continued unperturbed, "they just seemed so *normal*. Just like us. I suppose that was the point - it was all a... a *trick*. To get close to us, so that they could eventually..." Her hands began to tremble.
Joe took her hands in his own and held them tightly. He opened his mouth meaning to reassure her, when the Special Office Enforcers came striding out of the broken doorway.
"Oh God," cried Sarah as she watched her neighbours be dragged out of their house, towards the Jeep, their arms handcuffed behind their backs. "How- how could you!" she screamed at them. "How sick are you freaks? We trusted you with our children!"
Amanda must have heard her, as she glanced up at Sarah. In that moment, Joe saw his neighbour's battered face and the blood dribbling from her nose.
"Go back to your own planet!" Sarah spat. "And take the rest of your kind with you! You're not welcome!"
"Honey," said Joe, blinking back tears. "Please. You don't mean that. They're our friends."
"*Friends?* They're sick freaks, that's what they are! You've read the reports. The things they've done..."
"You can't believe all that? Amanda and Tony have always been good t-"
A yell from nearby interrupted him. "Show us their eyes!"
"Yeah, their eyes!"
"We want proof!"
The Enforcer who held Amanda, pulled her up to her feet. He took out a plastic device, that looked a little like a gun, from his jacket pocket. With one hand, he grabbed Amanda's hair and yanked her head back; with the other, he fired a wide, green beam into her face. Her eyes lit up a bloody, unnatural, red. There were screams and panicked gasps from the crowd.
"I God-damned knew it!" said one resident. "They've always been perfect. *Too* perfect!"
"Hang 'em!" said another.
Tony, who was kneeling on the floor, pushed himself up and thrust himself head first at the Enforcer holding his wife. The Enforcer stumbled, almost falling, but at the last moment just regained her balance. Another Enforcer ran at Tony and threw his fist into the man's throat. The first Enforcer rejoined the fray, stamping her boot into the fallen man's head.
Joe began to tremble. "No..."
"Honey?" said Sarah.
"This isn't right," said Joe defiantly. "It isn't right!"
"Tell that to the children," said Sarah. "This is *exactly* right. It's what they deserve."
A haze of red flashed from the Jeep as its light spun again; Joe saw his hands as the light spilled over them. A moment later, a blue light replaced the red, washing it away. Only, the red wasn't gone. It would never go away, unless he...
"I'm sorry," he whispered, kissing his wife's hair. "They may not be from here, but they're sure as hell human. And more than that, they're our friends."
Sarah screamed, pleading him not to, but he was already in mid sprint. His shoulder landed with a thud against against one of the Enforcers. A right hook took the other off her feet.
"It's okay," said Joe, offering a hand to the beaten, bloodied man.
Tony looked up, through his one, non swollen eye. "Thank you," he croaked. "Are you one of..."
But the question was never finished. More officers had arrived.
A gun shot.
A bullet tore through Tony's head.
A long streak of red spattered the street.
Amanda's blood curdling scream cut through the noise of the frenzied crowd, until the hilt of a gun struck her head and silenced her.
Joe stepped back in sick disbelief. "No..." he muttered. "Oh God, no."
And then, they were on him. Fists and boots battering him down until he became numb and still.
When finally satisfied, the Enforcers dragged Joe back to his feet.
"Show us his eyes!" came a shout from the crowd. "He's one of them for sure!" "Show us his eyes!"
A hand yanked back Joe's head. A fierce green light pierced his retinas. If he could have screamed, he would have done.
"He's not one of them," said a woman who lived two doors down from Joe. The blood-lusting crowd seemed to deflate slightly, shoulders slumping and heads turning. "Just loves him some Second-Worlds."
"That's bad enough, ain't it?!"
Joe saw his wife standing on the doorstep, watching him with tear streaked eyes. Jane and Thea had come to the door and Sarah had her arms wrapped around them, trying to comfort them.
The green light was ripped away from his eyes. As it twisted direction, for a split second, it touched his wife's face.
His entire body began to tremble.
No one else saw: they were all too busy baying like wolves at Joe.
He didn't mean to struggle again - it was instinctive - but it was all it took.
Joe looked a last time at his his family, as a second gun fired.
Sarah had tried to cover her children's eyes, but Thea saw it all through a gap between her mother's fingers. She saw the blood spurt out of her father's chest and his body fall limply to the ground. She saw the inhumanity and unfairness of it all, and felt all the weight of her species fall on her shoulders. Her eyes, if for only a second, burned a brighter red than any before. She squeezed her hand into a ball and made herself a promise.
| Dave: "Look Aliens"
Sally: "They look just like us"
Dave: "I expected them to be a completely different species to us"
Sally: "But they look genetically identical"
-----------
Glorplox: "Look Aliens"
Chris the Destroyer: "They look just like us"
Glorplox: "I expected them to be a completely different species to us"
Chris the Destroyer: "But they look genetically identical" | |
[WP] In a post-apocalyptic era, books of the old world are the most valuable and sought after treasures. Your grandfather, who just passed, left you a map that supposedly leads to the legendary "Library of Congress". | “Phht, cheap souvenir twaddle, IrJohn. We’ll use it for kindling.”
In fact the map bore the symbols of the Eastus, a long-extinct people known for leaving behind massive amounts of items. And not just where they went: One of their colonized territories was simply possessed by discarded bits of their plastic. Eastusian items were not rare or special. IrJohn threw it on the kindling pile.
“Fenrus, tell me the story of the Library of Congress again.”
Fenrus threw a log on the fire. “All right, but when you fall asleep I will stop.” IrJohn settled in for the night.
“The Eastus were a band of people who mimicked other peoples. They were magpies. Packrats. They adored cultures like the Romans, the Greeks, the Egyptians.”
“Will you go back that far tonight?” IrJohn interrupted.
“Not all the way, but some. I have to get to sleep as well.”
“All right, the Egyptians.” Fenrus continued. “But only because it’s a library.” IrJohn smiled.
“The Eastusians came from the British who came from the Normans who came from the Franks who came from the Romans who came from the Greeks who came from the Egyptians. Some Eastusians fancied themselves British who came from Celts, some believed they were Igbo, some Masaai, some indigenous. But that is geography. The old anthropology of genetics and DNA. The panicked rejection of the diaspora.
“Not all people in Eastus were assimilated, that is true. Some rejected the culture in their own quiet ways. Some rejected it wholly. In the Schism, those people went to Westus. And those who realized they were Eastus were made uncomfortable and dislocated to Eastus.
“For a long time Eastus littered the borders with items we had no use for. Great cases of garbage and pre-garbage. Eastus used these containers to take some things from north to south, and those same items from south to north. The wealthy Eastus people - because the Schism did indeed make them prosperous by their meaning - resided hours or more from where they made their living. Hours a day in their personal boxes, the paths jammed with huge boxes carrying more personal boxes to sell to people, boxes on rails carrying more things and people everywhere.”
“They must have met a great many people.”
“They thought so. They kept lists of friends. Collected them. Magpies and packrats, especially about people. Toward the end, one of the most productive sectors of the Eastus economy was simply the illusion of friendship - displayed in their traditional way, by buying things.
“Even those considered poor in Eastus held these rites sacred, for it was by many of these rites that Eastusians residing in Westus were identified and relocated: Sinsy. Tupperwar. Amwae. Mellauca. Enough that Amwae itself constructed great temples. Monuments to the movement of things.
“The Egyptians were the same way. That is why we believe the Eastus culture traces back to the Egyptians: As the Eastus bought and removed thousands of miles of desert sand to construct their great glass buildings, the fuller extent of Egyptian garbage became known. Statues and pyramids and mummies, corpses that were used at parties as bizarre centerpieces, desecrating the dead of the desert.
“Prized above all were the writings. The Library is Alexandria was well-known already; its volumes were used for toilet paper, wallpaper, fires, and insulation by later cultures. The story of its destruction was mostly metaphorical, designed to lament all of the things that were lost.
“But there was also the Library of the Berber. The Volumes of Hassānīya. They found the stores of the Beni Hassan. All of these put even the mythic proportions of the Library of Alexandria to shame. They’d been buried under sand. And the Eastus has bought the land and everything on it.
“So it was that they came with their boxes - flying boxes, too - and took away all of those things. Out of the sand that preserved the Beni Hassan for centuries, they built a great glass temple to protect the contents.
When the sea levels rose, the Beni Hassan was destroyed. While most of the Eastus blamed divine retribution later, in simple fact most of them lived in places that would be the most affected by their garbage and litter. Had it been divine retribution, I doubt that Kardashistan would have remained untouched.
“The hurricanes came. They eroded the land from the top and eroded the land from the bottom, suctioning out massive sinkholes and underwater caves. The paths became unsafe. They had not had to think about their basic survival in so long that they rioted and panicked. They took drugs and overdosed and died. Their buildings crumbled to the weather and decay.
“But paper has a way of surviving. Of all the buildings that could have remained untouched after the waters receded, this one survives. The Library of Congress. The papers and books that influenced a culture that destroyed itself.”
At the edge of sleep, Irjohn shuddered. “Is it dangerous here? You know, to become like them?”
“No,” Fenrus said. “A culture doesn’t lose its way just because of things. You know what’s important. Even better. You know what’s not important.” Fenrus stamped out the moldering bits of the fire, some stubborn gilt printing of the log still shining among the ash: AX CO E 2009 VOLUM | "All I'm saying is, this thing is supposed to be thousands of years old. Who knows if it's even real. And, In the event that it was real, who's to say that it hasn't already been found? Besides, there has to be another way to learn new spells."
He had a good point.
I had a flawed one. "Look around you Marc. How many people do you see walking around with tomes in their hands. If this library was there and found, there would be tomes everywhere. This thing is still out there. Sealed."
I heard the fallacy in my own argument, but I wasn't trying to convince my brother. I was trying to convince myself.
"Look man, I just..." he pauses, trying to find the strength. "We already lost aunt Lori to this search. Who knows if she ever found it. I also don't want to against Ma's will. She gave it all to ensure our survival, and you want to just leave this place up for grabs while the world tries to kill you out there?"
"Grandpa gave this to me for a reason. It's his will. Besides, you're always saying how I should be my own man. This is me, being my own man. I am going out there. With or without you."
An infallible argument. Although it would have been nice if I tried to convince him harder. Now I was on my own. I look up from the map, and hold my left palm up. The scarred conjuring circle glows green and I produce a small flame.
"Don't worry, I can protect myself."
I feel a chill from underneath me. Before I know it, my legs have been frozen in place. "No, you can't..." he says begrudgingly, "I'm coming with you." | |
[WP] In a post-apocalyptic era, books of the old world are the most valuable and sought after treasures. Your grandfather, who just passed, left you a map that supposedly leads to the legendary "Library of Congress". | I found it.
I have been scavenging through the treacherous land alone for years after my grandfather's sudden passing to find this place, and now, I found it. The building was sunken into the ground, the once white exterior now stained with brown dirt. One false move and the rest of the building would collapse to rubble. The area around it was barren. The grass was dead and the sky cast a shadow of gloom across the land. I opened up the old map and looked at the title that hovered over a grand building: Library of Congress. Grandpa ensured that I learn how to read, even if that meant jeopardizing our whole lives and facing instant execution.
I'm sure he would be proud of me for finding this grandiose treasure chest.
I moved aside a rock and climbed downward on some rundown stairs. I jumped to the ground because the last two steps were missing. A rough cough was disclosed from my mouth. My eyes began to sting from the dusty air. Upon blinking my eyes repeatedly, I finally adjusted to my surroundings.
Wow.
All around me were dusty shelves adorned with the faded collars of books. They ranged in sizes and depths. I have never seen such an astounding sight in my life. The last time I recall seeing a book was 6 years ago in a safe in the basement of my grandfathers home. Three books. That's how many there were. Three books that we continually read through. I basically have The Catcher in the Rye memorized.
"This is how life used to be for my father," grandpa would always tell me.
"What happened then?"
"I don't know..." he would always reply, frowning at the floor.
I started to count the books on one shelf and kept losing my count. All I knew, though, was that these books will bring me extensive amounts of cash, glory, and fame. I wish I could thank this Congress guy. Without him, I wouldn't have any other means of living.
I inched closer to one of the books and traced my fingers across the spines; when I pulled my fingers back they were decked out in a thick layer of dust. The titles were revealed on the spine of the books after dusting them away.
Constitution, 1788.
I pulled this book out from the shelf and opened it up to read something known as the "The Bill of Rights"
1. Freedom of Religion, Speech, and Press.
Freedom? That word hasn't been used in years. Am I free?
I proceeded to read the Bill of Rights and the amendments afterwards. What is this place? Where is this place? How did this place ever exist? What happened to this place that preached about life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness?
I closed the book and grabbed more to read. Some of the books disclosed information that I felt like I would be killed for; other books looked like gibberish because the shape of the letters were completely different from what I understand. Does that mean that there is someone out there that does understand those books?
I sat there immersed in books when a sudden realization dawned on me. I pulled out the map that grandpa handed to me between his last breaths of life. I have been journeying through this dangerous land for nearly 5 years, waiting for the moment that I reach my destination...to reach the Library of Congress. I only now realized that that never was my true destination. That the place I am in now is only the beginning of my true journey. | "All I'm saying is, this thing is supposed to be thousands of years old. Who knows if it's even real. And, In the event that it was real, who's to say that it hasn't already been found? Besides, there has to be another way to learn new spells."
He had a good point.
I had a flawed one. "Look around you Marc. How many people do you see walking around with tomes in their hands. If this library was there and found, there would be tomes everywhere. This thing is still out there. Sealed."
I heard the fallacy in my own argument, but I wasn't trying to convince my brother. I was trying to convince myself.
"Look man, I just..." he pauses, trying to find the strength. "We already lost aunt Lori to this search. Who knows if she ever found it. I also don't want to against Ma's will. She gave it all to ensure our survival, and you want to just leave this place up for grabs while the world tries to kill you out there?"
"Grandpa gave this to me for a reason. It's his will. Besides, you're always saying how I should be my own man. This is me, being my own man. I am going out there. With or without you."
An infallible argument. Although it would have been nice if I tried to convince him harder. Now I was on my own. I look up from the map, and hold my left palm up. The scarred conjuring circle glows green and I produce a small flame.
"Don't worry, I can protect myself."
I feel a chill from underneath me. Before I know it, my legs have been frozen in place. "No, you can't..." he says begrudgingly, "I'm coming with you." | |
[WP] In a post-apocalyptic era, books of the old world are the most valuable and sought after treasures. Your grandfather, who just passed, left you a map that supposedly leads to the legendary "Library of Congress". | My grandfather owned three books. One was a dictionary with a bright blue cover. The left corner peeled away from the rest of the pages.
We read together from the dictionary each night. I repeated each word he read, sounding out the phonemes until the words were foreign.
The second book was a medical textbook. It was heavy and black. The cover had a picture of a skull on it; a colour light up each individual bones. It was the most valuable thing we owned. Grandpa told me to always keep it tucked out of sight.
When it wasn’t wrapped in fabric and hidden in the back panel of my dresser, I buried my head in the text. I would read the names of the muscles and bones. I prodded my patella as I bent my knee. I ran my finger over my brow ridge.
Grandpa said I would’ve made a fine doctor if things had been different. I scoffed at the suggestion.
The third book wasn’t a book but a journal bounded in time-worn leather. Grandpa said it was a heirloom - passed down from his grandfather.
I never read the journal. The pages were too fragile and the string that wound around the book was frayed brittle.
It wasn’t until a month after his death that I opened it.
I’m not sure if he ever read it. I’m not sure if I even *should* have read it. It might not be helpful.
Grandpa never taught me about the gap between knowledge and life. I had to learn that on my own.
I knew every muscle that he tore, every bone that he crushed in the accident.
That didn’t help me save him. I think, really, it made it worse.
I knew enough to hope.
Stray hope also drove me to open the journal. The journal full of a world that existed only in a dream.
The world of the journal died before I was born. All I see are its ashes. They float in the air and drift across the barren ground.
Even still, I packed a bag. I tucked the journal into the inner pocket of my canvas jacket.
*The Library of Congress*.
I push forward on the chance it may still exist.
/r/liswrites
| There was a knock at the door. This surprised the both of us. I'm not sure what went through Kat's mind. I know what went through mine, though. It was fear, predominantly because we had been each other's company for so long, and predominantly because I certainly had no clue who could be around. We weren't expecting visitors. We never had any, except the occasional person who saw us while we were outside, lusting for the sun that rarely shown.
Untangling ourselves from one another, debated on answering, pretending no one was here. We didn't have many weapons or many valuables. A few small books, which were incredibly valuable gifts we had received from a kindly old man stopping by in an errant act of magnanimity, were about the only things we did have barring clothes and rationed meals. And even those we had scavenged or in my case, stolen.
The knock came again. It felt impatient. It sounded knowing. Fear slipped between us, palpable through each other's skin. I was reluctant, but I got up, donning some clothing to brace against the wind that would creep inside our humble, rundown abode. I opened the door just shy of the third set of knocks, a man in a duster standing on the other side of it, stamping in the chill. I could hear Kat behind me, scuffling to wrap the blanket around her, and I felt a bit bitter at this stranger ruining our intimacy.
"Come in." I said, trying to make it sound like an order, and less of an invitation. "Though I have to ask you to take care of whatever business you have and leave before daybreak. No prying eyes, and all." I could feel the frown Kat gave me, so rude to our guest. I shrugged it off as the man stepped past and I gingerly shut the door behind him.
You could feel his eyes taking in the room. The house we had chosen had been bigger and well taken care of. But we had moved everything into the living room. Old electronics and bookshelves barricaded the broken windows. That hadn't been us. We just moved the bed, the worn down couch. The blankets. What else was scavenged, much of it at Kat's insistence to make everything look lived in from the inside. A few threadbare rugs, the handful of small volumes that we put on the bookshelves.
"So one of you must be Kat. The other one is Alex?" The man, whom I now realized was carrying a pack with him, inquired. I started to answer, but he held up a hand for silence. I complied, if only because this man was clearly a messenger, someone doing the grim duty of finding other people and delivering things. For more wild groups, like those that lived in the cities or wide country, they were prime targets. Which, in turn, just made our little home one.
"An old man, name of Paps took a cart through here a while ago. He paid me to find you guys and gave me the means to do it. He died, month and a half ago. I got this for you two." He reached into the bag, my heart sinking, expecting the worst even though I knew better. It was a plastic tube with something inside. The messenger tossed it on the ground.
"What is it?" That was Kat, shifting out of bed, feet dancing over the floor, examining it. She looked between me, and the man. There was a glimmer in her eyes. Hope, perhaps.
"A map is what he told me. Library of Congress Archives and Vault. If that's right, he just gave you guys the key to the vault. One of the biggest libraries in the country, home to all sorts of old information. Just having that map alone hypothetically makes you the richest people existing." He paused, striding by me to the door. "Since you've made it clear, I'll be on my way." He nodded, slipping out much quieter than he came in.
Kat turned to me, looking over the tube, the blanket slipping free. I averted my gaze, out of habit, more than anything. "A map? To books? Alex, do you know what this means? We could go there! We could read and be happy and-!"
"Kat, no." I hated to cut off her happiness like that. But it needed to be done. "I agree, it's great but... just think about it. We'd have to leave here and travel. D.C. is several hundred miles north of us. We'd have to travel that and risk the wild, scavengers like ourselves, and thieves." Then I thought about it. And had already backed myself into a corner. "We have to leave anyway though, thanks to that messenger. Bringing something like that here was a bad choice."
Her breast swelled with defiance of me. It made me proud, in a way, to see her so full of vitality and hope. But it hurt the realist in me. It also didn't make her words any nicer. "I'm a scavenger, you're a thief. Sneaking around was always your forte." It was a dreadful, albeit accurate counter. "Besides, we have to leave here anyways, right? Said it yourself. Might as well head in that direction."
I grimaced. Kat was right, and she had me bang to rights too. It didn't help I had trouble saying no to begin with. The downsides of intimacy by sheer necessity. I wish I could at least have said I can't say no to someone I love, but I don't think we loved each other anyways. We were close because we needed to survive.
"Fine. But... we take the blankets, some clothes. And we stop at the first library we can find that doesn't seem too close to the city. I still want to try and find some more books. And maybe people won't go somewhere likely already looted." I had relented, yielded. She had won. I didn't like it. I didn't want to leave but... we at least had to move. She was right that I was right. "And if we can pawn it off safely, we do it, deal? I just... I just want us safe."
Kat didn't answer. She took her blankets, sidled back up onto the bed, and rolled away from me. "Let me sleep on it." She finally said. I climbed back into bed, not daring to venture towards the warmth we had not even fifteen minutes ago and drifted off to sleep with my arm over her side. | |
[WP] In a post-apocalyptic era, books of the old world are the most valuable and sought after treasures. Your grandfather, who just passed, left you a map that supposedly leads to the legendary "Library of Congress". | The day had been long and all the others were asleep. Only grandad and I remained by the last of the fire. The firelight glinted on the steel of the barricades nearby.
‘What was it like, though?’ I said to him, as though we were continuing a conversation.
‘It was amazing,’ he answered. ‘It was great. The internet was gone by ‘25 or so, but the books remained. People always think a world collapses suddenly, but it’s a slow thing. You’re thinking, God, could this even happen? And then suddenly, it’s already too late.’
I was half-afraid to say anything. It was hard to get the old man to open up, and easy to break the spell.
‘What kinds of things did you read?’ I asked, tentatively.
‘Oh, gosh. Loads of stuff. Books about science and history and technology. But stupid stuff, too, like westerns and thrillers.’
‘Thrillers?’
‘Exciting stories. Stories about the kind of life you might live, if… Well.’ He trailed off. ‘Stability seems boring until it’s gone. I sometimes think every few generations we need to re-learn that.’
He was silent and then he asked me: ‘Did you ever hear of the Library of Congress?’
I shook my head.
‘Well, of all the libraries this one was the most special. In the years of the Fall, the government classified it as CFI - know what that is?’
‘No,’ I said.
‘Critical Future Infrastructure. The things we’d need to rebuild once the virus was brought back under control. Only’ - he gestured at the little settlement we were sitting in, hemmed in by the patched-together steel walls - ‘that future never came. But some of the CFIs are still out there, people say, still protected by the bots.’
The bots. I knew what they were all right. In ‘75 they had attacked the settlement - a huge, tracked carrier machine had crashed through the gate, then super-fast, super-agile bots poured from it, sweeping through every room of every building. They smashed furniture, ripped chunks out of walls, pulled up floors in search of something unknown. If you ran out of their way they mostly left you alone, but if you weren’t fast enough you might get a bone-shattering swipe as they pushed you aside. Three people had resisted and ended up dead. I was only five years old but I remember it - the heavy engine thrum of the carrier machine, the whining motors of the robots and their horrifyingly-fast movements, the screams of people, the crashing destruction of the search parties. Oh yeah; I knew what bots were.
‘So the library - the Library of Congress - there are books there still?’
He met my eyes and smiled. ‘Tens and tens and tens of thousands. Maybe even millions. No-one knows for sure. Books on everything you could imagine. A glorious history of humankind.’
I felt my stomach tighten at the thought. In all my life I had never seen more than three books together.
‘Where is it?’ I asked him.
But he was staring into space remembering something, or maybe imagining something. I was silent again, waiting for him.
‘Do you know the tree near Highville where we’ve often played?’ he said to me.
‘Of course,’ I said. We went there every summer.
He was silent again, and I felt a sudden hint of nerves without knowing why.
‘Jim,’ he said, ‘There are… There are things your father has asked me not to talk to you about. Not yet. So you can’t ask too many questions right now, do you understand?’
I nodded, my eyes wide.
‘At the base of that tree is a root market with an X, and another marked with a Y. When you’re there next, I want you to do something for me. Run a piece of string between those two points. Fix it so that one end is fixed on the cross of the X, and the other on the intersection point of the lines of the Y. You understand me? And then half way along the string, dig a little hole. You won’t need to go down far. You’ll find a box there. Inside it are… Well, you’ll see. Old papers. Very precious ones. From when I was a soldier.’
‘But… Let’s just do that together?’ I said to him, half-statement half-question. Fear was rising in me now.
‘We might,’ he said, and he smiled at me. ‘We might. Don’t worry about anything for now, OK? Just promise me you’ll do it, when you’re there. Do you promise?’
‘I promise,’ I said, my voice sounding strange to me.
‘Good.’ He stood, carefully, favouring his right side. ‘This is our secret, right? Not for anyone else. When you have the box you can decide who to tell or not tell, but for now it’s just us, OK?’
‘I promise,’ I said again.
‘Good. You’re a good kid, Jim. I don’t tell you that enough. But it’s getting late. Time for us both to get some sleep.’
| There was a knock at the door. This surprised the both of us. I'm not sure what went through Kat's mind. I know what went through mine, though. It was fear, predominantly because we had been each other's company for so long, and predominantly because I certainly had no clue who could be around. We weren't expecting visitors. We never had any, except the occasional person who saw us while we were outside, lusting for the sun that rarely shown.
Untangling ourselves from one another, debated on answering, pretending no one was here. We didn't have many weapons or many valuables. A few small books, which were incredibly valuable gifts we had received from a kindly old man stopping by in an errant act of magnanimity, were about the only things we did have barring clothes and rationed meals. And even those we had scavenged or in my case, stolen.
The knock came again. It felt impatient. It sounded knowing. Fear slipped between us, palpable through each other's skin. I was reluctant, but I got up, donning some clothing to brace against the wind that would creep inside our humble, rundown abode. I opened the door just shy of the third set of knocks, a man in a duster standing on the other side of it, stamping in the chill. I could hear Kat behind me, scuffling to wrap the blanket around her, and I felt a bit bitter at this stranger ruining our intimacy.
"Come in." I said, trying to make it sound like an order, and less of an invitation. "Though I have to ask you to take care of whatever business you have and leave before daybreak. No prying eyes, and all." I could feel the frown Kat gave me, so rude to our guest. I shrugged it off as the man stepped past and I gingerly shut the door behind him.
You could feel his eyes taking in the room. The house we had chosen had been bigger and well taken care of. But we had moved everything into the living room. Old electronics and bookshelves barricaded the broken windows. That hadn't been us. We just moved the bed, the worn down couch. The blankets. What else was scavenged, much of it at Kat's insistence to make everything look lived in from the inside. A few threadbare rugs, the handful of small volumes that we put on the bookshelves.
"So one of you must be Kat. The other one is Alex?" The man, whom I now realized was carrying a pack with him, inquired. I started to answer, but he held up a hand for silence. I complied, if only because this man was clearly a messenger, someone doing the grim duty of finding other people and delivering things. For more wild groups, like those that lived in the cities or wide country, they were prime targets. Which, in turn, just made our little home one.
"An old man, name of Paps took a cart through here a while ago. He paid me to find you guys and gave me the means to do it. He died, month and a half ago. I got this for you two." He reached into the bag, my heart sinking, expecting the worst even though I knew better. It was a plastic tube with something inside. The messenger tossed it on the ground.
"What is it?" That was Kat, shifting out of bed, feet dancing over the floor, examining it. She looked between me, and the man. There was a glimmer in her eyes. Hope, perhaps.
"A map is what he told me. Library of Congress Archives and Vault. If that's right, he just gave you guys the key to the vault. One of the biggest libraries in the country, home to all sorts of old information. Just having that map alone hypothetically makes you the richest people existing." He paused, striding by me to the door. "Since you've made it clear, I'll be on my way." He nodded, slipping out much quieter than he came in.
Kat turned to me, looking over the tube, the blanket slipping free. I averted my gaze, out of habit, more than anything. "A map? To books? Alex, do you know what this means? We could go there! We could read and be happy and-!"
"Kat, no." I hated to cut off her happiness like that. But it needed to be done. "I agree, it's great but... just think about it. We'd have to leave here and travel. D.C. is several hundred miles north of us. We'd have to travel that and risk the wild, scavengers like ourselves, and thieves." Then I thought about it. And had already backed myself into a corner. "We have to leave anyway though, thanks to that messenger. Bringing something like that here was a bad choice."
Her breast swelled with defiance of me. It made me proud, in a way, to see her so full of vitality and hope. But it hurt the realist in me. It also didn't make her words any nicer. "I'm a scavenger, you're a thief. Sneaking around was always your forte." It was a dreadful, albeit accurate counter. "Besides, we have to leave here anyways, right? Said it yourself. Might as well head in that direction."
I grimaced. Kat was right, and she had me bang to rights too. It didn't help I had trouble saying no to begin with. The downsides of intimacy by sheer necessity. I wish I could at least have said I can't say no to someone I love, but I don't think we loved each other anyways. We were close because we needed to survive.
"Fine. But... we take the blankets, some clothes. And we stop at the first library we can find that doesn't seem too close to the city. I still want to try and find some more books. And maybe people won't go somewhere likely already looted." I had relented, yielded. She had won. I didn't like it. I didn't want to leave but... we at least had to move. She was right that I was right. "And if we can pawn it off safely, we do it, deal? I just... I just want us safe."
Kat didn't answer. She took her blankets, sidled back up onto the bed, and rolled away from me. "Let me sleep on it." She finally said. I climbed back into bed, not daring to venture towards the warmth we had not even fifteen minutes ago and drifted off to sleep with my arm over her side. | |
[WP] In a post-apocalyptic era, books of the old world are the most valuable and sought after treasures. Your grandfather, who just passed, left you a map that supposedly leads to the legendary "Library of Congress". | I was lucky to have had a grandfather. I knew it. It shone in the jealous gazes of my friends whenever the wrinkled old man was present. They didn't hate me for it, not quite; but it was still something very few people could claim, and in the world our grandparents’ generation had left us, rarity was a commodity in itself.
He was a wealth of information, telling us stories from before the Fire, fantastic tales of metal cages that rushed people from place to place. For that matter, his tales of what they had called the ocean could have kept me entertained for years. Massive amounts of water stretching further than the eye could see…
All of his stories died with him, though, when the Wrack caught up with him like it had already caught up with everyone else born before the Fire. I'd seen the damage the Wrack caused before, of course; in those early days we all had. When Mom and Dad caught it, when I was about ten, at least then Grandpa had been there to help care for them. As their bodies contorted into twisted knots of tightened muscles, their eyes bugging out of their skulls, all red and teary and unseeing, he had seen to them. I could hear their screaming moans of agony, their wet bloody coughs, but Grandpa had shielded me from the worst of it.
When Mom and Dad died they were the last of the old timers, except for Grandpa. Grandpa took us all in, teaching us how to survive in this world they had left for us. We learned how to fight, how to shoot what few functioning weapons we could scavenge, how to hunt. All of that paled, though, to the most important lesson Grandpa passed on. By the light of an oil lamp that had survived nearly a century on this fucked up planet, Grandpa huddled us together in the House and taught us how to read.
We devoured those lessons, always begun with the same phrase - “Listen up, children,” Grandpa would say. “If you can learn what I am trying to teach you, you will be able to fix what we have broken.” We learned. Grandpa was patient, yet firm; consistent, yet understanding. He pushed us, perhaps sensing his time was short, forcing us to take these lessons with us every moment of every day. As the years went on, reading became more and more natural to us. Soon we could decipher the texts dangling from twisted metal poles on our daily hunting routes, and began to share these discoveries with one another, each of us alight with an insatiable hunger for more.
In all of these, over the years that passed after Mom and Dad died, I was always the fastest study, and Grandpa saw it. His face would beam with pride as I would read the words he had scrawled on the wall of the House aloud, sure of their meaning. “Keep this lesson,” he would say. “When you find the books, you will need it.”
We had never heard this word before - books - and asked him what it meant. He launched into another of his tales, of how men would share their learning and stories with one another in the time before the Fire. Words would dance on pieces of paper, bound together by the hundreds and thousands in things called books. Then he told us of mysterious places where books would be gathered for all people to come and learn from them. Entertainment, he said, could be found in books. Stories to distract the mind and dazzle the senses. But more, he said, they could learn discoveries from far off lands and share knowledge with all of mankind.
We were confounded by this story. The twelve of us sat in rapt attention, eyes wide, soaking up every word. The images conjured in our minds were of sparkling towers rising to the sun, filled with these strange “books.” We begged Grandpa to take us to one. He refused, but we insisted, demanding that we needed to have more to read. His eyes twinkled with a sadness that could shake the foundation of the earth, but he relented.
The following morning we rose early, as the sun crested the cracked skyline of shattered concrete and steel, eager to see the glittering spires of knowledge. Grandpa knew what we would find. Now, looking back, I can see his expression for what it was. Regret.
Silence hung in the air that morning, broken only by the sound of twelve excited kids scrambling over rubble. We didn't say a word the entire trip. We were too excited, our thoughts hushed by the anticipation we felt vibrating through every fiber of our beings. Grandpa was just as quiet, picking his way through the ruins with his usual slow carefulness. He moved with a tedium we always found frustrating, but that day so much more frustrating as it felt like he was intentionally slowing our progress. Still, we stayed close, never venturing beyond his sight. He was old, and safe, and sure.
It took two hours, crawling over the dusty concrete and avoiding jutting yellowed glass and the steel ribs of broken buildings, but we traveled with ease, invigorated by the adrenaline of promise. But what awaited us at the end of our journey was no gleaming spire, but a squat square of crumbling disappointment. Jene cried, weeping sobs that shook her tiny frame and filled the air between the shells of long dead buildings. Grandpa just stood there, head bowed. His image burned into my memory, a broken statue of a lost glory. All that was left of his generation, left to bear the weight of their horrible deeds alone.
Sam and Lun had wanted to explore the ruins, convinced there were still some secrets hidden within, but Grandpa would not let them. “It is dangerous, children,” he had insisted, his voice full of dread and sorrow. It was a tone he almost never used, a serious tone that brooked no argument. Sam and Lun had relented, and the thirteen of us had left to return to the House. Jene wept silently the entire way home, careful - as we all were - to stay silent. Even in daylight the city's corpse was home to a thousand deadly dangers.
Things had changed, after our trip to what was left of the library. Grandpa’s lessons focused less on learning to read and more on the dangers that lurked beyond the safety of the House. Sam and Lun still whispered of returning to the library, while Grandpa slept, but they never dared attempt such a journey. His warning had rung loud and terrible in the stillness of the ruined city, and they knew better that to brave something Grandpa said was dangerous. The trip had affected Jene the most though; she was changed, forlorn. Her hope was utterly lost, and with it all interest in learning to read. That, I think, hurt Grandpa the most. I think he saw the change in Jene as his generation's greatest failure.
Things changed again when Grandpa caught the Wrack. It started the same way it always had, the same way it had started for Mom and Dad before Grandpa had shielded me from it. A cough, wet and thick with black blood. It filled the small room of the House we had all been huddled in, interrupting one of Grandpa's rare stories of the time before the Fire. Everything stopped. Grandpa's ragged breath as he wiped his wrinkled, spotted hand on his mouth echoed in the tiny space. Goosebumps raced up my spine. Most of the others had been too young to know that sound. Some of them had lost their parents before they could be haunted by the black specks flecking the lips of the damned. I remembered.
I know Grandpa remembered. His eyes went wide as he stared at the back of his hand. Tears welled up in his eyes, tears I knew would stay there until he breathed his last. The Wrack made its victims weep, in a macabre echo of the horror their generation had inflicted on the world. Grandpa knew, and as his eyes met mine I knew he saw that I knew.
The story ended abruptly, lost forever. I told Grent to take the others off to practice their knifework and crossed the cramped space to Grandpa's side.
“What do I do?” I asked him, knowing the answer.
His teary eyes met my own. I could feel the sobs starting deep in my chest as I tried to push them aside. I had to be what he had been. I had to be strong, for the others. He knew it, too. He grabbed at me, his vision blurring from the tears.
“You can't do anything,” he said, his voice cracking into another of the damning coughs. As he regained control of his voice he finished his thought. “For me. You can help them.”
I nodded. “I will take care of them.”
“Not just the other kids.” I studied his face as it contorted in pain. The Wrack worked with terrifying swiftness. “All of them.”
I think now, as I recall it all, I had some idea what he meant. But in the heat of a moment, emotion clouds the mind and blocks the clarity that hindsight restores. “All of who?” I had asked, my own voice breaking as the sobs continued to threaten my stability.
His fingers, leathery and corded, gripped painfully into my arm. “All of everyone.” Another cough. “Everyone who's left. There is a library.”
“A library?” I parroted his words as if by repeating them I could grant them some deeper meaning.
“*The* library. They called it the Library of Congress.”
I tried to understand, but the words made no sense to me. What was a Congress? He could see my confusion.
“There is a map. Under my pillow. Follow it.” The cough interrupted him and the black blood shone on his lips. A moan, inhuman and agonized, forced its way from his mouth, but he choked it down. “Take the others. Today. Get away from here, and use what I have taught you.”
“But-”
He cut me off with a painful twist of my arm. Even dying, the strength had not left him. “There is nothing you can do for me but watch me die. The answers are in the Library of Congress. Go there. Go now.”
Darkness would be on the House soon, I knew from the shadows lengthening through the narrow window, but Grandpa's tone had been the steely tone that allowed no argument. We armed ourselves and packed what we could carry and headed out into the dark, looking for something we could only hope might still exist. | There was a knock at the door. This surprised the both of us. I'm not sure what went through Kat's mind. I know what went through mine, though. It was fear, predominantly because we had been each other's company for so long, and predominantly because I certainly had no clue who could be around. We weren't expecting visitors. We never had any, except the occasional person who saw us while we were outside, lusting for the sun that rarely shown.
Untangling ourselves from one another, debated on answering, pretending no one was here. We didn't have many weapons or many valuables. A few small books, which were incredibly valuable gifts we had received from a kindly old man stopping by in an errant act of magnanimity, were about the only things we did have barring clothes and rationed meals. And even those we had scavenged or in my case, stolen.
The knock came again. It felt impatient. It sounded knowing. Fear slipped between us, palpable through each other's skin. I was reluctant, but I got up, donning some clothing to brace against the wind that would creep inside our humble, rundown abode. I opened the door just shy of the third set of knocks, a man in a duster standing on the other side of it, stamping in the chill. I could hear Kat behind me, scuffling to wrap the blanket around her, and I felt a bit bitter at this stranger ruining our intimacy.
"Come in." I said, trying to make it sound like an order, and less of an invitation. "Though I have to ask you to take care of whatever business you have and leave before daybreak. No prying eyes, and all." I could feel the frown Kat gave me, so rude to our guest. I shrugged it off as the man stepped past and I gingerly shut the door behind him.
You could feel his eyes taking in the room. The house we had chosen had been bigger and well taken care of. But we had moved everything into the living room. Old electronics and bookshelves barricaded the broken windows. That hadn't been us. We just moved the bed, the worn down couch. The blankets. What else was scavenged, much of it at Kat's insistence to make everything look lived in from the inside. A few threadbare rugs, the handful of small volumes that we put on the bookshelves.
"So one of you must be Kat. The other one is Alex?" The man, whom I now realized was carrying a pack with him, inquired. I started to answer, but he held up a hand for silence. I complied, if only because this man was clearly a messenger, someone doing the grim duty of finding other people and delivering things. For more wild groups, like those that lived in the cities or wide country, they were prime targets. Which, in turn, just made our little home one.
"An old man, name of Paps took a cart through here a while ago. He paid me to find you guys and gave me the means to do it. He died, month and a half ago. I got this for you two." He reached into the bag, my heart sinking, expecting the worst even though I knew better. It was a plastic tube with something inside. The messenger tossed it on the ground.
"What is it?" That was Kat, shifting out of bed, feet dancing over the floor, examining it. She looked between me, and the man. There was a glimmer in her eyes. Hope, perhaps.
"A map is what he told me. Library of Congress Archives and Vault. If that's right, he just gave you guys the key to the vault. One of the biggest libraries in the country, home to all sorts of old information. Just having that map alone hypothetically makes you the richest people existing." He paused, striding by me to the door. "Since you've made it clear, I'll be on my way." He nodded, slipping out much quieter than he came in.
Kat turned to me, looking over the tube, the blanket slipping free. I averted my gaze, out of habit, more than anything. "A map? To books? Alex, do you know what this means? We could go there! We could read and be happy and-!"
"Kat, no." I hated to cut off her happiness like that. But it needed to be done. "I agree, it's great but... just think about it. We'd have to leave here and travel. D.C. is several hundred miles north of us. We'd have to travel that and risk the wild, scavengers like ourselves, and thieves." Then I thought about it. And had already backed myself into a corner. "We have to leave anyway though, thanks to that messenger. Bringing something like that here was a bad choice."
Her breast swelled with defiance of me. It made me proud, in a way, to see her so full of vitality and hope. But it hurt the realist in me. It also didn't make her words any nicer. "I'm a scavenger, you're a thief. Sneaking around was always your forte." It was a dreadful, albeit accurate counter. "Besides, we have to leave here anyways, right? Said it yourself. Might as well head in that direction."
I grimaced. Kat was right, and she had me bang to rights too. It didn't help I had trouble saying no to begin with. The downsides of intimacy by sheer necessity. I wish I could at least have said I can't say no to someone I love, but I don't think we loved each other anyways. We were close because we needed to survive.
"Fine. But... we take the blankets, some clothes. And we stop at the first library we can find that doesn't seem too close to the city. I still want to try and find some more books. And maybe people won't go somewhere likely already looted." I had relented, yielded. She had won. I didn't like it. I didn't want to leave but... we at least had to move. She was right that I was right. "And if we can pawn it off safely, we do it, deal? I just... I just want us safe."
Kat didn't answer. She took her blankets, sidled back up onto the bed, and rolled away from me. "Let me sleep on it." She finally said. I climbed back into bed, not daring to venture towards the warmth we had not even fifteen minutes ago and drifted off to sleep with my arm over her side. | |
[WP] In a post-apocalyptic era, books of the old world are the most valuable and sought after treasures. Your grandfather, who just passed, left you a map that supposedly leads to the legendary "Library of Congress". | My grandfather owned three books. One was a dictionary with a bright blue cover. The left corner peeled away from the rest of the pages.
We read together from the dictionary each night. I repeated each word he read, sounding out the phonemes until the words were foreign.
The second book was a medical textbook. It was heavy and black. The cover had a picture of a skull on it; a colour light up each individual bones. It was the most valuable thing we owned. Grandpa told me to always keep it tucked out of sight.
When it wasn’t wrapped in fabric and hidden in the back panel of my dresser, I buried my head in the text. I would read the names of the muscles and bones. I prodded my patella as I bent my knee. I ran my finger over my brow ridge.
Grandpa said I would’ve made a fine doctor if things had been different. I scoffed at the suggestion.
The third book wasn’t a book but a journal bounded in time-worn leather. Grandpa said it was a heirloom - passed down from his grandfather.
I never read the journal. The pages were too fragile and the string that wound around the book was frayed brittle.
It wasn’t until a month after his death that I opened it.
I’m not sure if he ever read it. I’m not sure if I even *should* have read it. It might not be helpful.
Grandpa never taught me about the gap between knowledge and life. I had to learn that on my own.
I knew every muscle that he tore, every bone that he crushed in the accident.
That didn’t help me save him. I think, really, it made it worse.
I knew enough to hope.
Stray hope also drove me to open the journal. The journal full of a world that existed only in a dream.
The world of the journal died before I was born. All I see are its ashes. They float in the air and drift across the barren ground.
Even still, I packed a bag. I tucked the journal into the inner pocket of my canvas jacket.
*The Library of Congress*.
I push forward on the chance it may still exist.
/r/liswrites
| I had never really left the comfort and relative safety of the walls that had been built around our hometown, but I had witnessed the atrocities the wildlings (people who settled the wasteland rather than a city) ruthlessly dealt out when attacking the city. It was illegal to leave the city walls so grandfather had warned me not to tell anyone about the map or the journey I would embark on. So it was meant to be me, and me alone, that was meant to travel two towns over and into the D.C. ruins. I knew this wasn't a trip I could just leave for, it would take some planning.
After spending some time getting all my affairs in order I began to plan my trip and what I would need to bring with me. I sat down, made a list of everything that could be useful in a wide myriad of situations I could imagine happening to me as I crossed the wasteland outside. No matter how many times I went through and changed plans or routes, I came to same conclusion every time. There is no way I would be able to carry everything I need to bring by myself. Between food, water, weapons, and basic survival gear I need to bring at least two backpacks to hold it all, and, because of this, there was no way around it. I would have to have a partner on my trip and I already knew who it would be.
I ran as fast as my legs would carry me across town to the business district. Once there I found my long time friend, Jeff, working his family's food stand. I walked up to him, breathing heavily and sweating profusely. Between breaths I told him to follow me and that it was extremely important. I led him down the alley close to his cart until we were just out of view and hearing range of the shoppers. I took a moment to catch my breath and then looked behind Jeff to make sure no one followed us down the alley by chance, we were clear. I immediately pulled the map out and began to explain how grandfather had left me this map and how I had been planning to follow it but I needed help to carry everything I would need. He agreed but was curious as to what the map led to, and he had been my best friend my whole life so I saw no problem with telling him. I looked down at the map, opened it and pointed down at the "x" and told him.
"The Library of Congress, we could literally change our lives fo-" I didn't have time to finish my sentence before I felt his hands grab my throat and push me back against the wall. He was squeezing, I couldn't breath, I tried to ask him to stop but I couldn't get words out of my mouth, I looked at him and what I saw scared me more than anything else. His eyes were void, it wasn't my friend standing there in front of me. It was a person who was filled with hatred and wanted nothing more than for me to be dead. I ripped at his hands to try and release myself so I could run from what seemed like a demon after my soul. Everything started to go blurry and my hands got so heavy it was too hard to lift them and they fell to my side, shortly followed by my legs going numb and me sliding down the wall until I sat on the ground. I quickly realized that grandfather hadn't told me to keep quiet about the map because it's illegal to leave, but rather because this may be the greatest treasure known to mankind at this point and time.
"I failed my grandfather before I even left the city. How much more of a failure could I be, just sitting here watching my best friend slowly take my life away..." I sat there thinking to myself, I had all but given up on life when I realized, my grandpa had entrusted this map and task to me and only me. How am I going to sit here and just give up and die? No. This can't be how it ends, I am going to have to fight until the very end.
With my last bit of remaking strength I searched the ground around me for anything that would help, and I found it. A rock that was about half the size of my fist. I grabbed it put the protruding end pointing out and swung as hard as my ark would allow me. I felt it, the feeling of the rock smashing into the side of his head, followed immediately by the feeling of his hands releasing my neck. I gasped in, sweet air filled my lungs, and even though my head and thoughts still felt thick, I knew I had to defend myself still. Jeff came at me and I swung the rock again, this time hitting him in the nose, he fell to his knees and I reared back and swung again, and again, and again. I kept swinging until I couldn't lift my arm anymore, and then I looked down, saw the mangled mess that was Jeff, my best friend for the last 15 years. He had tried to kill me, over a map of all things, and even worse than that I had killed him. Oh god. I killed him. I'm a murderer now.
I stumbled back off of his lifeless corpse and I vomited. I sliuched against the wall just trying to process and get my head feeling normal again. It wasn't working, my brain was racing all around, I felt like I had no control over it. All I knew was that I had to leave town now, because if this is found out then I won't have the chance to before I'm caught. I took off my shoes and used my socks and a nearby puddle to wipe the blood off myself the best I could, then I put my shoes back on and ran back home. I burst in the door, grabbed the food, water, a gun, and clothes and I set off.
I snuck out the secret door that grandfather's map showed me and surveyed the wasteland, it looked bleak, not that home was vibrant or anything like that, but at least it was safe. Here I'll constantly have to fear for my life and I don't even have a friend to watch my back now. That's right, I don't have any friends out here, I needed to remember and be sure to heed grandfather's final warning to me, with that I might just make it out here. With that little bit of confidence I looked back at my lifetime home and realized that I would most likely never see or be able to come back here again. | |
[WP] In a post-apocalyptic era, books of the old world are the most valuable and sought after treasures. Your grandfather, who just passed, left you a map that supposedly leads to the legendary "Library of Congress". | The day had been long and all the others were asleep. Only grandad and I remained by the last of the fire. The firelight glinted on the steel of the barricades nearby.
‘What was it like, though?’ I said to him, as though we were continuing a conversation.
‘It was amazing,’ he answered. ‘It was great. The internet was gone by ‘25 or so, but the books remained. People always think a world collapses suddenly, but it’s a slow thing. You’re thinking, God, could this even happen? And then suddenly, it’s already too late.’
I was half-afraid to say anything. It was hard to get the old man to open up, and easy to break the spell.
‘What kinds of things did you read?’ I asked, tentatively.
‘Oh, gosh. Loads of stuff. Books about science and history and technology. But stupid stuff, too, like westerns and thrillers.’
‘Thrillers?’
‘Exciting stories. Stories about the kind of life you might live, if… Well.’ He trailed off. ‘Stability seems boring until it’s gone. I sometimes think every few generations we need to re-learn that.’
He was silent and then he asked me: ‘Did you ever hear of the Library of Congress?’
I shook my head.
‘Well, of all the libraries this one was the most special. In the years of the Fall, the government classified it as CFI - know what that is?’
‘No,’ I said.
‘Critical Future Infrastructure. The things we’d need to rebuild once the virus was brought back under control. Only’ - he gestured at the little settlement we were sitting in, hemmed in by the patched-together steel walls - ‘that future never came. But some of the CFIs are still out there, people say, still protected by the bots.’
The bots. I knew what they were all right. In ‘75 they had attacked the settlement - a huge, tracked carrier machine had crashed through the gate, then super-fast, super-agile bots poured from it, sweeping through every room of every building. They smashed furniture, ripped chunks out of walls, pulled up floors in search of something unknown. If you ran out of their way they mostly left you alone, but if you weren’t fast enough you might get a bone-shattering swipe as they pushed you aside. Three people had resisted and ended up dead. I was only five years old but I remember it - the heavy engine thrum of the carrier machine, the whining motors of the robots and their horrifyingly-fast movements, the screams of people, the crashing destruction of the search parties. Oh yeah; I knew what bots were.
‘So the library - the Library of Congress - there are books there still?’
He met my eyes and smiled. ‘Tens and tens and tens of thousands. Maybe even millions. No-one knows for sure. Books on everything you could imagine. A glorious history of humankind.’
I felt my stomach tighten at the thought. In all my life I had never seen more than three books together.
‘Where is it?’ I asked him.
But he was staring into space remembering something, or maybe imagining something. I was silent again, waiting for him.
‘Do you know the tree near Highville where we’ve often played?’ he said to me.
‘Of course,’ I said. We went there every summer.
He was silent again, and I felt a sudden hint of nerves without knowing why.
‘Jim,’ he said, ‘There are… There are things your father has asked me not to talk to you about. Not yet. So you can’t ask too many questions right now, do you understand?’
I nodded, my eyes wide.
‘At the base of that tree is a root market with an X, and another marked with a Y. When you’re there next, I want you to do something for me. Run a piece of string between those two points. Fix it so that one end is fixed on the cross of the X, and the other on the intersection point of the lines of the Y. You understand me? And then half way along the string, dig a little hole. You won’t need to go down far. You’ll find a box there. Inside it are… Well, you’ll see. Old papers. Very precious ones. From when I was a soldier.’
‘But… Let’s just do that together?’ I said to him, half-statement half-question. Fear was rising in me now.
‘We might,’ he said, and he smiled at me. ‘We might. Don’t worry about anything for now, OK? Just promise me you’ll do it, when you’re there. Do you promise?’
‘I promise,’ I said, my voice sounding strange to me.
‘Good.’ He stood, carefully, favouring his right side. ‘This is our secret, right? Not for anyone else. When you have the box you can decide who to tell or not tell, but for now it’s just us, OK?’
‘I promise,’ I said again.
‘Good. You’re a good kid, Jim. I don’t tell you that enough. But it’s getting late. Time for us both to get some sleep.’
| I had never really left the comfort and relative safety of the walls that had been built around our hometown, but I had witnessed the atrocities the wildlings (people who settled the wasteland rather than a city) ruthlessly dealt out when attacking the city. It was illegal to leave the city walls so grandfather had warned me not to tell anyone about the map or the journey I would embark on. So it was meant to be me, and me alone, that was meant to travel two towns over and into the D.C. ruins. I knew this wasn't a trip I could just leave for, it would take some planning.
After spending some time getting all my affairs in order I began to plan my trip and what I would need to bring with me. I sat down, made a list of everything that could be useful in a wide myriad of situations I could imagine happening to me as I crossed the wasteland outside. No matter how many times I went through and changed plans or routes, I came to same conclusion every time. There is no way I would be able to carry everything I need to bring by myself. Between food, water, weapons, and basic survival gear I need to bring at least two backpacks to hold it all, and, because of this, there was no way around it. I would have to have a partner on my trip and I already knew who it would be.
I ran as fast as my legs would carry me across town to the business district. Once there I found my long time friend, Jeff, working his family's food stand. I walked up to him, breathing heavily and sweating profusely. Between breaths I told him to follow me and that it was extremely important. I led him down the alley close to his cart until we were just out of view and hearing range of the shoppers. I took a moment to catch my breath and then looked behind Jeff to make sure no one followed us down the alley by chance, we were clear. I immediately pulled the map out and began to explain how grandfather had left me this map and how I had been planning to follow it but I needed help to carry everything I would need. He agreed but was curious as to what the map led to, and he had been my best friend my whole life so I saw no problem with telling him. I looked down at the map, opened it and pointed down at the "x" and told him.
"The Library of Congress, we could literally change our lives fo-" I didn't have time to finish my sentence before I felt his hands grab my throat and push me back against the wall. He was squeezing, I couldn't breath, I tried to ask him to stop but I couldn't get words out of my mouth, I looked at him and what I saw scared me more than anything else. His eyes were void, it wasn't my friend standing there in front of me. It was a person who was filled with hatred and wanted nothing more than for me to be dead. I ripped at his hands to try and release myself so I could run from what seemed like a demon after my soul. Everything started to go blurry and my hands got so heavy it was too hard to lift them and they fell to my side, shortly followed by my legs going numb and me sliding down the wall until I sat on the ground. I quickly realized that grandfather hadn't told me to keep quiet about the map because it's illegal to leave, but rather because this may be the greatest treasure known to mankind at this point and time.
"I failed my grandfather before I even left the city. How much more of a failure could I be, just sitting here watching my best friend slowly take my life away..." I sat there thinking to myself, I had all but given up on life when I realized, my grandpa had entrusted this map and task to me and only me. How am I going to sit here and just give up and die? No. This can't be how it ends, I am going to have to fight until the very end.
With my last bit of remaking strength I searched the ground around me for anything that would help, and I found it. A rock that was about half the size of my fist. I grabbed it put the protruding end pointing out and swung as hard as my ark would allow me. I felt it, the feeling of the rock smashing into the side of his head, followed immediately by the feeling of his hands releasing my neck. I gasped in, sweet air filled my lungs, and even though my head and thoughts still felt thick, I knew I had to defend myself still. Jeff came at me and I swung the rock again, this time hitting him in the nose, he fell to his knees and I reared back and swung again, and again, and again. I kept swinging until I couldn't lift my arm anymore, and then I looked down, saw the mangled mess that was Jeff, my best friend for the last 15 years. He had tried to kill me, over a map of all things, and even worse than that I had killed him. Oh god. I killed him. I'm a murderer now.
I stumbled back off of his lifeless corpse and I vomited. I sliuched against the wall just trying to process and get my head feeling normal again. It wasn't working, my brain was racing all around, I felt like I had no control over it. All I knew was that I had to leave town now, because if this is found out then I won't have the chance to before I'm caught. I took off my shoes and used my socks and a nearby puddle to wipe the blood off myself the best I could, then I put my shoes back on and ran back home. I burst in the door, grabbed the food, water, a gun, and clothes and I set off.
I snuck out the secret door that grandfather's map showed me and surveyed the wasteland, it looked bleak, not that home was vibrant or anything like that, but at least it was safe. Here I'll constantly have to fear for my life and I don't even have a friend to watch my back now. That's right, I don't have any friends out here, I needed to remember and be sure to heed grandfather's final warning to me, with that I might just make it out here. With that little bit of confidence I looked back at my lifetime home and realized that I would most likely never see or be able to come back here again. | |
[WP] In a post-apocalyptic era, books of the old world are the most valuable and sought after treasures. Your grandfather, who just passed, left you a map that supposedly leads to the legendary "Library of Congress". | I was lucky to have had a grandfather. I knew it. It shone in the jealous gazes of my friends whenever the wrinkled old man was present. They didn't hate me for it, not quite; but it was still something very few people could claim, and in the world our grandparents’ generation had left us, rarity was a commodity in itself.
He was a wealth of information, telling us stories from before the Fire, fantastic tales of metal cages that rushed people from place to place. For that matter, his tales of what they had called the ocean could have kept me entertained for years. Massive amounts of water stretching further than the eye could see…
All of his stories died with him, though, when the Wrack caught up with him like it had already caught up with everyone else born before the Fire. I'd seen the damage the Wrack caused before, of course; in those early days we all had. When Mom and Dad caught it, when I was about ten, at least then Grandpa had been there to help care for them. As their bodies contorted into twisted knots of tightened muscles, their eyes bugging out of their skulls, all red and teary and unseeing, he had seen to them. I could hear their screaming moans of agony, their wet bloody coughs, but Grandpa had shielded me from the worst of it.
When Mom and Dad died they were the last of the old timers, except for Grandpa. Grandpa took us all in, teaching us how to survive in this world they had left for us. We learned how to fight, how to shoot what few functioning weapons we could scavenge, how to hunt. All of that paled, though, to the most important lesson Grandpa passed on. By the light of an oil lamp that had survived nearly a century on this fucked up planet, Grandpa huddled us together in the House and taught us how to read.
We devoured those lessons, always begun with the same phrase - “Listen up, children,” Grandpa would say. “If you can learn what I am trying to teach you, you will be able to fix what we have broken.” We learned. Grandpa was patient, yet firm; consistent, yet understanding. He pushed us, perhaps sensing his time was short, forcing us to take these lessons with us every moment of every day. As the years went on, reading became more and more natural to us. Soon we could decipher the texts dangling from twisted metal poles on our daily hunting routes, and began to share these discoveries with one another, each of us alight with an insatiable hunger for more.
In all of these, over the years that passed after Mom and Dad died, I was always the fastest study, and Grandpa saw it. His face would beam with pride as I would read the words he had scrawled on the wall of the House aloud, sure of their meaning. “Keep this lesson,” he would say. “When you find the books, you will need it.”
We had never heard this word before - books - and asked him what it meant. He launched into another of his tales, of how men would share their learning and stories with one another in the time before the Fire. Words would dance on pieces of paper, bound together by the hundreds and thousands in things called books. Then he told us of mysterious places where books would be gathered for all people to come and learn from them. Entertainment, he said, could be found in books. Stories to distract the mind and dazzle the senses. But more, he said, they could learn discoveries from far off lands and share knowledge with all of mankind.
We were confounded by this story. The twelve of us sat in rapt attention, eyes wide, soaking up every word. The images conjured in our minds were of sparkling towers rising to the sun, filled with these strange “books.” We begged Grandpa to take us to one. He refused, but we insisted, demanding that we needed to have more to read. His eyes twinkled with a sadness that could shake the foundation of the earth, but he relented.
The following morning we rose early, as the sun crested the cracked skyline of shattered concrete and steel, eager to see the glittering spires of knowledge. Grandpa knew what we would find. Now, looking back, I can see his expression for what it was. Regret.
Silence hung in the air that morning, broken only by the sound of twelve excited kids scrambling over rubble. We didn't say a word the entire trip. We were too excited, our thoughts hushed by the anticipation we felt vibrating through every fiber of our beings. Grandpa was just as quiet, picking his way through the ruins with his usual slow carefulness. He moved with a tedium we always found frustrating, but that day so much more frustrating as it felt like he was intentionally slowing our progress. Still, we stayed close, never venturing beyond his sight. He was old, and safe, and sure.
It took two hours, crawling over the dusty concrete and avoiding jutting yellowed glass and the steel ribs of broken buildings, but we traveled with ease, invigorated by the adrenaline of promise. But what awaited us at the end of our journey was no gleaming spire, but a squat square of crumbling disappointment. Jene cried, weeping sobs that shook her tiny frame and filled the air between the shells of long dead buildings. Grandpa just stood there, head bowed. His image burned into my memory, a broken statue of a lost glory. All that was left of his generation, left to bear the weight of their horrible deeds alone.
Sam and Lun had wanted to explore the ruins, convinced there were still some secrets hidden within, but Grandpa would not let them. “It is dangerous, children,” he had insisted, his voice full of dread and sorrow. It was a tone he almost never used, a serious tone that brooked no argument. Sam and Lun had relented, and the thirteen of us had left to return to the House. Jene wept silently the entire way home, careful - as we all were - to stay silent. Even in daylight the city's corpse was home to a thousand deadly dangers.
Things had changed, after our trip to what was left of the library. Grandpa’s lessons focused less on learning to read and more on the dangers that lurked beyond the safety of the House. Sam and Lun still whispered of returning to the library, while Grandpa slept, but they never dared attempt such a journey. His warning had rung loud and terrible in the stillness of the ruined city, and they knew better that to brave something Grandpa said was dangerous. The trip had affected Jene the most though; she was changed, forlorn. Her hope was utterly lost, and with it all interest in learning to read. That, I think, hurt Grandpa the most. I think he saw the change in Jene as his generation's greatest failure.
Things changed again when Grandpa caught the Wrack. It started the same way it always had, the same way it had started for Mom and Dad before Grandpa had shielded me from it. A cough, wet and thick with black blood. It filled the small room of the House we had all been huddled in, interrupting one of Grandpa's rare stories of the time before the Fire. Everything stopped. Grandpa's ragged breath as he wiped his wrinkled, spotted hand on his mouth echoed in the tiny space. Goosebumps raced up my spine. Most of the others had been too young to know that sound. Some of them had lost their parents before they could be haunted by the black specks flecking the lips of the damned. I remembered.
I know Grandpa remembered. His eyes went wide as he stared at the back of his hand. Tears welled up in his eyes, tears I knew would stay there until he breathed his last. The Wrack made its victims weep, in a macabre echo of the horror their generation had inflicted on the world. Grandpa knew, and as his eyes met mine I knew he saw that I knew.
The story ended abruptly, lost forever. I told Grent to take the others off to practice their knifework and crossed the cramped space to Grandpa's side.
“What do I do?” I asked him, knowing the answer.
His teary eyes met my own. I could feel the sobs starting deep in my chest as I tried to push them aside. I had to be what he had been. I had to be strong, for the others. He knew it, too. He grabbed at me, his vision blurring from the tears.
“You can't do anything,” he said, his voice cracking into another of the damning coughs. As he regained control of his voice he finished his thought. “For me. You can help them.”
I nodded. “I will take care of them.”
“Not just the other kids.” I studied his face as it contorted in pain. The Wrack worked with terrifying swiftness. “All of them.”
I think now, as I recall it all, I had some idea what he meant. But in the heat of a moment, emotion clouds the mind and blocks the clarity that hindsight restores. “All of who?” I had asked, my own voice breaking as the sobs continued to threaten my stability.
His fingers, leathery and corded, gripped painfully into my arm. “All of everyone.” Another cough. “Everyone who's left. There is a library.”
“A library?” I parroted his words as if by repeating them I could grant them some deeper meaning.
“*The* library. They called it the Library of Congress.”
I tried to understand, but the words made no sense to me. What was a Congress? He could see my confusion.
“There is a map. Under my pillow. Follow it.” The cough interrupted him and the black blood shone on his lips. A moan, inhuman and agonized, forced its way from his mouth, but he choked it down. “Take the others. Today. Get away from here, and use what I have taught you.”
“But-”
He cut me off with a painful twist of my arm. Even dying, the strength had not left him. “There is nothing you can do for me but watch me die. The answers are in the Library of Congress. Go there. Go now.”
Darkness would be on the House soon, I knew from the shadows lengthening through the narrow window, but Grandpa's tone had been the steely tone that allowed no argument. We armed ourselves and packed what we could carry and headed out into the dark, looking for something we could only hope might still exist. | I had never really left the comfort and relative safety of the walls that had been built around our hometown, but I had witnessed the atrocities the wildlings (people who settled the wasteland rather than a city) ruthlessly dealt out when attacking the city. It was illegal to leave the city walls so grandfather had warned me not to tell anyone about the map or the journey I would embark on. So it was meant to be me, and me alone, that was meant to travel two towns over and into the D.C. ruins. I knew this wasn't a trip I could just leave for, it would take some planning.
After spending some time getting all my affairs in order I began to plan my trip and what I would need to bring with me. I sat down, made a list of everything that could be useful in a wide myriad of situations I could imagine happening to me as I crossed the wasteland outside. No matter how many times I went through and changed plans or routes, I came to same conclusion every time. There is no way I would be able to carry everything I need to bring by myself. Between food, water, weapons, and basic survival gear I need to bring at least two backpacks to hold it all, and, because of this, there was no way around it. I would have to have a partner on my trip and I already knew who it would be.
I ran as fast as my legs would carry me across town to the business district. Once there I found my long time friend, Jeff, working his family's food stand. I walked up to him, breathing heavily and sweating profusely. Between breaths I told him to follow me and that it was extremely important. I led him down the alley close to his cart until we were just out of view and hearing range of the shoppers. I took a moment to catch my breath and then looked behind Jeff to make sure no one followed us down the alley by chance, we were clear. I immediately pulled the map out and began to explain how grandfather had left me this map and how I had been planning to follow it but I needed help to carry everything I would need. He agreed but was curious as to what the map led to, and he had been my best friend my whole life so I saw no problem with telling him. I looked down at the map, opened it and pointed down at the "x" and told him.
"The Library of Congress, we could literally change our lives fo-" I didn't have time to finish my sentence before I felt his hands grab my throat and push me back against the wall. He was squeezing, I couldn't breath, I tried to ask him to stop but I couldn't get words out of my mouth, I looked at him and what I saw scared me more than anything else. His eyes were void, it wasn't my friend standing there in front of me. It was a person who was filled with hatred and wanted nothing more than for me to be dead. I ripped at his hands to try and release myself so I could run from what seemed like a demon after my soul. Everything started to go blurry and my hands got so heavy it was too hard to lift them and they fell to my side, shortly followed by my legs going numb and me sliding down the wall until I sat on the ground. I quickly realized that grandfather hadn't told me to keep quiet about the map because it's illegal to leave, but rather because this may be the greatest treasure known to mankind at this point and time.
"I failed my grandfather before I even left the city. How much more of a failure could I be, just sitting here watching my best friend slowly take my life away..." I sat there thinking to myself, I had all but given up on life when I realized, my grandpa had entrusted this map and task to me and only me. How am I going to sit here and just give up and die? No. This can't be how it ends, I am going to have to fight until the very end.
With my last bit of remaking strength I searched the ground around me for anything that would help, and I found it. A rock that was about half the size of my fist. I grabbed it put the protruding end pointing out and swung as hard as my ark would allow me. I felt it, the feeling of the rock smashing into the side of his head, followed immediately by the feeling of his hands releasing my neck. I gasped in, sweet air filled my lungs, and even though my head and thoughts still felt thick, I knew I had to defend myself still. Jeff came at me and I swung the rock again, this time hitting him in the nose, he fell to his knees and I reared back and swung again, and again, and again. I kept swinging until I couldn't lift my arm anymore, and then I looked down, saw the mangled mess that was Jeff, my best friend for the last 15 years. He had tried to kill me, over a map of all things, and even worse than that I had killed him. Oh god. I killed him. I'm a murderer now.
I stumbled back off of his lifeless corpse and I vomited. I sliuched against the wall just trying to process and get my head feeling normal again. It wasn't working, my brain was racing all around, I felt like I had no control over it. All I knew was that I had to leave town now, because if this is found out then I won't have the chance to before I'm caught. I took off my shoes and used my socks and a nearby puddle to wipe the blood off myself the best I could, then I put my shoes back on and ran back home. I burst in the door, grabbed the food, water, a gun, and clothes and I set off.
I snuck out the secret door that grandfather's map showed me and surveyed the wasteland, it looked bleak, not that home was vibrant or anything like that, but at least it was safe. Here I'll constantly have to fear for my life and I don't even have a friend to watch my back now. That's right, I don't have any friends out here, I needed to remember and be sure to heed grandfather's final warning to me, with that I might just make it out here. With that little bit of confidence I looked back at my lifetime home and realized that I would most likely never see or be able to come back here again. | |
[WP] In a post-apocalyptic era, books of the old world are the most valuable and sought after treasures. Your grandfather, who just passed, left you a map that supposedly leads to the legendary "Library of Congress". | My grandfather owned three books. One was a dictionary with a bright blue cover. The left corner peeled away from the rest of the pages.
We read together from the dictionary each night. I repeated each word he read, sounding out the phonemes until the words were foreign.
The second book was a medical textbook. It was heavy and black. The cover had a picture of a skull on it; a colour light up each individual bones. It was the most valuable thing we owned. Grandpa told me to always keep it tucked out of sight.
When it wasn’t wrapped in fabric and hidden in the back panel of my dresser, I buried my head in the text. I would read the names of the muscles and bones. I prodded my patella as I bent my knee. I ran my finger over my brow ridge.
Grandpa said I would’ve made a fine doctor if things had been different. I scoffed at the suggestion.
The third book wasn’t a book but a journal bounded in time-worn leather. Grandpa said it was a heirloom - passed down from his grandfather.
I never read the journal. The pages were too fragile and the string that wound around the book was frayed brittle.
It wasn’t until a month after his death that I opened it.
I’m not sure if he ever read it. I’m not sure if I even *should* have read it. It might not be helpful.
Grandpa never taught me about the gap between knowledge and life. I had to learn that on my own.
I knew every muscle that he tore, every bone that he crushed in the accident.
That didn’t help me save him. I think, really, it made it worse.
I knew enough to hope.
Stray hope also drove me to open the journal. The journal full of a world that existed only in a dream.
The world of the journal died before I was born. All I see are its ashes. They float in the air and drift across the barren ground.
Even still, I packed a bag. I tucked the journal into the inner pocket of my canvas jacket.
*The Library of Congress*.
I push forward on the chance it may still exist.
/r/liswrites
| A loud boom echoes throughout the dim lit halls as Roger pushed the doors open to the library.
“Here it is.” He quietly whisper to himself, panting. He flicked on his torch and scanned the room.
“Strange..” he says as he walks down a flight of stairs, his mind begins to panic.
“Was the map wrong? Did do someone incorrectly? Why did I follow senile grandpa’s instructions?” Questions flood his mind as he kept searching.
Roger could not find any books in the library and with every step, his state of mind gets worse. Until he found a switch. In a last ditch effort, Roger turned on the switch and to his surprise, the black rectangles turns bright and lit up the room.
The rectangle states, “Welcome to the smart Library of Congress. “
Roger smiles as he walked forward and place his hands on the keyboard. | |
[WP] In a post-apocalyptic era, books of the old world are the most valuable and sought after treasures. Your grandfather, who just passed, left you a map that supposedly leads to the legendary "Library of Congress". | The day had been long and all the others were asleep. Only grandad and I remained by the last of the fire. The firelight glinted on the steel of the barricades nearby.
‘What was it like, though?’ I said to him, as though we were continuing a conversation.
‘It was amazing,’ he answered. ‘It was great. The internet was gone by ‘25 or so, but the books remained. People always think a world collapses suddenly, but it’s a slow thing. You’re thinking, God, could this even happen? And then suddenly, it’s already too late.’
I was half-afraid to say anything. It was hard to get the old man to open up, and easy to break the spell.
‘What kinds of things did you read?’ I asked, tentatively.
‘Oh, gosh. Loads of stuff. Books about science and history and technology. But stupid stuff, too, like westerns and thrillers.’
‘Thrillers?’
‘Exciting stories. Stories about the kind of life you might live, if… Well.’ He trailed off. ‘Stability seems boring until it’s gone. I sometimes think every few generations we need to re-learn that.’
He was silent and then he asked me: ‘Did you ever hear of the Library of Congress?’
I shook my head.
‘Well, of all the libraries this one was the most special. In the years of the Fall, the government classified it as CFI - know what that is?’
‘No,’ I said.
‘Critical Future Infrastructure. The things we’d need to rebuild once the virus was brought back under control. Only’ - he gestured at the little settlement we were sitting in, hemmed in by the patched-together steel walls - ‘that future never came. But some of the CFIs are still out there, people say, still protected by the bots.’
The bots. I knew what they were all right. In ‘75 they had attacked the settlement - a huge, tracked carrier machine had crashed through the gate, then super-fast, super-agile bots poured from it, sweeping through every room of every building. They smashed furniture, ripped chunks out of walls, pulled up floors in search of something unknown. If you ran out of their way they mostly left you alone, but if you weren’t fast enough you might get a bone-shattering swipe as they pushed you aside. Three people had resisted and ended up dead. I was only five years old but I remember it - the heavy engine thrum of the carrier machine, the whining motors of the robots and their horrifyingly-fast movements, the screams of people, the crashing destruction of the search parties. Oh yeah; I knew what bots were.
‘So the library - the Library of Congress - there are books there still?’
He met my eyes and smiled. ‘Tens and tens and tens of thousands. Maybe even millions. No-one knows for sure. Books on everything you could imagine. A glorious history of humankind.’
I felt my stomach tighten at the thought. In all my life I had never seen more than three books together.
‘Where is it?’ I asked him.
But he was staring into space remembering something, or maybe imagining something. I was silent again, waiting for him.
‘Do you know the tree near Highville where we’ve often played?’ he said to me.
‘Of course,’ I said. We went there every summer.
He was silent again, and I felt a sudden hint of nerves without knowing why.
‘Jim,’ he said, ‘There are… There are things your father has asked me not to talk to you about. Not yet. So you can’t ask too many questions right now, do you understand?’
I nodded, my eyes wide.
‘At the base of that tree is a root market with an X, and another marked with a Y. When you’re there next, I want you to do something for me. Run a piece of string between those two points. Fix it so that one end is fixed on the cross of the X, and the other on the intersection point of the lines of the Y. You understand me? And then half way along the string, dig a little hole. You won’t need to go down far. You’ll find a box there. Inside it are… Well, you’ll see. Old papers. Very precious ones. From when I was a soldier.’
‘But… Let’s just do that together?’ I said to him, half-statement half-question. Fear was rising in me now.
‘We might,’ he said, and he smiled at me. ‘We might. Don’t worry about anything for now, OK? Just promise me you’ll do it, when you’re there. Do you promise?’
‘I promise,’ I said, my voice sounding strange to me.
‘Good.’ He stood, carefully, favouring his right side. ‘This is our secret, right? Not for anyone else. When you have the box you can decide who to tell or not tell, but for now it’s just us, OK?’
‘I promise,’ I said again.
‘Good. You’re a good kid, Jim. I don’t tell you that enough. But it’s getting late. Time for us both to get some sleep.’
| A loud boom echoes throughout the dim lit halls as Roger pushed the doors open to the library.
“Here it is.” He quietly whisper to himself, panting. He flicked on his torch and scanned the room.
“Strange..” he says as he walks down a flight of stairs, his mind begins to panic.
“Was the map wrong? Did do someone incorrectly? Why did I follow senile grandpa’s instructions?” Questions flood his mind as he kept searching.
Roger could not find any books in the library and with every step, his state of mind gets worse. Until he found a switch. In a last ditch effort, Roger turned on the switch and to his surprise, the black rectangles turns bright and lit up the room.
The rectangle states, “Welcome to the smart Library of Congress. “
Roger smiles as he walked forward and place his hands on the keyboard. | |
[WP] In a post-apocalyptic era, books of the old world are the most valuable and sought after treasures. Your grandfather, who just passed, left you a map that supposedly leads to the legendary "Library of Congress". | I was lucky to have had a grandfather. I knew it. It shone in the jealous gazes of my friends whenever the wrinkled old man was present. They didn't hate me for it, not quite; but it was still something very few people could claim, and in the world our grandparents’ generation had left us, rarity was a commodity in itself.
He was a wealth of information, telling us stories from before the Fire, fantastic tales of metal cages that rushed people from place to place. For that matter, his tales of what they had called the ocean could have kept me entertained for years. Massive amounts of water stretching further than the eye could see…
All of his stories died with him, though, when the Wrack caught up with him like it had already caught up with everyone else born before the Fire. I'd seen the damage the Wrack caused before, of course; in those early days we all had. When Mom and Dad caught it, when I was about ten, at least then Grandpa had been there to help care for them. As their bodies contorted into twisted knots of tightened muscles, their eyes bugging out of their skulls, all red and teary and unseeing, he had seen to them. I could hear their screaming moans of agony, their wet bloody coughs, but Grandpa had shielded me from the worst of it.
When Mom and Dad died they were the last of the old timers, except for Grandpa. Grandpa took us all in, teaching us how to survive in this world they had left for us. We learned how to fight, how to shoot what few functioning weapons we could scavenge, how to hunt. All of that paled, though, to the most important lesson Grandpa passed on. By the light of an oil lamp that had survived nearly a century on this fucked up planet, Grandpa huddled us together in the House and taught us how to read.
We devoured those lessons, always begun with the same phrase - “Listen up, children,” Grandpa would say. “If you can learn what I am trying to teach you, you will be able to fix what we have broken.” We learned. Grandpa was patient, yet firm; consistent, yet understanding. He pushed us, perhaps sensing his time was short, forcing us to take these lessons with us every moment of every day. As the years went on, reading became more and more natural to us. Soon we could decipher the texts dangling from twisted metal poles on our daily hunting routes, and began to share these discoveries with one another, each of us alight with an insatiable hunger for more.
In all of these, over the years that passed after Mom and Dad died, I was always the fastest study, and Grandpa saw it. His face would beam with pride as I would read the words he had scrawled on the wall of the House aloud, sure of their meaning. “Keep this lesson,” he would say. “When you find the books, you will need it.”
We had never heard this word before - books - and asked him what it meant. He launched into another of his tales, of how men would share their learning and stories with one another in the time before the Fire. Words would dance on pieces of paper, bound together by the hundreds and thousands in things called books. Then he told us of mysterious places where books would be gathered for all people to come and learn from them. Entertainment, he said, could be found in books. Stories to distract the mind and dazzle the senses. But more, he said, they could learn discoveries from far off lands and share knowledge with all of mankind.
We were confounded by this story. The twelve of us sat in rapt attention, eyes wide, soaking up every word. The images conjured in our minds were of sparkling towers rising to the sun, filled with these strange “books.” We begged Grandpa to take us to one. He refused, but we insisted, demanding that we needed to have more to read. His eyes twinkled with a sadness that could shake the foundation of the earth, but he relented.
The following morning we rose early, as the sun crested the cracked skyline of shattered concrete and steel, eager to see the glittering spires of knowledge. Grandpa knew what we would find. Now, looking back, I can see his expression for what it was. Regret.
Silence hung in the air that morning, broken only by the sound of twelve excited kids scrambling over rubble. We didn't say a word the entire trip. We were too excited, our thoughts hushed by the anticipation we felt vibrating through every fiber of our beings. Grandpa was just as quiet, picking his way through the ruins with his usual slow carefulness. He moved with a tedium we always found frustrating, but that day so much more frustrating as it felt like he was intentionally slowing our progress. Still, we stayed close, never venturing beyond his sight. He was old, and safe, and sure.
It took two hours, crawling over the dusty concrete and avoiding jutting yellowed glass and the steel ribs of broken buildings, but we traveled with ease, invigorated by the adrenaline of promise. But what awaited us at the end of our journey was no gleaming spire, but a squat square of crumbling disappointment. Jene cried, weeping sobs that shook her tiny frame and filled the air between the shells of long dead buildings. Grandpa just stood there, head bowed. His image burned into my memory, a broken statue of a lost glory. All that was left of his generation, left to bear the weight of their horrible deeds alone.
Sam and Lun had wanted to explore the ruins, convinced there were still some secrets hidden within, but Grandpa would not let them. “It is dangerous, children,” he had insisted, his voice full of dread and sorrow. It was a tone he almost never used, a serious tone that brooked no argument. Sam and Lun had relented, and the thirteen of us had left to return to the House. Jene wept silently the entire way home, careful - as we all were - to stay silent. Even in daylight the city's corpse was home to a thousand deadly dangers.
Things had changed, after our trip to what was left of the library. Grandpa’s lessons focused less on learning to read and more on the dangers that lurked beyond the safety of the House. Sam and Lun still whispered of returning to the library, while Grandpa slept, but they never dared attempt such a journey. His warning had rung loud and terrible in the stillness of the ruined city, and they knew better that to brave something Grandpa said was dangerous. The trip had affected Jene the most though; she was changed, forlorn. Her hope was utterly lost, and with it all interest in learning to read. That, I think, hurt Grandpa the most. I think he saw the change in Jene as his generation's greatest failure.
Things changed again when Grandpa caught the Wrack. It started the same way it always had, the same way it had started for Mom and Dad before Grandpa had shielded me from it. A cough, wet and thick with black blood. It filled the small room of the House we had all been huddled in, interrupting one of Grandpa's rare stories of the time before the Fire. Everything stopped. Grandpa's ragged breath as he wiped his wrinkled, spotted hand on his mouth echoed in the tiny space. Goosebumps raced up my spine. Most of the others had been too young to know that sound. Some of them had lost their parents before they could be haunted by the black specks flecking the lips of the damned. I remembered.
I know Grandpa remembered. His eyes went wide as he stared at the back of his hand. Tears welled up in his eyes, tears I knew would stay there until he breathed his last. The Wrack made its victims weep, in a macabre echo of the horror their generation had inflicted on the world. Grandpa knew, and as his eyes met mine I knew he saw that I knew.
The story ended abruptly, lost forever. I told Grent to take the others off to practice their knifework and crossed the cramped space to Grandpa's side.
“What do I do?” I asked him, knowing the answer.
His teary eyes met my own. I could feel the sobs starting deep in my chest as I tried to push them aside. I had to be what he had been. I had to be strong, for the others. He knew it, too. He grabbed at me, his vision blurring from the tears.
“You can't do anything,” he said, his voice cracking into another of the damning coughs. As he regained control of his voice he finished his thought. “For me. You can help them.”
I nodded. “I will take care of them.”
“Not just the other kids.” I studied his face as it contorted in pain. The Wrack worked with terrifying swiftness. “All of them.”
I think now, as I recall it all, I had some idea what he meant. But in the heat of a moment, emotion clouds the mind and blocks the clarity that hindsight restores. “All of who?” I had asked, my own voice breaking as the sobs continued to threaten my stability.
His fingers, leathery and corded, gripped painfully into my arm. “All of everyone.” Another cough. “Everyone who's left. There is a library.”
“A library?” I parroted his words as if by repeating them I could grant them some deeper meaning.
“*The* library. They called it the Library of Congress.”
I tried to understand, but the words made no sense to me. What was a Congress? He could see my confusion.
“There is a map. Under my pillow. Follow it.” The cough interrupted him and the black blood shone on his lips. A moan, inhuman and agonized, forced its way from his mouth, but he choked it down. “Take the others. Today. Get away from here, and use what I have taught you.”
“But-”
He cut me off with a painful twist of my arm. Even dying, the strength had not left him. “There is nothing you can do for me but watch me die. The answers are in the Library of Congress. Go there. Go now.”
Darkness would be on the House soon, I knew from the shadows lengthening through the narrow window, but Grandpa's tone had been the steely tone that allowed no argument. We armed ourselves and packed what we could carry and headed out into the dark, looking for something we could only hope might still exist. | A loud boom echoes throughout the dim lit halls as Roger pushed the doors open to the library.
“Here it is.” He quietly whisper to himself, panting. He flicked on his torch and scanned the room.
“Strange..” he says as he walks down a flight of stairs, his mind begins to panic.
“Was the map wrong? Did do someone incorrectly? Why did I follow senile grandpa’s instructions?” Questions flood his mind as he kept searching.
Roger could not find any books in the library and with every step, his state of mind gets worse. Until he found a switch. In a last ditch effort, Roger turned on the switch and to his surprise, the black rectangles turns bright and lit up the room.
The rectangle states, “Welcome to the smart Library of Congress. “
Roger smiles as he walked forward and place his hands on the keyboard. | |
[WP] In a post-apocalyptic era, books of the old world are the most valuable and sought after treasures. Your grandfather, who just passed, left you a map that supposedly leads to the legendary "Library of Congress". | Ray's car rolled down the perfectly maintained highway. He was in search of the only thing that could push this stagnant world forwards - information.
On the other lane, a truck rolled past. It was slick and unlabeled, the driver's seat was empty. A load of something bound from the Eastern space ports to the Western cities. These trucks didn't go by often. Not many people were around to use power anymore.
The mile counter on the car was broken, but he was most of the way to the east coast. Ahead was a city, the shining road signs called it "Philadelphia". Ray hadn't heard of that city. The only places he knew were St. Louis - his home - and DC, his destination. His grandfather worked in the old government, hundreds of years ago. He was sick, and before the bots took him off to that terrible hospital he gave up his greatest secret.
Old Gramps knew where the old capital was, and the heart of knowledge within. He said no one lived there anymore, the last people left decades before Ray was born.
His parents told him not to leave, to stay at home reading the ten or twenty books they owned. They couldn't download any more - the last internet connection in the city went down when he was just a child. There were other books out there, but many of them were gone. He stopped in another big city called Chicago, and all the libraries were looted. The city's towers were impenetrable, protected by locked doors and security robots. The suburbs had burned to the ground. Maybe their firefighters broke down - there weren't any humans to keep them working.
Passing through the new city now. The signs ahead said New York, like in Grandpa's guide. "Follow the road to Chicago, go south and then east, and drive until you find the road to New York." Sometimes Ray worried that he had lost the way, but these signs gave him a new hope. The next one said to turn left.
Two hours later the car started beeping. The lights on the dashboard said "low battery". Then the car said it was driving to a charge station. It never did that before. It always said it had no connection, and he had to find one himself. There were thousands along the road but so many of them were broken down. The car took the next turn off, all on its own. When it arrived at the station, the car pulled up by itself and even plugged itself in.
Ray looked around at the landscape. The building by the charge station was collapsed, but the charger looked brand new. Some of the houses looked like they were damaged by fire or water or both. The road was in flawless condition. That's how it was everywhere without humans.
A few hour after the car left, again all on its own, a city looked on the horizon. New York, it seemed. Its towers stretched into the clouds. Another truck passed by, again going the other direction. It was another featureless tanker.
The car approached the city, through more dead and dilapidated suburbs. Ray thought he saw a human but it was just some poor feral animal.
The car turned away from the city all on its own, bound south for what must be DC. As he left Philadelphia the car asked where he was going. It said it had regained connection with the web. He said "I'm going to DC." The car responded: "Okay. Plotting a route for _Washington DC Carport_." It felt like a moment of human contact. He kept trying to talk to the car, but it didn't listen. Sometimes, if he said its name, it replied "I don't understand the question," or "I didn't hear what you said."
Ray decided to read a book. There was an old textbook he had on his e-reader, one of the few his family owned. _The Wonder of Biology: an introduction to biochem_. He had read it many times, but never really understood what it was talking about. He worried he might be stupid, but Gramps said he just didn't have the education he needed. The old man seemed to understand it just fine.
Ray closed the book and wondered if the old man was dead now. He had been to the hospital once, when he broke his arm playing. The doctor said it would get him some medicine, but just came back with a bandage and a stick. It wrapped his arm up with mechanical precision, but it hurt for weeks. His parents said they were sorry and there was nothing anyone could do. The hospital ran out of medicine decades ago.
There were a lot of small towns and suburbs here, but they were all abandoned and collapsed. Everything was in disrepair except, of course, for the roads. A machine was going along one of them, eating up the top surface and putting new road down. The road ahead of the machine looked worn, but there weren't any people around, or cars.
He decided to ask the car something again.
"How far are we from DC?"
"Your destination is _thirty miles_ ahead."
A mile was a pretty long distance, but Ray knew cars were fast. He was sure to get there soon.
Minute by minute, the houses around started to look better. Abandoned suburbs gave way to planned parks and forests. It seemed like there were a lot of maintenance bots around. Then, the car left the highway. It drove through an orderly grid of city streets, but they didn't have any towers above them.
The car pulled off the road into a low building. It stopped on an empty spot of floor.
"We have reached _Washington DC_."
"Where is the library of Congress?"
"_The Library of Congress_ is located at _101 Independence avenue_."
"Can you take me there?"
"Yes."
The car did not move. Ray sat for a moment, confused.
"Will you take me there?"
"Going to _101 Independence Avenue_."
And so Ray stood on the threshold of knowledge, the first one to do so in many long years. | A loud boom echoes throughout the dim lit halls as Roger pushed the doors open to the library.
“Here it is.” He quietly whisper to himself, panting. He flicked on his torch and scanned the room.
“Strange..” he says as he walks down a flight of stairs, his mind begins to panic.
“Was the map wrong? Did do someone incorrectly? Why did I follow senile grandpa’s instructions?” Questions flood his mind as he kept searching.
Roger could not find any books in the library and with every step, his state of mind gets worse. Until he found a switch. In a last ditch effort, Roger turned on the switch and to his surprise, the black rectangles turns bright and lit up the room.
The rectangle states, “Welcome to the smart Library of Congress. “
Roger smiles as he walked forward and place his hands on the keyboard. | |
[WP] In a post-apocalyptic era, books of the old world are the most valuable and sought after treasures. Your grandfather, who just passed, left you a map that supposedly leads to the legendary "Library of Congress". | Our ancestors had jokingly said "You can't believe everything you read on the internet." This has become more true than ever over the past decade. Apparently it started with meddling in elections, spreading news of fake events. Then it was rallying third world countries to overthrow their governments and causing alliances to fall apart when public opinion was brainwashed by constant rumors that the other side couldn't be trusted anymore.
It was the new way to win a war; to spread lies that hurt the enemy without a drop of blood spilled.
After a time, you couldn't look up how to clean a pressure cooker without accidentally making a chlorine bomb. GPS locations, store hours and mailing addresses were compromised when companies got in on the newest corporate warfare tactics. "Charge your new phone in the microwave!" "Computer going slow? Download this!"
And do NOT try any of the suggestions on how to remove warts. Mercury is toxic despite what their website says.
But here we are; you can't believe anything you read on the internet anymore.
I looked down at my watch. I was early but there wasn't anything better to do. I rode my squeaking bike past a few closed shops, a car dealership with its unusable cars, a butcher shop that was open for business, but only if you were interested in the stuff grocery stores couldn't sell any longer.
I stepped from the dirt road onto my grandfathers porch, over the tripwire and took a sidestep like he had always showed. The rest of my family wasn't here yet, but they shouldn't be long.
I turned on his old record player "Sounds from the Sixties" the cover said. The *Ninteen* sixties, I reminded myself. I admired how clean the place was - the dust got everywhere, but not here. I wondered how much of that was due to cleaning and how much was due to him rarely opening the door.
I heard a noise on the porch - I ducked around a wall clutching my knife. The door opened. Markus? My dad said. "Yea" I said. "Just got here a bit early."
"Be careful around here - Your grandfather got pretty paranoid in his age."
We looked over the final documents - a request for the burial plot next to his wife and funeral arrangements, the location around the house of traps and a few treasures (hopefully he hadn't forgotten any of those) and a paper with a few certain things that went to certain people.
I was hoping for one of his guns, but Dad said I was still too young. He always said I was more likely to shoot myself than whoever I was tryin to hit. As is was, I was left with a set of marbles, a stopwatch, an old map, a small ceramic pig, (which was apparently for coins) another knife which looked a bit better off than my own, a thorium necklace that had long since lost most of its glow, and a key. As I pocketed the items I saw my older brother Jayne eyeing the knife. I gave him a look that hopefully said how hard I would fight for it. He looked away. He got a lot of the stuff that grandpa always used to tinker with, along with his own (bigger) knife. He grinned contentedly.
I brought out my treasures that night to look them over carefully. Jayne was there too. "You should put that glow stick on the knife" he suggested. I looked at him and he continued "In case you need to find it at night. Its not very bright. Won't be useful as a flashlight - that's for sure." I always looked up to him for his ability to make something out of nothing. "Can you do that?" I handed him the pieces.
I watched Jayne work with his new tools, precise and forceful at the same time. I couldn't help but remember those stories grandpa had told me time and again - how the great nations had doomed themselves trying to bring down the others, how the constant threat of nuclear annihilation had worn on people over time, how civilization didn't collapse in an instant, but took its time with dying. I realized in a jolt that that was the same way he lived his life - afraid of the outside world, while slowly withering away.
"Do you think the world will ever be the way it used to be?" I asked suddenly. He looked up, distracted.
"Like, will everything ever be green and rich like Grandpa said?"
"No." He answered simply. "There isn't enough fuel for another industrial revolution like we had the first time. Or its all buried or hard to convert. I learned about that in school" He paused "We had our chance and they probably ruined it." I noted the change from *we* to *they*.
He went to school three days a week where he learned all sorts of things. How to sew, how to cook, where to find water and how to build a fire. Some things were less practical too - like history and geography and math and reading. He said school had always been this way.
He finished with the knife and we looked over our other new treasures. "Whoa! this map is **old**" he said suddenly "Look" he pointed "It says Washington DC! That was the old capitol" I think its called Jensensville now." Suddenly he froze. I looked to him for a hint at why. 'Library of Congress'... he read slowly... "No one knew where it was anymore... I think?... " We looked at each other, then back to the map. "That's... not far... " Well lets go see it!" I said excitedly.
He considered for a moment... "Be ready at dawn"
I didn't quite understand the pure amazement in his eyes, but I knew it was big. | A loud boom echoes throughout the dim lit halls as Roger pushed the doors open to the library.
“Here it is.” He quietly whisper to himself, panting. He flicked on his torch and scanned the room.
“Strange..” he says as he walks down a flight of stairs, his mind begins to panic.
“Was the map wrong? Did do someone incorrectly? Why did I follow senile grandpa’s instructions?” Questions flood his mind as he kept searching.
Roger could not find any books in the library and with every step, his state of mind gets worse. Until he found a switch. In a last ditch effort, Roger turned on the switch and to his surprise, the black rectangles turns bright and lit up the room.
The rectangle states, “Welcome to the smart Library of Congress. “
Roger smiles as he walked forward and place his hands on the keyboard. | |
[WP] In a post-apocalyptic era, books of the old world are the most valuable and sought after treasures. Your grandfather, who just passed, left you a map that supposedly leads to the legendary "Library of Congress". | The day had been long and all the others were asleep. Only grandad and I remained by the last of the fire. The firelight glinted on the steel of the barricades nearby.
‘What was it like, though?’ I said to him, as though we were continuing a conversation.
‘It was amazing,’ he answered. ‘It was great. The internet was gone by ‘25 or so, but the books remained. People always think a world collapses suddenly, but it’s a slow thing. You’re thinking, God, could this even happen? And then suddenly, it’s already too late.’
I was half-afraid to say anything. It was hard to get the old man to open up, and easy to break the spell.
‘What kinds of things did you read?’ I asked, tentatively.
‘Oh, gosh. Loads of stuff. Books about science and history and technology. But stupid stuff, too, like westerns and thrillers.’
‘Thrillers?’
‘Exciting stories. Stories about the kind of life you might live, if… Well.’ He trailed off. ‘Stability seems boring until it’s gone. I sometimes think every few generations we need to re-learn that.’
He was silent and then he asked me: ‘Did you ever hear of the Library of Congress?’
I shook my head.
‘Well, of all the libraries this one was the most special. In the years of the Fall, the government classified it as CFI - know what that is?’
‘No,’ I said.
‘Critical Future Infrastructure. The things we’d need to rebuild once the virus was brought back under control. Only’ - he gestured at the little settlement we were sitting in, hemmed in by the patched-together steel walls - ‘that future never came. But some of the CFIs are still out there, people say, still protected by the bots.’
The bots. I knew what they were all right. In ‘75 they had attacked the settlement - a huge, tracked carrier machine had crashed through the gate, then super-fast, super-agile bots poured from it, sweeping through every room of every building. They smashed furniture, ripped chunks out of walls, pulled up floors in search of something unknown. If you ran out of their way they mostly left you alone, but if you weren’t fast enough you might get a bone-shattering swipe as they pushed you aside. Three people had resisted and ended up dead. I was only five years old but I remember it - the heavy engine thrum of the carrier machine, the whining motors of the robots and their horrifyingly-fast movements, the screams of people, the crashing destruction of the search parties. Oh yeah; I knew what bots were.
‘So the library - the Library of Congress - there are books there still?’
He met my eyes and smiled. ‘Tens and tens and tens of thousands. Maybe even millions. No-one knows for sure. Books on everything you could imagine. A glorious history of humankind.’
I felt my stomach tighten at the thought. In all my life I had never seen more than three books together.
‘Where is it?’ I asked him.
But he was staring into space remembering something, or maybe imagining something. I was silent again, waiting for him.
‘Do you know the tree near Highville where we’ve often played?’ he said to me.
‘Of course,’ I said. We went there every summer.
He was silent again, and I felt a sudden hint of nerves without knowing why.
‘Jim,’ he said, ‘There are… There are things your father has asked me not to talk to you about. Not yet. So you can’t ask too many questions right now, do you understand?’
I nodded, my eyes wide.
‘At the base of that tree is a root market with an X, and another marked with a Y. When you’re there next, I want you to do something for me. Run a piece of string between those two points. Fix it so that one end is fixed on the cross of the X, and the other on the intersection point of the lines of the Y. You understand me? And then half way along the string, dig a little hole. You won’t need to go down far. You’ll find a box there. Inside it are… Well, you’ll see. Old papers. Very precious ones. From when I was a soldier.’
‘But… Let’s just do that together?’ I said to him, half-statement half-question. Fear was rising in me now.
‘We might,’ he said, and he smiled at me. ‘We might. Don’t worry about anything for now, OK? Just promise me you’ll do it, when you’re there. Do you promise?’
‘I promise,’ I said, my voice sounding strange to me.
‘Good.’ He stood, carefully, favouring his right side. ‘This is our secret, right? Not for anyone else. When you have the box you can decide who to tell or not tell, but for now it’s just us, OK?’
‘I promise,’ I said again.
‘Good. You’re a good kid, Jim. I don’t tell you that enough. But it’s getting late. Time for us both to get some sleep.’
| My grandfather owned three books. One was a dictionary with a bright blue cover. The left corner peeled away from the rest of the pages.
We read together from the dictionary each night. I repeated each word he read, sounding out the phonemes until the words were foreign.
The second book was a medical textbook. It was heavy and black. The cover had a picture of a skull on it; a colour light up each individual bones. It was the most valuable thing we owned. Grandpa told me to always keep it tucked out of sight.
When it wasn’t wrapped in fabric and hidden in the back panel of my dresser, I buried my head in the text. I would read the names of the muscles and bones. I prodded my patella as I bent my knee. I ran my finger over my brow ridge.
Grandpa said I would’ve made a fine doctor if things had been different. I scoffed at the suggestion.
The third book wasn’t a book but a journal bounded in time-worn leather. Grandpa said it was a heirloom - passed down from his grandfather.
I never read the journal. The pages were too fragile and the string that wound around the book was frayed brittle.
It wasn’t until a month after his death that I opened it.
I’m not sure if he ever read it. I’m not sure if I even *should* have read it. It might not be helpful.
Grandpa never taught me about the gap between knowledge and life. I had to learn that on my own.
I knew every muscle that he tore, every bone that he crushed in the accident.
That didn’t help me save him. I think, really, it made it worse.
I knew enough to hope.
Stray hope also drove me to open the journal. The journal full of a world that existed only in a dream.
The world of the journal died before I was born. All I see are its ashes. They float in the air and drift across the barren ground.
Even still, I packed a bag. I tucked the journal into the inner pocket of my canvas jacket.
*The Library of Congress*.
I push forward on the chance it may still exist.
/r/liswrites
| |
[WP] In a post-apocalyptic era, books of the old world are the most valuable and sought after treasures. Your grandfather, who just passed, left you a map that supposedly leads to the legendary "Library of Congress". | I was lucky to have had a grandfather. I knew it. It shone in the jealous gazes of my friends whenever the wrinkled old man was present. They didn't hate me for it, not quite; but it was still something very few people could claim, and in the world our grandparents’ generation had left us, rarity was a commodity in itself.
He was a wealth of information, telling us stories from before the Fire, fantastic tales of metal cages that rushed people from place to place. For that matter, his tales of what they had called the ocean could have kept me entertained for years. Massive amounts of water stretching further than the eye could see…
All of his stories died with him, though, when the Wrack caught up with him like it had already caught up with everyone else born before the Fire. I'd seen the damage the Wrack caused before, of course; in those early days we all had. When Mom and Dad caught it, when I was about ten, at least then Grandpa had been there to help care for them. As their bodies contorted into twisted knots of tightened muscles, their eyes bugging out of their skulls, all red and teary and unseeing, he had seen to them. I could hear their screaming moans of agony, their wet bloody coughs, but Grandpa had shielded me from the worst of it.
When Mom and Dad died they were the last of the old timers, except for Grandpa. Grandpa took us all in, teaching us how to survive in this world they had left for us. We learned how to fight, how to shoot what few functioning weapons we could scavenge, how to hunt. All of that paled, though, to the most important lesson Grandpa passed on. By the light of an oil lamp that had survived nearly a century on this fucked up planet, Grandpa huddled us together in the House and taught us how to read.
We devoured those lessons, always begun with the same phrase - “Listen up, children,” Grandpa would say. “If you can learn what I am trying to teach you, you will be able to fix what we have broken.” We learned. Grandpa was patient, yet firm; consistent, yet understanding. He pushed us, perhaps sensing his time was short, forcing us to take these lessons with us every moment of every day. As the years went on, reading became more and more natural to us. Soon we could decipher the texts dangling from twisted metal poles on our daily hunting routes, and began to share these discoveries with one another, each of us alight with an insatiable hunger for more.
In all of these, over the years that passed after Mom and Dad died, I was always the fastest study, and Grandpa saw it. His face would beam with pride as I would read the words he had scrawled on the wall of the House aloud, sure of their meaning. “Keep this lesson,” he would say. “When you find the books, you will need it.”
We had never heard this word before - books - and asked him what it meant. He launched into another of his tales, of how men would share their learning and stories with one another in the time before the Fire. Words would dance on pieces of paper, bound together by the hundreds and thousands in things called books. Then he told us of mysterious places where books would be gathered for all people to come and learn from them. Entertainment, he said, could be found in books. Stories to distract the mind and dazzle the senses. But more, he said, they could learn discoveries from far off lands and share knowledge with all of mankind.
We were confounded by this story. The twelve of us sat in rapt attention, eyes wide, soaking up every word. The images conjured in our minds were of sparkling towers rising to the sun, filled with these strange “books.” We begged Grandpa to take us to one. He refused, but we insisted, demanding that we needed to have more to read. His eyes twinkled with a sadness that could shake the foundation of the earth, but he relented.
The following morning we rose early, as the sun crested the cracked skyline of shattered concrete and steel, eager to see the glittering spires of knowledge. Grandpa knew what we would find. Now, looking back, I can see his expression for what it was. Regret.
Silence hung in the air that morning, broken only by the sound of twelve excited kids scrambling over rubble. We didn't say a word the entire trip. We were too excited, our thoughts hushed by the anticipation we felt vibrating through every fiber of our beings. Grandpa was just as quiet, picking his way through the ruins with his usual slow carefulness. He moved with a tedium we always found frustrating, but that day so much more frustrating as it felt like he was intentionally slowing our progress. Still, we stayed close, never venturing beyond his sight. He was old, and safe, and sure.
It took two hours, crawling over the dusty concrete and avoiding jutting yellowed glass and the steel ribs of broken buildings, but we traveled with ease, invigorated by the adrenaline of promise. But what awaited us at the end of our journey was no gleaming spire, but a squat square of crumbling disappointment. Jene cried, weeping sobs that shook her tiny frame and filled the air between the shells of long dead buildings. Grandpa just stood there, head bowed. His image burned into my memory, a broken statue of a lost glory. All that was left of his generation, left to bear the weight of their horrible deeds alone.
Sam and Lun had wanted to explore the ruins, convinced there were still some secrets hidden within, but Grandpa would not let them. “It is dangerous, children,” he had insisted, his voice full of dread and sorrow. It was a tone he almost never used, a serious tone that brooked no argument. Sam and Lun had relented, and the thirteen of us had left to return to the House. Jene wept silently the entire way home, careful - as we all were - to stay silent. Even in daylight the city's corpse was home to a thousand deadly dangers.
Things had changed, after our trip to what was left of the library. Grandpa’s lessons focused less on learning to read and more on the dangers that lurked beyond the safety of the House. Sam and Lun still whispered of returning to the library, while Grandpa slept, but they never dared attempt such a journey. His warning had rung loud and terrible in the stillness of the ruined city, and they knew better that to brave something Grandpa said was dangerous. The trip had affected Jene the most though; she was changed, forlorn. Her hope was utterly lost, and with it all interest in learning to read. That, I think, hurt Grandpa the most. I think he saw the change in Jene as his generation's greatest failure.
Things changed again when Grandpa caught the Wrack. It started the same way it always had, the same way it had started for Mom and Dad before Grandpa had shielded me from it. A cough, wet and thick with black blood. It filled the small room of the House we had all been huddled in, interrupting one of Grandpa's rare stories of the time before the Fire. Everything stopped. Grandpa's ragged breath as he wiped his wrinkled, spotted hand on his mouth echoed in the tiny space. Goosebumps raced up my spine. Most of the others had been too young to know that sound. Some of them had lost their parents before they could be haunted by the black specks flecking the lips of the damned. I remembered.
I know Grandpa remembered. His eyes went wide as he stared at the back of his hand. Tears welled up in his eyes, tears I knew would stay there until he breathed his last. The Wrack made its victims weep, in a macabre echo of the horror their generation had inflicted on the world. Grandpa knew, and as his eyes met mine I knew he saw that I knew.
The story ended abruptly, lost forever. I told Grent to take the others off to practice their knifework and crossed the cramped space to Grandpa's side.
“What do I do?” I asked him, knowing the answer.
His teary eyes met my own. I could feel the sobs starting deep in my chest as I tried to push them aside. I had to be what he had been. I had to be strong, for the others. He knew it, too. He grabbed at me, his vision blurring from the tears.
“You can't do anything,” he said, his voice cracking into another of the damning coughs. As he regained control of his voice he finished his thought. “For me. You can help them.”
I nodded. “I will take care of them.”
“Not just the other kids.” I studied his face as it contorted in pain. The Wrack worked with terrifying swiftness. “All of them.”
I think now, as I recall it all, I had some idea what he meant. But in the heat of a moment, emotion clouds the mind and blocks the clarity that hindsight restores. “All of who?” I had asked, my own voice breaking as the sobs continued to threaten my stability.
His fingers, leathery and corded, gripped painfully into my arm. “All of everyone.” Another cough. “Everyone who's left. There is a library.”
“A library?” I parroted his words as if by repeating them I could grant them some deeper meaning.
“*The* library. They called it the Library of Congress.”
I tried to understand, but the words made no sense to me. What was a Congress? He could see my confusion.
“There is a map. Under my pillow. Follow it.” The cough interrupted him and the black blood shone on his lips. A moan, inhuman and agonized, forced its way from his mouth, but he choked it down. “Take the others. Today. Get away from here, and use what I have taught you.”
“But-”
He cut me off with a painful twist of my arm. Even dying, the strength had not left him. “There is nothing you can do for me but watch me die. The answers are in the Library of Congress. Go there. Go now.”
Darkness would be on the House soon, I knew from the shadows lengthening through the narrow window, but Grandpa's tone had been the steely tone that allowed no argument. We armed ourselves and packed what we could carry and headed out into the dark, looking for something we could only hope might still exist. | My grandfather owned three books. One was a dictionary with a bright blue cover. The left corner peeled away from the rest of the pages.
We read together from the dictionary each night. I repeated each word he read, sounding out the phonemes until the words were foreign.
The second book was a medical textbook. It was heavy and black. The cover had a picture of a skull on it; a colour light up each individual bones. It was the most valuable thing we owned. Grandpa told me to always keep it tucked out of sight.
When it wasn’t wrapped in fabric and hidden in the back panel of my dresser, I buried my head in the text. I would read the names of the muscles and bones. I prodded my patella as I bent my knee. I ran my finger over my brow ridge.
Grandpa said I would’ve made a fine doctor if things had been different. I scoffed at the suggestion.
The third book wasn’t a book but a journal bounded in time-worn leather. Grandpa said it was a heirloom - passed down from his grandfather.
I never read the journal. The pages were too fragile and the string that wound around the book was frayed brittle.
It wasn’t until a month after his death that I opened it.
I’m not sure if he ever read it. I’m not sure if I even *should* have read it. It might not be helpful.
Grandpa never taught me about the gap between knowledge and life. I had to learn that on my own.
I knew every muscle that he tore, every bone that he crushed in the accident.
That didn’t help me save him. I think, really, it made it worse.
I knew enough to hope.
Stray hope also drove me to open the journal. The journal full of a world that existed only in a dream.
The world of the journal died before I was born. All I see are its ashes. They float in the air and drift across the barren ground.
Even still, I packed a bag. I tucked the journal into the inner pocket of my canvas jacket.
*The Library of Congress*.
I push forward on the chance it may still exist.
/r/liswrites
| |
[WP] In a post-apocalyptic era, books of the old world are the most valuable and sought after treasures. Your grandfather, who just passed, left you a map that supposedly leads to the legendary "Library of Congress". | Our ancestors had jokingly said "You can't believe everything you read on the internet." This has become more true than ever over the past decade. Apparently it started with meddling in elections, spreading news of fake events. Then it was rallying third world countries to overthrow their governments and causing alliances to fall apart when public opinion was brainwashed by constant rumors that the other side couldn't be trusted anymore.
It was the new way to win a war; to spread lies that hurt the enemy without a drop of blood spilled.
After a time, you couldn't look up how to clean a pressure cooker without accidentally making a chlorine bomb. GPS locations, store hours and mailing addresses were compromised when companies got in on the newest corporate warfare tactics. "Charge your new phone in the microwave!" "Computer going slow? Download this!"
And do NOT try any of the suggestions on how to remove warts. Mercury is toxic despite what their website says.
But here we are; you can't believe anything you read on the internet anymore.
I looked down at my watch. I was early but there wasn't anything better to do. I rode my squeaking bike past a few closed shops, a car dealership with its unusable cars, a butcher shop that was open for business, but only if you were interested in the stuff grocery stores couldn't sell any longer.
I stepped from the dirt road onto my grandfathers porch, over the tripwire and took a sidestep like he had always showed. The rest of my family wasn't here yet, but they shouldn't be long.
I turned on his old record player "Sounds from the Sixties" the cover said. The *Ninteen* sixties, I reminded myself. I admired how clean the place was - the dust got everywhere, but not here. I wondered how much of that was due to cleaning and how much was due to him rarely opening the door.
I heard a noise on the porch - I ducked around a wall clutching my knife. The door opened. Markus? My dad said. "Yea" I said. "Just got here a bit early."
"Be careful around here - Your grandfather got pretty paranoid in his age."
We looked over the final documents - a request for the burial plot next to his wife and funeral arrangements, the location around the house of traps and a few treasures (hopefully he hadn't forgotten any of those) and a paper with a few certain things that went to certain people.
I was hoping for one of his guns, but Dad said I was still too young. He always said I was more likely to shoot myself than whoever I was tryin to hit. As is was, I was left with a set of marbles, a stopwatch, an old map, a small ceramic pig, (which was apparently for coins) another knife which looked a bit better off than my own, a thorium necklace that had long since lost most of its glow, and a key. As I pocketed the items I saw my older brother Jayne eyeing the knife. I gave him a look that hopefully said how hard I would fight for it. He looked away. He got a lot of the stuff that grandpa always used to tinker with, along with his own (bigger) knife. He grinned contentedly.
I brought out my treasures that night to look them over carefully. Jayne was there too. "You should put that glow stick on the knife" he suggested. I looked at him and he continued "In case you need to find it at night. Its not very bright. Won't be useful as a flashlight - that's for sure." I always looked up to him for his ability to make something out of nothing. "Can you do that?" I handed him the pieces.
I watched Jayne work with his new tools, precise and forceful at the same time. I couldn't help but remember those stories grandpa had told me time and again - how the great nations had doomed themselves trying to bring down the others, how the constant threat of nuclear annihilation had worn on people over time, how civilization didn't collapse in an instant, but took its time with dying. I realized in a jolt that that was the same way he lived his life - afraid of the outside world, while slowly withering away.
"Do you think the world will ever be the way it used to be?" I asked suddenly. He looked up, distracted.
"Like, will everything ever be green and rich like Grandpa said?"
"No." He answered simply. "There isn't enough fuel for another industrial revolution like we had the first time. Or its all buried or hard to convert. I learned about that in school" He paused "We had our chance and they probably ruined it." I noted the change from *we* to *they*.
He went to school three days a week where he learned all sorts of things. How to sew, how to cook, where to find water and how to build a fire. Some things were less practical too - like history and geography and math and reading. He said school had always been this way.
He finished with the knife and we looked over our other new treasures. "Whoa! this map is **old**" he said suddenly "Look" he pointed "It says Washington DC! That was the old capitol" I think its called Jensensville now." Suddenly he froze. I looked to him for a hint at why. 'Library of Congress'... he read slowly... "No one knew where it was anymore... I think?... " We looked at each other, then back to the map. "That's... not far... " Well lets go see it!" I said excitedly.
He considered for a moment... "Be ready at dawn"
I didn't quite understand the pure amazement in his eyes, but I knew it was big. | Ray's car rolled down the perfectly maintained highway. He was in search of the only thing that could push this stagnant world forwards - information.
On the other lane, a truck rolled past. It was slick and unlabeled, the driver's seat was empty. A load of something bound from the Eastern space ports to the Western cities. These trucks didn't go by often. Not many people were around to use power anymore.
The mile counter on the car was broken, but he was most of the way to the east coast. Ahead was a city, the shining road signs called it "Philadelphia". Ray hadn't heard of that city. The only places he knew were St. Louis - his home - and DC, his destination. His grandfather worked in the old government, hundreds of years ago. He was sick, and before the bots took him off to that terrible hospital he gave up his greatest secret.
Old Gramps knew where the old capital was, and the heart of knowledge within. He said no one lived there anymore, the last people left decades before Ray was born.
His parents told him not to leave, to stay at home reading the ten or twenty books they owned. They couldn't download any more - the last internet connection in the city went down when he was just a child. There were other books out there, but many of them were gone. He stopped in another big city called Chicago, and all the libraries were looted. The city's towers were impenetrable, protected by locked doors and security robots. The suburbs had burned to the ground. Maybe their firefighters broke down - there weren't any humans to keep them working.
Passing through the new city now. The signs ahead said New York, like in Grandpa's guide. "Follow the road to Chicago, go south and then east, and drive until you find the road to New York." Sometimes Ray worried that he had lost the way, but these signs gave him a new hope. The next one said to turn left.
Two hours later the car started beeping. The lights on the dashboard said "low battery". Then the car said it was driving to a charge station. It never did that before. It always said it had no connection, and he had to find one himself. There were thousands along the road but so many of them were broken down. The car took the next turn off, all on its own. When it arrived at the station, the car pulled up by itself and even plugged itself in.
Ray looked around at the landscape. The building by the charge station was collapsed, but the charger looked brand new. Some of the houses looked like they were damaged by fire or water or both. The road was in flawless condition. That's how it was everywhere without humans.
A few hour after the car left, again all on its own, a city looked on the horizon. New York, it seemed. Its towers stretched into the clouds. Another truck passed by, again going the other direction. It was another featureless tanker.
The car approached the city, through more dead and dilapidated suburbs. Ray thought he saw a human but it was just some poor feral animal.
The car turned away from the city all on its own, bound south for what must be DC. As he left Philadelphia the car asked where he was going. It said it had regained connection with the web. He said "I'm going to DC." The car responded: "Okay. Plotting a route for _Washington DC Carport_." It felt like a moment of human contact. He kept trying to talk to the car, but it didn't listen. Sometimes, if he said its name, it replied "I don't understand the question," or "I didn't hear what you said."
Ray decided to read a book. There was an old textbook he had on his e-reader, one of the few his family owned. _The Wonder of Biology: an introduction to biochem_. He had read it many times, but never really understood what it was talking about. He worried he might be stupid, but Gramps said he just didn't have the education he needed. The old man seemed to understand it just fine.
Ray closed the book and wondered if the old man was dead now. He had been to the hospital once, when he broke his arm playing. The doctor said it would get him some medicine, but just came back with a bandage and a stick. It wrapped his arm up with mechanical precision, but it hurt for weeks. His parents said they were sorry and there was nothing anyone could do. The hospital ran out of medicine decades ago.
There were a lot of small towns and suburbs here, but they were all abandoned and collapsed. Everything was in disrepair except, of course, for the roads. A machine was going along one of them, eating up the top surface and putting new road down. The road ahead of the machine looked worn, but there weren't any people around, or cars.
He decided to ask the car something again.
"How far are we from DC?"
"Your destination is _thirty miles_ ahead."
A mile was a pretty long distance, but Ray knew cars were fast. He was sure to get there soon.
Minute by minute, the houses around started to look better. Abandoned suburbs gave way to planned parks and forests. It seemed like there were a lot of maintenance bots around. Then, the car left the highway. It drove through an orderly grid of city streets, but they didn't have any towers above them.
The car pulled off the road into a low building. It stopped on an empty spot of floor.
"We have reached _Washington DC_."
"Where is the library of Congress?"
"_The Library of Congress_ is located at _101 Independence avenue_."
"Can you take me there?"
"Yes."
The car did not move. Ray sat for a moment, confused.
"Will you take me there?"
"Going to _101 Independence Avenue_."
And so Ray stood on the threshold of knowledge, the first one to do so in many long years. | |
[WP] In a post-apocalyptic era, books of the old world are the most valuable and sought after treasures. Your grandfather, who just passed, left you a map that supposedly leads to the legendary "Library of Congress". | I glanced down at the map once again. Surely *that* couldn’t be the right building! Out of the hundreds of towering skyscrapers that once made up Washington D.C in 2134, the one that contained the legendary Library of Congress was barely three stories?! It was unreal. The small building was made of marble that had once been a glorious white, but was now a darkened brown from years of enduring the pollution of the city.
Pollution was a major problem in the city. Ever since 2040, the city had been almost inaccessible due to the heavy layers of smog that surrounded it. You need a pollution mask to walk within a 50 mile radius of the city. To walk right in the center, a full suit, like the one I currently sported, was essentially. However, even pollution suits couldn’t do very much against the acid rain of the city.
I took a hesitant step towards the old marble structure. Part of me didn’t want my fantasies to be ruined- part of me wanted to just pretend that the map was real, and that my grandfather was still alive, and that everything was okay. But the greater part of me had to know. I had to find out if the legends were true.
I stepped over plies of rubble in the street, gaining speed as I strode towards my goal. I crossed an old ground-way, and stepped started up the cracked marble stairs, taking them two at a time. I breathless by the time I finally reached the top. I slowly walked towards the old wooden doors, trying to catch my breath all the while. I placed my hand on the golden handle and paused.
*This is for you, grandfather,* I thought quickly. I gave the door a hard push. The door emitted a loud creak, and promptly fell right off its hinges and into the room behind. A cloud of dust quickly arose, but I didn’t even notice. I was looking beyond the door, and into the great interior.
Into the legendary Library of Congress.
What I saw was incredible.
The legends were true.
| I looked at the map. Held in my hands, both of them still cold from digging the grave.
Books, what need do I have of books? Books didn't save the old world. Smart people wrote smart books which stupid people ignored.
I know my grandfather loved the old world, but in our wanderings I had seen the ruins of the cities. Their architecture mimicked their power structures, the wealth were for only a few. And even those who sought to rectify that wrote even more books that led to even more bloodshed.
I placed the map under the dry wood. Kindling at least keep people alive. Our books need a fresh start.
| |
[WP] In a post-apocalyptic era, books of the old world are the most valuable and sought after treasures. Your grandfather, who just passed, left you a map that supposedly leads to the legendary "Library of Congress". | Our ancestors had jokingly said "You can't believe everything you read on the internet." This has become more true than ever over the past decade. Apparently it started with meddling in elections, spreading news of fake events. Then it was rallying third world countries to overthrow their governments and causing alliances to fall apart when public opinion was brainwashed by constant rumors that the other side couldn't be trusted anymore.
It was the new way to win a war; to spread lies that hurt the enemy without a drop of blood spilled.
After a time, you couldn't look up how to clean a pressure cooker without accidentally making a chlorine bomb. GPS locations, store hours and mailing addresses were compromised when companies got in on the newest corporate warfare tactics. "Charge your new phone in the microwave!" "Computer going slow? Download this!"
And do NOT try any of the suggestions on how to remove warts. Mercury is toxic despite what their website says.
But here we are; you can't believe anything you read on the internet anymore.
I looked down at my watch. I was early but there wasn't anything better to do. I rode my squeaking bike past a few closed shops, a car dealership with its unusable cars, a butcher shop that was open for business, but only if you were interested in the stuff grocery stores couldn't sell any longer.
I stepped from the dirt road onto my grandfathers porch, over the tripwire and took a sidestep like he had always showed. The rest of my family wasn't here yet, but they shouldn't be long.
I turned on his old record player "Sounds from the Sixties" the cover said. The *Ninteen* sixties, I reminded myself. I admired how clean the place was - the dust got everywhere, but not here. I wondered how much of that was due to cleaning and how much was due to him rarely opening the door.
I heard a noise on the porch - I ducked around a wall clutching my knife. The door opened. Markus? My dad said. "Yea" I said. "Just got here a bit early."
"Be careful around here - Your grandfather got pretty paranoid in his age."
We looked over the final documents - a request for the burial plot next to his wife and funeral arrangements, the location around the house of traps and a few treasures (hopefully he hadn't forgotten any of those) and a paper with a few certain things that went to certain people.
I was hoping for one of his guns, but Dad said I was still too young. He always said I was more likely to shoot myself than whoever I was tryin to hit. As is was, I was left with a set of marbles, a stopwatch, an old map, a small ceramic pig, (which was apparently for coins) another knife which looked a bit better off than my own, a thorium necklace that had long since lost most of its glow, and a key. As I pocketed the items I saw my older brother Jayne eyeing the knife. I gave him a look that hopefully said how hard I would fight for it. He looked away. He got a lot of the stuff that grandpa always used to tinker with, along with his own (bigger) knife. He grinned contentedly.
I brought out my treasures that night to look them over carefully. Jayne was there too. "You should put that glow stick on the knife" he suggested. I looked at him and he continued "In case you need to find it at night. Its not very bright. Won't be useful as a flashlight - that's for sure." I always looked up to him for his ability to make something out of nothing. "Can you do that?" I handed him the pieces.
I watched Jayne work with his new tools, precise and forceful at the same time. I couldn't help but remember those stories grandpa had told me time and again - how the great nations had doomed themselves trying to bring down the others, how the constant threat of nuclear annihilation had worn on people over time, how civilization didn't collapse in an instant, but took its time with dying. I realized in a jolt that that was the same way he lived his life - afraid of the outside world, while slowly withering away.
"Do you think the world will ever be the way it used to be?" I asked suddenly. He looked up, distracted.
"Like, will everything ever be green and rich like Grandpa said?"
"No." He answered simply. "There isn't enough fuel for another industrial revolution like we had the first time. Or its all buried or hard to convert. I learned about that in school" He paused "We had our chance and they probably ruined it." I noted the change from *we* to *they*.
He went to school three days a week where he learned all sorts of things. How to sew, how to cook, where to find water and how to build a fire. Some things were less practical too - like history and geography and math and reading. He said school had always been this way.
He finished with the knife and we looked over our other new treasures. "Whoa! this map is **old**" he said suddenly "Look" he pointed "It says Washington DC! That was the old capitol" I think its called Jensensville now." Suddenly he froze. I looked to him for a hint at why. 'Library of Congress'... he read slowly... "No one knew where it was anymore... I think?... " We looked at each other, then back to the map. "That's... not far... " Well lets go see it!" I said excitedly.
He considered for a moment... "Be ready at dawn"
I didn't quite understand the pure amazement in his eyes, but I knew it was big. | I looked at the map. Held in my hands, both of them still cold from digging the grave.
Books, what need do I have of books? Books didn't save the old world. Smart people wrote smart books which stupid people ignored.
I know my grandfather loved the old world, but in our wanderings I had seen the ruins of the cities. Their architecture mimicked their power structures, the wealth were for only a few. And even those who sought to rectify that wrote even more books that led to even more bloodshed.
I placed the map under the dry wood. Kindling at least keep people alive. Our books need a fresh start.
| |
[WP] In a post-apocalyptic era, books of the old world are the most valuable and sought after treasures. Your grandfather, who just passed, left you a map that supposedly leads to the legendary "Library of Congress". | Our ancestors had jokingly said "You can't believe everything you read on the internet." This has become more true than ever over the past decade. Apparently it started with meddling in elections, spreading news of fake events. Then it was rallying third world countries to overthrow their governments and causing alliances to fall apart when public opinion was brainwashed by constant rumors that the other side couldn't be trusted anymore.
It was the new way to win a war; to spread lies that hurt the enemy without a drop of blood spilled.
After a time, you couldn't look up how to clean a pressure cooker without accidentally making a chlorine bomb. GPS locations, store hours and mailing addresses were compromised when companies got in on the newest corporate warfare tactics. "Charge your new phone in the microwave!" "Computer going slow? Download this!"
And do NOT try any of the suggestions on how to remove warts. Mercury is toxic despite what their website says.
But here we are; you can't believe anything you read on the internet anymore.
I looked down at my watch. I was early but there wasn't anything better to do. I rode my squeaking bike past a few closed shops, a car dealership with its unusable cars, a butcher shop that was open for business, but only if you were interested in the stuff grocery stores couldn't sell any longer.
I stepped from the dirt road onto my grandfathers porch, over the tripwire and took a sidestep like he had always showed. The rest of my family wasn't here yet, but they shouldn't be long.
I turned on his old record player "Sounds from the Sixties" the cover said. The *Ninteen* sixties, I reminded myself. I admired how clean the place was - the dust got everywhere, but not here. I wondered how much of that was due to cleaning and how much was due to him rarely opening the door.
I heard a noise on the porch - I ducked around a wall clutching my knife. The door opened. Markus? My dad said. "Yea" I said. "Just got here a bit early."
"Be careful around here - Your grandfather got pretty paranoid in his age."
We looked over the final documents - a request for the burial plot next to his wife and funeral arrangements, the location around the house of traps and a few treasures (hopefully he hadn't forgotten any of those) and a paper with a few certain things that went to certain people.
I was hoping for one of his guns, but Dad said I was still too young. He always said I was more likely to shoot myself than whoever I was tryin to hit. As is was, I was left with a set of marbles, a stopwatch, an old map, a small ceramic pig, (which was apparently for coins) another knife which looked a bit better off than my own, a thorium necklace that had long since lost most of its glow, and a key. As I pocketed the items I saw my older brother Jayne eyeing the knife. I gave him a look that hopefully said how hard I would fight for it. He looked away. He got a lot of the stuff that grandpa always used to tinker with, along with his own (bigger) knife. He grinned contentedly.
I brought out my treasures that night to look them over carefully. Jayne was there too. "You should put that glow stick on the knife" he suggested. I looked at him and he continued "In case you need to find it at night. Its not very bright. Won't be useful as a flashlight - that's for sure." I always looked up to him for his ability to make something out of nothing. "Can you do that?" I handed him the pieces.
I watched Jayne work with his new tools, precise and forceful at the same time. I couldn't help but remember those stories grandpa had told me time and again - how the great nations had doomed themselves trying to bring down the others, how the constant threat of nuclear annihilation had worn on people over time, how civilization didn't collapse in an instant, but took its time with dying. I realized in a jolt that that was the same way he lived his life - afraid of the outside world, while slowly withering away.
"Do you think the world will ever be the way it used to be?" I asked suddenly. He looked up, distracted.
"Like, will everything ever be green and rich like Grandpa said?"
"No." He answered simply. "There isn't enough fuel for another industrial revolution like we had the first time. Or its all buried or hard to convert. I learned about that in school" He paused "We had our chance and they probably ruined it." I noted the change from *we* to *they*.
He went to school three days a week where he learned all sorts of things. How to sew, how to cook, where to find water and how to build a fire. Some things were less practical too - like history and geography and math and reading. He said school had always been this way.
He finished with the knife and we looked over our other new treasures. "Whoa! this map is **old**" he said suddenly "Look" he pointed "It says Washington DC! That was the old capitol" I think its called Jensensville now." Suddenly he froze. I looked to him for a hint at why. 'Library of Congress'... he read slowly... "No one knew where it was anymore... I think?... " We looked at each other, then back to the map. "That's... not far... " Well lets go see it!" I said excitedly.
He considered for a moment... "Be ready at dawn"
I didn't quite understand the pure amazement in his eyes, but I knew it was big. | I glanced down at the map once again. Surely *that* couldn’t be the right building! Out of the hundreds of towering skyscrapers that once made up Washington D.C in 2134, the one that contained the legendary Library of Congress was barely three stories?! It was unreal. The small building was made of marble that had once been a glorious white, but was now a darkened brown from years of enduring the pollution of the city.
Pollution was a major problem in the city. Ever since 2040, the city had been almost inaccessible due to the heavy layers of smog that surrounded it. You need a pollution mask to walk within a 50 mile radius of the city. To walk right in the center, a full suit, like the one I currently sported, was essentially. However, even pollution suits couldn’t do very much against the acid rain of the city.
I took a hesitant step towards the old marble structure. Part of me didn’t want my fantasies to be ruined- part of me wanted to just pretend that the map was real, and that my grandfather was still alive, and that everything was okay. But the greater part of me had to know. I had to find out if the legends were true.
I stepped over plies of rubble in the street, gaining speed as I strode towards my goal. I crossed an old ground-way, and stepped started up the cracked marble stairs, taking them two at a time. I breathless by the time I finally reached the top. I slowly walked towards the old wooden doors, trying to catch my breath all the while. I placed my hand on the golden handle and paused.
*This is for you, grandfather,* I thought quickly. I gave the door a hard push. The door emitted a loud creak, and promptly fell right off its hinges and into the room behind. A cloud of dust quickly arose, but I didn’t even notice. I was looking beyond the door, and into the great interior.
Into the legendary Library of Congress.
What I saw was incredible.
The legends were true.
| |
[WP] In a post-apocalyptic era, books of the old world are the most valuable and sought after treasures. Your grandfather, who just passed, left you a map that supposedly leads to the legendary "Library of Congress". | Our ancestors had jokingly said "You can't believe everything you read on the internet." This has become more true than ever over the past decade. Apparently it started with meddling in elections, spreading news of fake events. Then it was rallying third world countries to overthrow their governments and causing alliances to fall apart when public opinion was brainwashed by constant rumors that the other side couldn't be trusted anymore.
It was the new way to win a war; to spread lies that hurt the enemy without a drop of blood spilled.
After a time, you couldn't look up how to clean a pressure cooker without accidentally making a chlorine bomb. GPS locations, store hours and mailing addresses were compromised when companies got in on the newest corporate warfare tactics. "Charge your new phone in the microwave!" "Computer going slow? Download this!"
And do NOT try any of the suggestions on how to remove warts. Mercury is toxic despite what their website says.
But here we are; you can't believe anything you read on the internet anymore.
I looked down at my watch. I was early but there wasn't anything better to do. I rode my squeaking bike past a few closed shops, a car dealership with its unusable cars, a butcher shop that was open for business, but only if you were interested in the stuff grocery stores couldn't sell any longer.
I stepped from the dirt road onto my grandfathers porch, over the tripwire and took a sidestep like he had always showed. The rest of my family wasn't here yet, but they shouldn't be long.
I turned on his old record player "Sounds from the Sixties" the cover said. The *Ninteen* sixties, I reminded myself. I admired how clean the place was - the dust got everywhere, but not here. I wondered how much of that was due to cleaning and how much was due to him rarely opening the door.
I heard a noise on the porch - I ducked around a wall clutching my knife. The door opened. Markus? My dad said. "Yea" I said. "Just got here a bit early."
"Be careful around here - Your grandfather got pretty paranoid in his age."
We looked over the final documents - a request for the burial plot next to his wife and funeral arrangements, the location around the house of traps and a few treasures (hopefully he hadn't forgotten any of those) and a paper with a few certain things that went to certain people.
I was hoping for one of his guns, but Dad said I was still too young. He always said I was more likely to shoot myself than whoever I was tryin to hit. As is was, I was left with a set of marbles, a stopwatch, an old map, a small ceramic pig, (which was apparently for coins) another knife which looked a bit better off than my own, a thorium necklace that had long since lost most of its glow, and a key. As I pocketed the items I saw my older brother Jayne eyeing the knife. I gave him a look that hopefully said how hard I would fight for it. He looked away. He got a lot of the stuff that grandpa always used to tinker with, along with his own (bigger) knife. He grinned contentedly.
I brought out my treasures that night to look them over carefully. Jayne was there too. "You should put that glow stick on the knife" he suggested. I looked at him and he continued "In case you need to find it at night. Its not very bright. Won't be useful as a flashlight - that's for sure." I always looked up to him for his ability to make something out of nothing. "Can you do that?" I handed him the pieces.
I watched Jayne work with his new tools, precise and forceful at the same time. I couldn't help but remember those stories grandpa had told me time and again - how the great nations had doomed themselves trying to bring down the others, how the constant threat of nuclear annihilation had worn on people over time, how civilization didn't collapse in an instant, but took its time with dying. I realized in a jolt that that was the same way he lived his life - afraid of the outside world, while slowly withering away.
"Do you think the world will ever be the way it used to be?" I asked suddenly. He looked up, distracted.
"Like, will everything ever be green and rich like Grandpa said?"
"No." He answered simply. "There isn't enough fuel for another industrial revolution like we had the first time. Or its all buried or hard to convert. I learned about that in school" He paused "We had our chance and they probably ruined it." I noted the change from *we* to *they*.
He went to school three days a week where he learned all sorts of things. How to sew, how to cook, where to find water and how to build a fire. Some things were less practical too - like history and geography and math and reading. He said school had always been this way.
He finished with the knife and we looked over our other new treasures. "Whoa! this map is **old**" he said suddenly "Look" he pointed "It says Washington DC! That was the old capitol" I think its called Jensensville now." Suddenly he froze. I looked to him for a hint at why. 'Library of Congress'... he read slowly... "No one knew where it was anymore... I think?... " We looked at each other, then back to the map. "That's... not far... " Well lets go see it!" I said excitedly.
He considered for a moment... "Be ready at dawn"
I didn't quite understand the pure amazement in his eyes, but I knew it was big. | I had searched for five hundred sun-ups, and now stood in the overgrown foyer of the legendary ‘Congriss’.
A mighty oak door stood in front of me. With my lever bar I wrenched it open, and gasped.
Hundreds of old people lined the room, creaking with age, all mumbling about how Jerusalem should totally be the capital of Isarail. They hadn’t even noticed the global tragedies of the past decades in the world outside. I no longer wondered how Olde Man had come to meet the fate they met.
I quietly crept back out and shut the door behind me.
——
[Note - decided to flex on the prompt a bit!] | |
[WP] In a post-apocalyptic era, books of the old world are the most valuable and sought after treasures. Your grandfather, who just passed, left you a map that supposedly leads to the legendary "Library of Congress". | "I know he was your Last-Blood, but I'm sorry Jules, he'd lost his mind!" said Nathan. "*Clearly*. Because if the Library had ever existed, it sure as hell doesn't any more. And I doubt it ever *did* exist, by the way."
Jules bit her tongue and stared down at the yellowing parchment. Then she looked up, taking in the mouldering concrete walls that made up her little section of the bunker; the worn, single bed against the wall, its duvet stuffed with cardboard; the warped, graffiti animals on the walls and ceiling that tried, and failed miserably, to make the tiny chamber look *homely*. She saw the faded bear that her mom had drawn before she... Jules instinctively touched the locket that hung around her neck. The bear's smile drooped from the damp that ran through it.
Jules looked back down at the map. *The map*... it was already the second most valuable thing she possessed, regardless of what was scrawled across it in blood. That could come off, and she could then sell the parchment... buy her and Nathan a few decent meals. God knows they needed them.
"What if it does exist?" Jules countered, looking hopefully at her best friend.
"Come on. You can't believe that."
"I *want* to believe it, Nathan. I want to believe that there's a way out of this shit-hole for us. Imagine this led us to just one book...One book! We'd be able to buy our way into Halcyon! We'd be treated like real people..."
"I want to believe it too, Jules, but I'm a realist."
"You're a pessimist!" she said, her lisp hissing the words. "That's what you are."
"A *realist*," he repeated. "Even if the map's legit, it'd mean going to the surface." Nathan shivered as if an icy gust had snuck down his sweater's neck.
"Okay, so... we ignore it. We live our lives down here until one of us catches the Flu and we're taken to the Chamber to die."
"That's life, Jules."
"I don't accept that. It's not life."
"... you've already made up your mind, haven't you?"
"Please, Nathan." She opened her blue eyes wide flashed him a gap tooth smile. "Pleassse."
"Ah, God. I can hardly let you go alone now, can I?"
Jules squeaked and wrapped her arms around Nathan. He blushed but didn't push her away. Instead, he leaned in and pressed his head against her hair. How, in this god-forsaken place, could her hair smell of... hope?
She broke off and sat down on the bed.
"We need to make a mental list, of what we'll need to survive up there. Of how long we think'll it take."
She patted the bed and Nathan took his place next to her.
---
"*Psst,* Jules. *Psssst. Wake up!*"
Jules slowly opened her eyes; it was too dark to make out anything, but she recognised the voice.
"Nathan?" she asked groggily, now sitting up in her bed.
"Yeah. It's me. And uh..."
"Hello, Jules," came a slow, deep voice.
"*Andrew!?* Nathan, why the hell is Andrew with you." Jules already felt anger bubbling up inside. She'd trusted Nathan not to tell a soul, and he hadn't just told *anyone*... he'd told *Andrew.*
"I had to make a deal with him."
"No," said Jules. "No!"
"He's coming with us, Jules. If not, we're not going at all. We can't get past security without him. He's got a card -- and a gun. That could be pretty useful! Who knows what's out there?"
Jules could almost see Andrew's smug, creepy face. His pale lips curling into a salacious smile. "Ugh. You better not try anything, Andrew. I swear, if you hit on me, I'm going to hit you back, twice as hard."
Andrew gasped in mock shock. "How could you think I'd ever do that!"
"Hardly be the first time you've tried something."
"It's just sometimes... you make it so hard, Jules."
"Hey Andrew, what's red and bad for your teeth?"
"... What?"
"A brick."
"Guys! Please," said Nathan. "Can we at least try to get along. We're going to need to work together on this." Nathan threw Jules a pile of threadbare clothes. "The extra socks are for your hands," he said. "We couldn't get any gloves. But we've got coats. Hooded ones."
"And did you get the food?" Her hand reached for her missing locket; she pushed the rising wave of sadness back down into her stomach.
"Couple of weeks, we reckon. Plus we got plenty of matches."
"Okay. Good." Jules began to calm a little. "Let me get changed and we'll get going."
Nathan began to walk away; Andrew didn't. Nathan grabbed him by the shoulders and marched him off. "I swear, if you weird her out Andy, I will..."
Their voices trailed off as Jules began to get inside layer after layer of thin, worn clothes.
She hoped it would be enough to survive the Ash Winter.
| I had searched for five hundred sun-ups, and now stood in the overgrown foyer of the legendary ‘Congriss’.
A mighty oak door stood in front of me. With my lever bar I wrenched it open, and gasped.
Hundreds of old people lined the room, creaking with age, all mumbling about how Jerusalem should totally be the capital of Isarail. They hadn’t even noticed the global tragedies of the past decades in the world outside. I no longer wondered how Olde Man had come to meet the fate they met.
I quietly crept back out and shut the door behind me.
——
[Note - decided to flex on the prompt a bit!] | |
[WP] In a post-apocalyptic era, books of the old world are the most valuable and sought after treasures. Your grandfather, who just passed, left you a map that supposedly leads to the legendary "Library of Congress". | Ailee Fosters knew that she should stop crying. It was unprofessional, certainly not how her grandfather had trained her, and most importantly, was directly interfering with her abilities to save his life.
"Please, grandpa, please... Just, help me, press down here, just stay away, please...."
As his eyelids drooped, the same words resounded in her skull, over and over in a dull monotone.
POSITION THE PATIENT IN A RECOVERY POSITION, AND APPLY PRESSURE TO THE-
"I know, goddammit! I know, just shut up, shut up!"
Ailee scratched at the neural interface above her left ear, digging so hard that she felt her scalp give. There was a time when she had cried with joy at receiving the Implant, when she had begged her grandfather to ask her about the zillion bits of medical knowledge she had suddenly gained access to. When she had swelled with pride at the contributions she was to make to society, when she couldn't quite believe she was finally going to leave the world of the uneducated behind.
That suddenly seemed like a very long time ago.
"Grandpa, can you hear me... Please..."
As he ebbed away under her watch, the regrets floated up in her mind like the remains of a shipwreck. She regretted helping the young man hiding out in the alleyway, who had been bleeding out the same way her grandfather was doing now. She regretted listening to his ravings about learning the truth behind the Implants, about how he had to tell the world. She regretted lying to the Enforcers when they came around to check at the hospital. She regretted bringing him home, of all places. She regretted answering the door, especially when she knew it was none other than the Enforcers who were knocking...
THE PATIENT HAS EXPIRED. PLEASE NOTE THE TIME OF DEA-
---
And Ailee would have been content to spend the next hour there, curled up against the wall, had her grandfather's Implant not decided to deactivate itself. It fell to the ground with a *plink*, and spun around lazily before coming to a stop at Ailee's feet.
And in all red, floating in the air like the entrails of a smoke ring, were the following holographic words - MESSAGE FOR AILEE FOSTERS.
She retrieved the Implant, noting immediately that it was far heavier than her own had been. She turned it around, receiver side up, then touched it to her own Implant.
Her grandfather's voice, mellow, comforting, gravelly with the years, played out immediately.
*You will have to move fast, Ailee. When they realise that I have passed, they will come to retrieve whatever I have left behind. You recall, do you not, the training I have put you through? The safehouses I showed you? The people you need to reach out to when I am gone?*
*The stories I told you, Ailee, they were not just bedtime stories for your restless mind. They were true. All of it.*
*There really was a time when we humans had to learn. There was no such thing as the Implants, bursting full of the knowledge society deemed fit for us to possess. No one, certainly not the government, ever got to determine what place we would have in society, what role we would play. Our destiny was our own.*
*I was one of the original few who developed the Implant. The names I gave you, they are the rest of my team. Convince them. Show them that the Implants have gone too far. If all of them agree, then maybe, maybe they will give you the rest of the map. There is only one place left in this entire country where you can learn what you need, learn more than just what the Implant gives you.*
*Go, now.*
There were other sketchings swirling in her mind that she did not fully recognise. A cavernous building, with rows and rows of square-shaped objects, topped up with a giant pearl of a dome.
Ailee heard shouts along the corridor, and heavy booted feet beating a steady rhythmn, growing louder by the second.
Ailee stood, then ran.
---
/r/rarelyfunny
| I had searched for five hundred sun-ups, and now stood in the overgrown foyer of the legendary ‘Congriss’.
A mighty oak door stood in front of me. With my lever bar I wrenched it open, and gasped.
Hundreds of old people lined the room, creaking with age, all mumbling about how Jerusalem should totally be the capital of Isarail. They hadn’t even noticed the global tragedies of the past decades in the world outside. I no longer wondered how Olde Man had come to meet the fate they met.
I quietly crept back out and shut the door behind me.
——
[Note - decided to flex on the prompt a bit!] | |
[WP] In a post-apocalyptic era, books of the old world are the most valuable and sought after treasures. Your grandfather, who just passed, left you a map that supposedly leads to the legendary "Library of Congress". | When the bombs first fell, and the world turned gray, my grandfather and I were the only members of our family who survived. The old man was tough as nails, and I can say with certainty that I wouldn’t have lived very long if it wasn’t for him.
I remember one night in particular. Hunkered down inside an old shack, with barely any rations left, we watched the swirling tongues of the fire lick the inside of an old barrel. The trembling light contoured my grandfather’s face, deepening the wrinkles in his leathery skin.
“Knowledge.” He coughed violently and pulled out a dirty plastic tube. “Very little remains of the old world, especially knowledge.”
Outside, the ashes drifted in the windless air. I had never seen my grandfather open that tube, but he always kept it close to his heart and within arm’s reach. Sometimes it was hard to talk him – he was always a man of action – and for him to open his mouth after quiet-time was highly unusual.
The sun never rose anymore, but you could tell night from day from the drop in temperature. Talking during the cold hours was dangerous, especially inside the husk of a city. You never knew who could be listening in.
“These are the blueprints to the Library of Congress,” my grandfather said, and rolled out a paper with fading ink. “This is where you need to go.”
“You mean ‘we,’ right? This is where *we* need to go.”
The old man gave me a sad smile. “I will follow you as long as these bones will take me. But D.C. is far away, and I’m on my last stroll.”
He coughed into his hand and showed me the blood. I knew he was sick, but I had no idea that it was this bad. He had never before shown me any weakness and had always been the one to keep pushing forward – the next meal, the next fire, the next step along the broken tarmac – he was the strongest man I knew, and at that moment I just shook my head.
“We will get there together,” I said, putting my arms around his skeletal frame.
My grandfather passed away that night.
I remember feeling betrayed, storming out of the ruined building, screaming at the dead sky. I was twelve back then, and I couldn’t grasp how he could possibly have left me alone in this place. It was so unfair. I didn’t want that stupid map; I wanted my grandfather.
The drooping lampposts that I’d used to climb suddenly looked like withering flowers to me. I hated what this place had done to him. I know now that he had been struggling with the sickness for a long time – Marissa said so, and she’s a doctor – and that my grandfather had given everything he had to keep me safe. *More* than he had, I sometimes think.
It has taken us almost four years to reach D.C., and my new companions are probably more excited than I am. James keeps talking about all the food he’ll buy when we sell those books, and Marissa can’t wait to get some new medical equipment. I’m still not sure what I’ll do once we get there, but hopefully, whatever we find will be worth the trouble.
***
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[**Part 2**](https://www.reddit.com/r/Lilwa_Dexel/comments/7l2iv6/after_the_bombs_part_2/) | I had searched for five hundred sun-ups, and now stood in the overgrown foyer of the legendary ‘Congriss’.
A mighty oak door stood in front of me. With my lever bar I wrenched it open, and gasped.
Hundreds of old people lined the room, creaking with age, all mumbling about how Jerusalem should totally be the capital of Isarail. They hadn’t even noticed the global tragedies of the past decades in the world outside. I no longer wondered how Olde Man had come to meet the fate they met.
I quietly crept back out and shut the door behind me.
——
[Note - decided to flex on the prompt a bit!] | |
[WP] In a post-apocalyptic era, books of the old world are the most valuable and sought after treasures. Your grandfather, who just passed, left you a map that supposedly leads to the legendary "Library of Congress". | Ailee Fosters knew that she should stop crying. It was unprofessional, certainly not how her grandfather had trained her, and most importantly, was directly interfering with her abilities to save his life.
"Please, grandpa, please... Just, help me, press down here, just stay away, please...."
As his eyelids drooped, the same words resounded in her skull, over and over in a dull monotone.
POSITION THE PATIENT IN A RECOVERY POSITION, AND APPLY PRESSURE TO THE-
"I know, goddammit! I know, just shut up, shut up!"
Ailee scratched at the neural interface above her left ear, digging so hard that she felt her scalp give. There was a time when she had cried with joy at receiving the Implant, when she had begged her grandfather to ask her about the zillion bits of medical knowledge she had suddenly gained access to. When she had swelled with pride at the contributions she was to make to society, when she couldn't quite believe she was finally going to leave the world of the uneducated behind.
That suddenly seemed like a very long time ago.
"Grandpa, can you hear me... Please..."
As he ebbed away under her watch, the regrets floated up in her mind like the remains of a shipwreck. She regretted helping the young man hiding out in the alleyway, who had been bleeding out the same way her grandfather was doing now. She regretted listening to his ravings about learning the truth behind the Implants, about how he had to tell the world. She regretted lying to the Enforcers when they came around to check at the hospital. She regretted bringing him home, of all places. She regretted answering the door, especially when she knew it was none other than the Enforcers who were knocking...
THE PATIENT HAS EXPIRED. PLEASE NOTE THE TIME OF DEA-
---
And Ailee would have been content to spend the next hour there, curled up against the wall, had her grandfather's Implant not decided to deactivate itself. It fell to the ground with a *plink*, and spun around lazily before coming to a stop at Ailee's feet.
And in all red, floating in the air like the entrails of a smoke ring, were the following holographic words - MESSAGE FOR AILEE FOSTERS.
She retrieved the Implant, noting immediately that it was far heavier than her own had been. She turned it around, receiver side up, then touched it to her own Implant.
Her grandfather's voice, mellow, comforting, gravelly with the years, played out immediately.
*You will have to move fast, Ailee. When they realise that I have passed, they will come to retrieve whatever I have left behind. You recall, do you not, the training I have put you through? The safehouses I showed you? The people you need to reach out to when I am gone?*
*The stories I told you, Ailee, they were not just bedtime stories for your restless mind. They were true. All of it.*
*There really was a time when we humans had to learn. There was no such thing as the Implants, bursting full of the knowledge society deemed fit for us to possess. No one, certainly not the government, ever got to determine what place we would have in society, what role we would play. Our destiny was our own.*
*I was one of the original few who developed the Implant. The names I gave you, they are the rest of my team. Convince them. Show them that the Implants have gone too far. If all of them agree, then maybe, maybe they will give you the rest of the map. There is only one place left in this entire country where you can learn what you need, learn more than just what the Implant gives you.*
*Go, now.*
There were other sketchings swirling in her mind that she did not fully recognise. A cavernous building, with rows and rows of square-shaped objects, topped up with a giant pearl of a dome.
Ailee heard shouts along the corridor, and heavy booted feet beating a steady rhythmn, growing louder by the second.
Ailee stood, then ran.
---
/r/rarelyfunny
| "I know he was your Last-Blood, but I'm sorry Jules, he'd lost his mind!" said Nathan. "*Clearly*. Because if the Library had ever existed, it sure as hell doesn't any more. And I doubt it ever *did* exist, by the way."
Jules bit her tongue and stared down at the yellowing parchment. Then she looked up, taking in the mouldering concrete walls that made up her little section of the bunker; the worn, single bed against the wall, its duvet stuffed with cardboard; the warped, graffiti animals on the walls and ceiling that tried, and failed miserably, to make the tiny chamber look *homely*. She saw the faded bear that her mom had drawn before she... Jules instinctively touched the locket that hung around her neck. The bear's smile drooped from the damp that ran through it.
Jules looked back down at the map. *The map*... it was already the second most valuable thing she possessed, regardless of what was scrawled across it in blood. That could come off, and she could then sell the parchment... buy her and Nathan a few decent meals. God knows they needed them.
"What if it does exist?" Jules countered, looking hopefully at her best friend.
"Come on. You can't believe that."
"I *want* to believe it, Nathan. I want to believe that there's a way out of this shit-hole for us. Imagine this led us to just one book...One book! We'd be able to buy our way into Halcyon! We'd be treated like real people..."
"I want to believe it too, Jules, but I'm a realist."
"You're a pessimist!" she said, her lisp hissing the words. "That's what you are."
"A *realist*," he repeated. "Even if the map's legit, it'd mean going to the surface." Nathan shivered as if an icy gust had snuck down his sweater's neck.
"Okay, so... we ignore it. We live our lives down here until one of us catches the Flu and we're taken to the Chamber to die."
"That's life, Jules."
"I don't accept that. It's not life."
"... you've already made up your mind, haven't you?"
"Please, Nathan." She opened her blue eyes wide flashed him a gap tooth smile. "Pleassse."
"Ah, God. I can hardly let you go alone now, can I?"
Jules squeaked and wrapped her arms around Nathan. He blushed but didn't push her away. Instead, he leaned in and pressed his head against her hair. How, in this god-forsaken place, could her hair smell of... hope?
She broke off and sat down on the bed.
"We need to make a mental list, of what we'll need to survive up there. Of how long we think'll it take."
She patted the bed and Nathan took his place next to her.
---
"*Psst,* Jules. *Psssst. Wake up!*"
Jules slowly opened her eyes; it was too dark to make out anything, but she recognised the voice.
"Nathan?" she asked groggily, now sitting up in her bed.
"Yeah. It's me. And uh..."
"Hello, Jules," came a slow, deep voice.
"*Andrew!?* Nathan, why the hell is Andrew with you." Jules already felt anger bubbling up inside. She'd trusted Nathan not to tell a soul, and he hadn't just told *anyone*... he'd told *Andrew.*
"I had to make a deal with him."
"No," said Jules. "No!"
"He's coming with us, Jules. If not, we're not going at all. We can't get past security without him. He's got a card -- and a gun. That could be pretty useful! Who knows what's out there?"
Jules could almost see Andrew's smug, creepy face. His pale lips curling into a salacious smile. "Ugh. You better not try anything, Andrew. I swear, if you hit on me, I'm going to hit you back, twice as hard."
Andrew gasped in mock shock. "How could you think I'd ever do that!"
"Hardly be the first time you've tried something."
"It's just sometimes... you make it so hard, Jules."
"Hey Andrew, what's red and bad for your teeth?"
"... What?"
"A brick."
"Guys! Please," said Nathan. "Can we at least try to get along. We're going to need to work together on this." Nathan threw Jules a pile of threadbare clothes. "The extra socks are for your hands," he said. "We couldn't get any gloves. But we've got coats. Hooded ones."
"And did you get the food?" Her hand reached for her missing locket; she pushed the rising wave of sadness back down into her stomach.
"Couple of weeks, we reckon. Plus we got plenty of matches."
"Okay. Good." Jules began to calm a little. "Let me get changed and we'll get going."
Nathan began to walk away; Andrew didn't. Nathan grabbed him by the shoulders and marched him off. "I swear, if you weird her out Andy, I will..."
Their voices trailed off as Jules began to get inside layer after layer of thin, worn clothes.
She hoped it would be enough to survive the Ash Winter.
| |
[WP] In a post-apocalyptic era, books of the old world are the most valuable and sought after treasures. Your grandfather, who just passed, left you a map that supposedly leads to the legendary "Library of Congress". | When the bombs first fell, and the world turned gray, my grandfather and I were the only members of our family who survived. The old man was tough as nails, and I can say with certainty that I wouldn’t have lived very long if it wasn’t for him.
I remember one night in particular. Hunkered down inside an old shack, with barely any rations left, we watched the swirling tongues of the fire lick the inside of an old barrel. The trembling light contoured my grandfather’s face, deepening the wrinkles in his leathery skin.
“Knowledge.” He coughed violently and pulled out a dirty plastic tube. “Very little remains of the old world, especially knowledge.”
Outside, the ashes drifted in the windless air. I had never seen my grandfather open that tube, but he always kept it close to his heart and within arm’s reach. Sometimes it was hard to talk him – he was always a man of action – and for him to open his mouth after quiet-time was highly unusual.
The sun never rose anymore, but you could tell night from day from the drop in temperature. Talking during the cold hours was dangerous, especially inside the husk of a city. You never knew who could be listening in.
“These are the blueprints to the Library of Congress,” my grandfather said, and rolled out a paper with fading ink. “This is where you need to go.”
“You mean ‘we,’ right? This is where *we* need to go.”
The old man gave me a sad smile. “I will follow you as long as these bones will take me. But D.C. is far away, and I’m on my last stroll.”
He coughed into his hand and showed me the blood. I knew he was sick, but I had no idea that it was this bad. He had never before shown me any weakness and had always been the one to keep pushing forward – the next meal, the next fire, the next step along the broken tarmac – he was the strongest man I knew, and at that moment I just shook my head.
“We will get there together,” I said, putting my arms around his skeletal frame.
My grandfather passed away that night.
I remember feeling betrayed, storming out of the ruined building, screaming at the dead sky. I was twelve back then, and I couldn’t grasp how he could possibly have left me alone in this place. It was so unfair. I didn’t want that stupid map; I wanted my grandfather.
The drooping lampposts that I’d used to climb suddenly looked like withering flowers to me. I hated what this place had done to him. I know now that he had been struggling with the sickness for a long time – Marissa said so, and she’s a doctor – and that my grandfather had given everything he had to keep me safe. *More* than he had, I sometimes think.
It has taken us almost four years to reach D.C., and my new companions are probably more excited than I am. James keeps talking about all the food he’ll buy when we sell those books, and Marissa can’t wait to get some new medical equipment. I’m still not sure what I’ll do once we get there, but hopefully, whatever we find will be worth the trouble.
***
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[**Part 2**](https://www.reddit.com/r/Lilwa_Dexel/comments/7l2iv6/after_the_bombs_part_2/) | Rob set out on his quest. He'd been told it was folly, that it was too dangerous, that it didn't exist. Everyone tried to discourage him, but he just couldn't accept it. He needed to believe that there was a remnant of the world that once was whole.
He avoided the roaming bands, the scavenging fiends. The surface was not safe, the underground even more so. But still he quested. The fiction books society had found had been immensely useful, but any non-fiction book was simply priceless. An entire library filled with the greatest works of man... that might be enough to set humanity back on track. The dark ages had lasted far, far too long.
He arrived at the site, with nothing in sight. And so he began digging.
It took him ages; weeks spent toiling away at the dirt, never stopping to rest, only sleeping when exhaustion forced him to do so.
But then, he struck something. Something solid. Something priceless.
The Library of Congress.
****
He entered its hallowed halls, more catacomb than library. He wandered through the darkness, careful for his lamp to not venture too close to the shelves.
However, something was very wrong.
There was no literature.
Instead, every single book had been replaced by a laminated frame, each one bearing a different message.
All from the same person.
He knew not his name, but the single recurring word echoed his sentiment:
*SAD!*
******
******
/r/CroatianSpy | |
[WP] Humanity is the smallest intergalactic nation in terms of size since they couldn't colonize outside their system due to territory issues. An oblivious empire decides to invade humans to find humans to be impossible to invade. | It had all been a bit damned inconvenient, really.
It had taken centuries, *centuries* of effort, to reach the technology levels needed to leave the solar system. It had been Elon Musk that started the process, of course. Building on the successes of SpaceX, he had managed to establish Lunar One. Terraforming the Moon had been a mission all by itself - and that was to say nothing of colonizing Mars.
Elon Musk had passed away before SpaceXtra successfully built the first Martian colony - founded in 2125, and named Avelon in honour of the great Founder. By 2200, humanity reached a total population of 50 billion, spread between the three rocks, floating around Sol.
And yet, humanity was still trapped.
Warp technology had been all but abandoned, as a waste of time. A dead-end, the scientists had called it. It simply couldn't work. The species was trapped in a single system, in a backwater arm of the Milky Way.
And so, with nothing else to do, the humans did what they always did - they bred. The population continued to soar, with new city-scapes appearing everywhere that could hold them. The Cloud-cities of Venus were formed, under the watchful eye of the Calrissian; Juno base grew across Jupiter's face, feeding into the Fortresses of Solitude that sprinkled across Europa, Io, Calisto and Ganymede; and the glittering Treasuries of Saturn, which sparkled like diamonds on the rings.
Even far out at the edge of the system, almost lost in the paltry few rays of light that stretched so far, were the Lethean cities. Almost lost to the Shade, the humans still made a home there, in some gaunt dwarf-world fortress.
And then it came. Then came the breakthrough. It was 2542 when it happened. Fully traversable, stable, Einstein-Rosen bridges. Wormhole-tech.
Every eye in the Sol system had watched the first ships disappearing through the tunnels. They had drunk in the images of the Universe beyond the Kuiper belt. They had waited with baited breath, to see what they would see.
And what a disappointment it had been.
The Sol system was at the arse-end of the galaxy, for sure, but the real-estate markets wait for no being.
The humans stepped out of their galaxy to find themselves hemmed in on all sides - the Vaclaw Continuum one on side, the R'kk'thn'nya Collective on the other, the Skarrons above, and the Jy-dy Republic below. The only system near them that wasn't colonized was in the process of being bought by the Turrump Presidency, to build a vast Library. If the humans had been a Galactic cycle or two faster, maybe they could have placed a bid...
But it wasn't to be.
They had joined the Galactic Council, of course. Some had opposed their entry, but the rules were very clear. Any race of beings that was invented wormhole-tech without outside aid was a required member of the Council. They had been very fair-minded members in most ways - in fact, they were instrumental in brokering the Final Settlement in the Marklar v. Andromeda case. The Human Justice's deciding vote on the issue of environmental protection of Blue Giants is still read today, as one of the finest examples of Galactic Jurisprudence ever written.
They were always so pushy about scouting for 'opportunities for extra-Solar expansion', of course. That did set several people's backs up. Perhaps if we had given it to them...
The Skarrons had undergone some internal conflict. No-one was quite sure - they've always been a surly bunch, the Skarrons - but apparently an Emperor Dave Ross had overthrown the corrupt ruling classes that had ruled before. The internal chaos had led to several outer worlds being excommunicated. The humans had taken the opportunity to expand, and that put them in direct conflict with the new Emperor.
He swore that it was a goodwill mission, but there have been long-running doubts over that. Two billion droids and a fully operational Daleth Star seemed like more goodwill than anyone could handle.
It took Grand Emperor Dave Ross - he had given himself a promotion, although no-one knew why - fifteen Galactic cycles to amass his Goodwill forces. The Council could see what was happening, and yet was paralyzed with indecision. It was around Cycle Two that the Human representatives had disappeared. Just when their voice was needed most.
It always seemed a cruel joke of history, that the Galaxy watched with such interest when the mission was launched. Just as the Humans had once watched their ships passing out of the Sol system through their first wormhole, the Galaxy watched so many more ships make the same journey in reverse.
The Daleth Star had dropped out of the wormhole first, to provide cover for the other ships. Clearly, they had expected some resistance to their brand of goodwill.
A billion billion billion lifeforms had watched, and waited, and watched. Most of them adjusted their channels, or contacted their friends on Spacebook. *Are you seeing what I am seeing*? *What are you seeing*?
Nothing.
There were no plasma cannons or antimatter defense batteries. No warships swarmed out to meet the incoming troops. There were none of the belighted pinpricks as refugee ships fled to other sectors.
There was just nothing.
The Sol System was empty. There were no planets; no star; no colonies. There were no rocks, no clouds of dust, no *nothing*. The entire space was empty. There was just *nothing there*.
I know, I know. You need more detail for your little project. If you win, you'll get to present your paper in front of the Queen of R'kk'thn'nya Herself. But you asked me this story because it's so damned interesting. Well, it's interesting because no-one knows what happened.
The Humans were real, of course. Hell, I was only a low-level bureaucrat, but even I'd met some humans. Strange, squishy things they were. Some pink, some brown. There were even a few that were a normal colour, bone-bleach white. All-beanies, they called them, I think. I never could get my Terran accent right.
They were friendly enough. They talked a lot, although seemingly about nothing. And certainly, nothing that would explain what happened.
The Daleth forces had scoured the area for almost a cycle. It wasn't even that the system was empty - there was no system at all. Just a void, hidden behind the gas cloud that the humans had called the Kuiper Belt.
I never bought that the Humans were some kind of trick. That's what some people will tell you - a fake race, invented to solve a diplomatic problem. Yeah, well, that's sprogswash, that is. They were real. Well. They were real, up until they weren't.
What happened to them? No-one knows. Mass suicide, some say. They saw what was coming, and chose the easy way out. Others say that it was an accident with an antimatter bomb they were creating to try and defend themselves. Others say it was a dark-matter event. Timing seems too damned convenient to me.
The only clue we ever got came forty-two cycles later. The Daleths had finally been defeated, and pushed back. The Galaxy was trying to rebuild when it appeared.
When they detected it, the Vaclaw colonists of Alpha Centauri assumed it was a Daleth void-ship. They scrambled an entire fighter wing for it. But instead, they found a simple probe. The kind that hasn't been built on R'kk'thn'nya for a hundred million years.
A strange little thing. The Vaclaw kept it, in a museum somewhere. Or in a research lab. Don't know. A little dish, and some small spikes, and a plate on it. Voyeger, it was called.
It was from the humans. That was obvious. They'd carved a picture of themselves on the side of it. And there was a message saved inside it. Took half a cycle to decode the damned thing. Part of that was because the original message had been remotely wiped, and re-recorded. Garbled the whole thing.
It was something they had built early on, centuries before they had found the Galaxy. Their first probe, or one of them anyway. It had held a message of friendship, once. But they'd changed it.
"Gone explorin'. So long, and thanks for all the Fish."
That was it. No, of course I don't know what it means. Although... I'll tell you what I'd like to believe.
The Humans were late getting into wormhole-tech. Got trapped in their own system. I like to think that they invented a wormhole that could transport an entire star system out. Yeah, yeah, I know that scientists say it's impossible. But human scientists said that wormholes were impossible, for hundreds of years.
Maybe they did it. Nowhere else to go in the Galaxy. All those minds, crammed so close together. Maybe one of them did it. And maybe they took their way out.
Where would it go? Oh, who knows? Back in time. Forward in time. Another galaxy. Another universe. Who knows. Somewhere else. But yeah, that's what I choose to believe. If anyone deserved some space to grow, it was the humans.
Now, go get your Grandad a beer. | “What do you think of this human empire?” asked Notok.
“I think they are weak, and will be easy to take” said Dotok.
“Excellent, should I ready the troops?” said Notok.
“Sally forth, and tomorrow we will be champions of the galaxy!” said Dotok.
The Grideloks prepared for battle with their ceremonial festivities. Lavish banquets, followed by intense love-making, and ended with desserts and wine. The men said goodbye to their families and made their way to the communal housing, from which they would launch into the nether. The generals prepared their best clothing and mounted their space horses to ride into battle. The Gridelok offensive had begun, and humanity was the unfortunate target.
“How do you say victory in human tongue?” asked Dotok.
“I don’t believe they have a word for that” said Notok.
“Such a foolish species, no wonder they are so small” said Dotok.
The Gridelok armies arrived at the outer reaches of the human galactic empire, and sent out a harrowing cry. They signalled to their enemies the impending onslaught that would come. However, the Grideloks were dismayed, for they did not hear anything back. Upon closer inspection, the Grideloks discovered a mysterious force guarding the outer reaches. It was a…toll booth.
“Sir, the advance has stopped” said Notok.
“I can see that” said Dotok.
“Should we approach?” asked Notok.
“I believe so, these savages deserve a beating” said Dotok.
Dotok approached the toll booth and knocked on the window. There was no initial response, which angered Dotok. He thought the humans had already retreated, knowing full well they would lose. However, a woman opened the glass panel and greeted them.
“Hello, welcome to the intergalactic toll road south leading onto the Milky Way, can I have your name please?”
“My name is Dotok, conquerer of the Nine Bas…” said Dotok.
“I’m sorry, your name is don’t talk?”
“No, Dotok conquerer of the Nine Basins and Free…” said Dotok.
“Alright, don’t talk I am going to need your license plate number” said the woman.
“What’s a license plate? You primitives identify with plates?” said Dotok.
“So you don’t have one?” asked the woman.
“No, now if you excuse us we have an empire to take over” said Dotok.
“Not before you pay the toll, you don’t” said the woman.
“What is this outrage, you cannot subject me to your rules, I am the almighty conquerer, I pay nothing” said Dotok.
“Then you’re not getting through don’t talk” said the woman.
“Just watch me” said Dotok.
Dotok approached the barrier and tried to lift it, but to no avail. He was told he was in violation of county law 674, for vandalizing public property. He then rammed it several times with his space horse, but could not break through. Notok watched in embarrassment as his commander failed to get through the smallest of obstacles. He offered to help, but Dotok refused. He said he had to do this to maintain his honour. However, he went back to the toll and confronted the woman.
“Can I help you?” asked the woman.
“Let me through, or suffer the consequences” said Dotok.
“Did you pay the toll?”
“No, I will not pay your stupid toll. I am Dotok…”
“Look, don’t talk, I am under strict rules to not let anyone through who fails to pay the toll, so unless you are special, you gotta pay the toll” said the woman.
“But I am special, I am Dotok, Conquerer of the…Nine…something…uhhh…you made me forget my own title, dammit” said Dotok.
“Sir, unless you are willing to pay the fine, I have other people I have to tend to, so may you please take yourself and your little group and leave” said the woman.
Dotok was furious and insulted. He wanted revenge against this toll woman. He took out his laser musket and fired repeatedly at the window, but all the shots bounced off. He was tired of the commotion, and demanded to be let through.
“I demand entrance into the human empire! I am very important and deserve a chance to conquer your people! Can I just leave an IOU and pay you on the way out, I don’t really have any money” said Dotok.
“Sir, maybe we should just leave” said Notok.
“No, I will not leave until I get what I want. This is my journey and my goal and I want it God dammit!” said Dotok.
A light shined above them and the cosmos began to open. A large figure appeared and looked down upon Dotok. He had a glow to him, and appeared to be of immense power. Dotok was quivering beneath his armour. He was unsure what to do.
“Who said my name in vain?” asked God.
“He did” said the toll woman.
“What kind of petulant fool are you? You’re waking up my family and me, and we’re trying to have a nice, quiet night” said God.
“I am Dotok, I will not be silenced. I am the conquerer of…” said Dotok.
“Jesus man, do you ever stop talking? What is your problem anyway?” asked God.
“He doesn’t want to pay the toll” said the toll woman.
“Oh, sir you gotta pay the toll” said God.
“I am not paying a damn toll” said Dotok.
“I get it, you are embarrassed because you are broke and in need of some cash. I’m sorry to say that as God, I cannot help because I don’t believe in currency.”
“Oh my God, this is infuriating!” said Dotok.
“Hey, one more time and I’m calling security” said the toll woman.
“You better listen to the woman, she’s vicious” said God.
Dotok was in a bind. He was unsure of what to do. He was faced with insurmountable obstacles and could seemingly not find a way out. Therefore, he resolved to do the traditional Gridelok sign of surrender, cry profusely.
“Oh, well this is embarrassing” said Notok.
“Yeah, I wouldn’t blame you from completely disassociating with this person” said God.
“It’s been rough day, maybe a nap will calm him down” said Notok.
“Yeah, take him home and start fresh in the morning” said God.
“Okay, pack it up men, we’re going home” said Notok.
A collective sigh was heard amongst the soldiers, who were eager to fight against the human empire. However, seeing the crying Dotok made them realize the stress and pain when it comes to dealing with humans. Many of them swore off conflict after that, the horror of Dotok a constant reminder of how the scourge of war can change them immensely.
“Great work today Shelly, you took care of those guys like nothing. You really are doing God’s work” said the toll manager.
“Yeah, maybe God would pay me more too” said Shelly.
“I don’t believe in currency!” murmured God. | |
[WP] Humanity is the smallest intergalactic nation in terms of size since they couldn't colonize outside their system due to territory issues. An oblivious empire decides to invade humans to find humans to be impossible to invade. | For the first time in over a century, the Eril were going to war. Presently the flotilla was organized in the standard format, light attack ships forward, heavy battleships centered around the capitol cruiser, forge ships in its wake. Probes had yet to see any warships amongst the stellar commercial traffic. The Eril were wary.
"Scan the belt again. This isn't possible."
"Yes, admiral."
Galar stood amid his subordinates shrouded in many holograms of the Solar republic's commerce. The Belt mines, the asteroidal settlements, the colonies of mankind. Not one military installation was visible.
"We still have yet to receive any warnings, Admiral. They appear not to care."
"That's absurd."
"A mere observation, sir."
Indeed he had the same understanding. The freight moved as it had since their arrival, forty-six light hours ago. The capital Earth had undoubtedly seen them. What fool would not even acknowledge a force very clearly present to dominate?
Time passed.
Forty-Eight light hours had passed. Galar was roused from sleep by a message from First Lieutenant Mohar.
"Admiral, we have received a transmission from their capital."
"What time of war?"
"Forty-eight light hours, one tenth seconds."
"I will view it presently."
Punctual if belated, these humans.
The message was laughable.
"I am Officer Maria Buenbrazo of the Solar Republic Police. Your flotilla has inhabited our system for forty-eight hours maintaining a distance of four light hours from our star in orbital pattern Hotel-Eleven. Please move into orbital pattern Golf-Eleven, as you are in an outbound lane of traffic. State your purpose thereafter, or leave."
Galar stood agape. This Maria was no high official, she was a policewoman. After only a moment he began to flush with humor. His skin bloomed yellow, green, and blue. He had barely composed himself when Mohar hailed him again.
"Admiral."
"Yes, First Lieutenant."
"A ship has appeared."
"Appeared?"
"Yes, Admiral."
"Was there distortion?"
"No admiral, it does not seem to have warped."
"Has it hailed us?"
"Yes, Admiral."
"I will be at the bridge shortly."
"Yes, Admiral."
He arrived minutes later to see Officer Buenbrazo standing at attention before his flight seat accompanied by Mohar to her flank. Galar had seen humans before, and found their appearance to illicit feelings of empathy. Mohar, while at attention, was looking over the Human officer's hologram with interested eyes. He had not seen a human before. Like Galar he likely found them subtly beautiful.
"I am informed you are Admiral Galar of Erilium."
The insolence! She had spoke out of turn! Was this the way of the Solars?
"You shall not address me without my having acknowledged you first!" He spoke haughtily. Indignant.
"I will address you as I please, Admiral Galar. You are trespassing in my system, not I in yours." Buenbrazo spoke matter-of-factly. As if reciting an equation.
Galar simply stared. His color shifted subtly, yellow, green, blue, violet, returning to gray in a matter of milliseconds. The other Eril had reacted similarly, their changes less subtle. Galar detected amusement from Mohar. His face impassable.
"State your business." The officer again. So blatantly disrespectful! How dare this human speak to him so!
"Conquest." His voice rang like the tolling of a great bell.
Buenbrazo produced a notepad, scribbled momentarily before it disappeared.
"I have submitted your request."
"You have what?"
"I have submitted your request to conduct military operations within our Republic."
"We made no such request!" His color flashed less subtly. The bridge was alight with color.
"I have already submitted the request. The poll will return shortly. It matters not whether you do or don't conduct your operations herein, but you may be permitted to."
What is the name of Erilium was this horrible creature saying?! What need had he of permission! His flotilla was eight thousand strong! His forge ships alone could level a moon by their own power!
"The vote has returned."
"Oh?"
"You are not permitted to conquer."
"How unfortunate."
"Undoubtedly, for you." She paused to glance at her pad. "Do you have further business?"
"Yes!" He flashed brightly, his hue the deep red of his house. His crest erect. "I will conquer your star system!"
"Your opinion is noted." Again her eyes flicked across her notepad.
"OPINION?"
"Please relax and stand by."
"RELAX?" The bridge was all crests and indignation.
"We have voted to eject your flotilla."
"I DARE YOU TO TRY!"
And she was gone. Galar stood before his first lieutenant agape. Mohar was similarly befuddled.
"This is damnable nonsense!"
"Yes, Admiral!"
"Set course for their capital. We will level it first. Destroy Maria Buenbrazo and her craft."
"Admiral."
"Yes, Ensign Beran."
"The craft is gone."
"We will find it shortly. Enable high intensity scan. Their stealth craft is no trouble to us."
"Admiral."
"Ensign?"
"The flotilla is gone." Her hue was black. Galar surrounded himself with excellence. There could be no mistake. His flotilla was gone.
"Perha-"
The capital ship, its escort, the entire flotilla was no longer in commercial lane Hotel-Eleven.
"The aggressors have been ejected, time of rotation, twenty-one point twenty-five hours."
"Noted. Coffee later, Buen?"
"We've got another flotilla coming in from Andromeda at point eight. It'll be about forty minutes."
"Rain check?"
"You know it."
"Conquerers, amiright?"
"Tis the season, Holt."
Many lightyears away, Galar stood on the bridge facing Mohar. Beran spoke.
"We remain in formation, Admiral. It would appear we are eight point three light hours from Erilium."
"Thank you, Ensign."
The bridge was white. Every Eril shone like marble.
"Mohar."
"Yes, Admiral." His voice quavered.
"Please file our battle report. I will retire to my quarters."
"Yes, Admiral."
| “What do you think of this human empire?” asked Notok.
“I think they are weak, and will be easy to take” said Dotok.
“Excellent, should I ready the troops?” said Notok.
“Sally forth, and tomorrow we will be champions of the galaxy!” said Dotok.
The Grideloks prepared for battle with their ceremonial festivities. Lavish banquets, followed by intense love-making, and ended with desserts and wine. The men said goodbye to their families and made their way to the communal housing, from which they would launch into the nether. The generals prepared their best clothing and mounted their space horses to ride into battle. The Gridelok offensive had begun, and humanity was the unfortunate target.
“How do you say victory in human tongue?” asked Dotok.
“I don’t believe they have a word for that” said Notok.
“Such a foolish species, no wonder they are so small” said Dotok.
The Gridelok armies arrived at the outer reaches of the human galactic empire, and sent out a harrowing cry. They signalled to their enemies the impending onslaught that would come. However, the Grideloks were dismayed, for they did not hear anything back. Upon closer inspection, the Grideloks discovered a mysterious force guarding the outer reaches. It was a…toll booth.
“Sir, the advance has stopped” said Notok.
“I can see that” said Dotok.
“Should we approach?” asked Notok.
“I believe so, these savages deserve a beating” said Dotok.
Dotok approached the toll booth and knocked on the window. There was no initial response, which angered Dotok. He thought the humans had already retreated, knowing full well they would lose. However, a woman opened the glass panel and greeted them.
“Hello, welcome to the intergalactic toll road south leading onto the Milky Way, can I have your name please?”
“My name is Dotok, conquerer of the Nine Bas…” said Dotok.
“I’m sorry, your name is don’t talk?”
“No, Dotok conquerer of the Nine Basins and Free…” said Dotok.
“Alright, don’t talk I am going to need your license plate number” said the woman.
“What’s a license plate? You primitives identify with plates?” said Dotok.
“So you don’t have one?” asked the woman.
“No, now if you excuse us we have an empire to take over” said Dotok.
“Not before you pay the toll, you don’t” said the woman.
“What is this outrage, you cannot subject me to your rules, I am the almighty conquerer, I pay nothing” said Dotok.
“Then you’re not getting through don’t talk” said the woman.
“Just watch me” said Dotok.
Dotok approached the barrier and tried to lift it, but to no avail. He was told he was in violation of county law 674, for vandalizing public property. He then rammed it several times with his space horse, but could not break through. Notok watched in embarrassment as his commander failed to get through the smallest of obstacles. He offered to help, but Dotok refused. He said he had to do this to maintain his honour. However, he went back to the toll and confronted the woman.
“Can I help you?” asked the woman.
“Let me through, or suffer the consequences” said Dotok.
“Did you pay the toll?”
“No, I will not pay your stupid toll. I am Dotok…”
“Look, don’t talk, I am under strict rules to not let anyone through who fails to pay the toll, so unless you are special, you gotta pay the toll” said the woman.
“But I am special, I am Dotok, Conquerer of the…Nine…something…uhhh…you made me forget my own title, dammit” said Dotok.
“Sir, unless you are willing to pay the fine, I have other people I have to tend to, so may you please take yourself and your little group and leave” said the woman.
Dotok was furious and insulted. He wanted revenge against this toll woman. He took out his laser musket and fired repeatedly at the window, but all the shots bounced off. He was tired of the commotion, and demanded to be let through.
“I demand entrance into the human empire! I am very important and deserve a chance to conquer your people! Can I just leave an IOU and pay you on the way out, I don’t really have any money” said Dotok.
“Sir, maybe we should just leave” said Notok.
“No, I will not leave until I get what I want. This is my journey and my goal and I want it God dammit!” said Dotok.
A light shined above them and the cosmos began to open. A large figure appeared and looked down upon Dotok. He had a glow to him, and appeared to be of immense power. Dotok was quivering beneath his armour. He was unsure what to do.
“Who said my name in vain?” asked God.
“He did” said the toll woman.
“What kind of petulant fool are you? You’re waking up my family and me, and we’re trying to have a nice, quiet night” said God.
“I am Dotok, I will not be silenced. I am the conquerer of…” said Dotok.
“Jesus man, do you ever stop talking? What is your problem anyway?” asked God.
“He doesn’t want to pay the toll” said the toll woman.
“Oh, sir you gotta pay the toll” said God.
“I am not paying a damn toll” said Dotok.
“I get it, you are embarrassed because you are broke and in need of some cash. I’m sorry to say that as God, I cannot help because I don’t believe in currency.”
“Oh my God, this is infuriating!” said Dotok.
“Hey, one more time and I’m calling security” said the toll woman.
“You better listen to the woman, she’s vicious” said God.
Dotok was in a bind. He was unsure of what to do. He was faced with insurmountable obstacles and could seemingly not find a way out. Therefore, he resolved to do the traditional Gridelok sign of surrender, cry profusely.
“Oh, well this is embarrassing” said Notok.
“Yeah, I wouldn’t blame you from completely disassociating with this person” said God.
“It’s been rough day, maybe a nap will calm him down” said Notok.
“Yeah, take him home and start fresh in the morning” said God.
“Okay, pack it up men, we’re going home” said Notok.
A collective sigh was heard amongst the soldiers, who were eager to fight against the human empire. However, seeing the crying Dotok made them realize the stress and pain when it comes to dealing with humans. Many of them swore off conflict after that, the horror of Dotok a constant reminder of how the scourge of war can change them immensely.
“Great work today Shelly, you took care of those guys like nothing. You really are doing God’s work” said the toll manager.
“Yeah, maybe God would pay me more too” said Shelly.
“I don’t believe in currency!” murmured God. | |
Free roam guys.the roommate can be guilty or innocent.they can be a 4'9 shy girl or a hulking bodybuilder man or anything else that enters your mind have fun!! | [WP] You stare slack-jawed at the T.V as the news anchor prattles on *"if you see this criminal please call the police do not engage this highly dangerous criminal"* you look to your roommate who responds "look... I can explain" | “What the fuck!” I screamed at him as he stood in the kitchen doorway.
“Dude, I don’t know, listen, we can figure this out…”
I stood, grabbing the 9mm Ruger off the end table. He froze, half turned away from me, half facing me. I could see enough of his eyes to spot fear spread across his brow, creasing his forehead. The crack of the gun filled the room, the raw meat sound of his knee catching a bullet followed. “FUCK!” He screamed as his tall, heavy frame thumped against the ground.
“Why is your goddamn face on my fucking tv?” My voice shrieked, my wrist steady as I strode towards him, cowering on the hardwood floor of our creaky apartment. Writhing under the stare of the gun.
“Listen, Mike, listen... “ He sputtered between his tears and snot.
I finally came to a stop directly above him, his nose dripping directly under the sights of the long barrel. “You got fucking seen? How the fuck you gonna get away with murder when you getting seen?” I said, my voice low and stable. “How the fuck I know you aren’t gonna squeal now?”
“I won’t, Mike, I fucking won’t.” He sobbed. His head was bowed, pain coursing through his limbs, pulling his face to the ground.
“Well I just can’t know that, can I, bro?” I said.
The crown of his head caught the tip of the bullet as it ripped through him. The floor was splashed with pieces of him, forcing me to take a step back to protect my shoes. His body slumped further, a pool growing around him. I ran to the closet, grabbing the duffel bag and pulling a dark leather jacket off the hanger. Climbing the stairs, two at a time, I made my way to my room, grabbing the Oh-Shit bag and wiping down every surface with a wet wipe. I ran back down the stairs, leaping over the puddle seeping through the floorboards. I wiped down every surface throughout the house, then the gun, leaving it laying on his leaking body. Finally I pulled out my burner and dialed 911. “Hello… Yes that is my address… I just shot a guy trying to rob me… Thank you.” I tossed the phone, still on the line next to the gun on his back and walked through the door, hesitating only a moment to remember my friend before shutting the door and turning the key in the deadbolt before returning it to the realtors lockbox that hung from the handle. “I loved you, man,” I thought, “But I can’t be relying on amateurs.” I got in the rented VW sitting in the driveway and pulled away, turning onto the main street just moments before three police with sirens blaring blew by me, never glancing my way.
| Normal day, normal dinner. Beans, rice, and corn in a bowl with some salsa. That meant it was a Tuesday. Exciting I know. I sat down for what was probably the 1000th time to watch the news and eat my dinner. Dane was sitting on the couch and slid over to give me a little space. It felt like he was watching me but I didn't think much of it. His dark brown eyes had a habit of darting around behind his jet-black shoulder-length hair. Normally he had it in a short ponytail but today he had it lose. Nothing too special there. I tried not to care what other people did. Long as he didn't bother my dinner, it didn't matter.
Dane was a wirey guy. Looked like he probably could fit between the bars of a jail cell if he ever went there. A telling analogy if I ever made one. I don't remember how old he was and I don't think it matters. He wasn't a minor so there's that. Probably late 20's if you are going to make a stink for details. The whole time I ate it felt like he was kind of staring at me. I always ate dinner and watched the 6 o'clock news on holo-screen. What it mattered to him I couldn't imagine. Then, there he was.
It took me a minute to realize it but Dane was on my tv. The newscaster was saying he had killed some bigwig corporate lady downtown. Rumors he had raped her too but the police weren't confirming that at this time. Just bullshit lingo for them saying they didn't know. He looked at me and said, "Look, Alissa, I can explain..." "You do it?" I asked point blank. "Cause that's about all I really need to know". I edged away from him on the couch. He had never even touched me much less try to hurt me, but you never know. If people could tell in a few years who was crazy we would have a let fewer douchebags shooting up holo-centers and banks because then we would catch em early. I was ready to try to put my rice bowl through his head if he moved toward me but he put his hands up in a placating manner. "I definitely didn't rape her, but I kind of killed her."
"You can't kind of kill someone, now you stay the fuck away from me or I'll put this bowl out the back of your skull." He patted the air with his hands again trying to show he wasn't dangerous." "Look, I was there, its probably my fault, but I didn't actually do it." "Talk, Fast, Now" I said, making it clear I was so close to calling the cops that I didn't even have time for full sentences.
"Ok, so I've been working with her, Natalie, or at least I was until today, on finding a corporate mole in her company. You know how I'm good with computers?" I nodded and remained silent, my raging glare was all he needed to know to hurry up. "So she hired me as a contractor to help her find a mole at Enix Enterprises, where she works...or worked I guess. So we had narrowed it down to one of the lawyers and we were at the courthouse to do some observation of how different lawyers were handling the companies cases to see if anything seemed funny. You know how everyone is constantly suing these big companies. Well I'm sure you can also tell im a bit of a moron when it comes to actual social situations. We were in one of the courtrooms, and I'll be damned if I can't remember which one, when it became clear this lawyer was the guy. Things he said, the way he acted, stuff like that. Well I forgot how courtrooms are all quiet and stuff and he heard me tell Natalie that he was our guy. She freaked and ran out of the room. It took me at least 2 minutes to realize what had happened. Then I saw the lawyer just staring at me and talking on his phone. I ran after Natalie and someone told me she had gone to the restroom. When I got there she was already dead. In just 2 minutes this guy had killed her. I didn't think he knew who I was but I guess the police figured it out when there was video of me running from the scene. I'd turn myself in but I know I'd be dead in minutes in police custody."
Dane exhaled, having spat out every word as fast as he could. "Cool story, but hard to believe, why would they say you raped her?" "I have no idea he said, but youve got to get a message to the cops for me. I'll even turn myself in once they look into the lawyer. Surely they can just look and see what courtroom we left. I can't take it myself and I'm leaving in the next few minutes. Please Alissa, you've got to do this for me. I'm a dead man otherwise." "Tell me where you'll be and I'll go talk to the cops, whoever I believe more gets my help," I told him. "Cmon Lissa, he said, using the shorthand name I went by to my friends, you know I can't, they could make you talk. And I will if someone threatens to kill me I said, that's why you better not be lying. Seems like the kind of thing that can get sorted out so you are going to tell me where you will be and I'll go to the police station."
Twenty minutes later I was standing in front of the police station. I'd decided to go in person rather than call in case Dane's phone was tapped. I'd memorized where he was and how to get there. He'd sure as shit better hope nobody grabbed me before I got inside. I'd sing like a jaybird if someone had a hold of me. It wasn't that I didn't care for Dane, hed always been nice and stuff. But if someone grabbed me then what he had said was true and I was probably dead either way and he was for sure. Might as well try to live. I took a deep breath and got our of my car and headed to the station... |
Inspired by [this comment](https://www.reddit.com/r/insanepeoplefacebook/comments/7m7ncs/flat_earth_family/drs6s3l/) from /r/insanepeoplefacebook. | [WP] The Earth is flat, and NASA is guarding a giant ice wall in Antarctica. Beyond that wall is more continents and oceans that only the elite inhabit. A group of explorers sneak past the wall and discover the rest of the world. | "The fuck! Everything is right we've checked three times." Trevor said staring up at his three story y'all fucult's pendulum.
"I have to admit I had a much cooler idea planned when I bought you this Christmas gift" John replied, poking the stationary pendulum. "The Earth's rotation should, well, cause this to swing."
"Okay, weights right, wire's right, the old elavator shaft is most assuredly not moving" said Trevor "is it long enough ?"
"Weirdly length is required. And we have three stories." Answered John. "The ones at the meseums are shorter."
"How do they hold the wire though?" Asked Trevor, "could that be important?"
"They always keep the top out of sight." John answered. "but the theorey works as long as it's secured. I did a lot of work in this idea, I even have the math worked out for how often it should swing."
"Not to be a spoil sport, but it's not swinging. Does your math say why?"
"The internet says the Earth is flat and we're in the dead center of the disk." John snapped sarcastically while looking at his phone. "Congrats Trev, you live in the abandandoned retail mall in nowhere Ohio at the exact center of the flat Earth!"
"Best explaination I can think of too" said Trevor, scratching his head.
"Easy to test." Said John, untying a balloon and watching it go into the sky. "Just look for the balloon tommorow following your wind speed tracker. If the earth doesn't spin it will be exactly where the wind says it should be."
They giggled the way only grown nerds playing with absurdity can, a deep and nasal snort. They spent the rest of the afternoon unsuccessfully attempting to get their pendulum to work. | They pushed the WALL and it feels like paper Aurelius said. With ahuff and apuff the WALL came down. It fell over like a paper wall. The demolition man went home. He said seems like you don't need me and my job here is done. I don't care about what is behind the stupid WALL.
So the rest of the explorers carried on. They followed the yellow dashed road and after walking a block they saw a city. Every store was a pizza chain. How fortunate, they thought. They walked in debating cheese or proportioning the pepporonis evenly and fairly and whether triangles or square cuts. They walked in and the cashier took their order. While they waited, they watched two guys that looked ordinary play ping pong against each other. After their pizza was ready, they carried it out and went back to their ice breaker freighter ship and one man asked whether the others heard the music in the pizza store and wondered where it came from. One of the other explorers commented how he thought it came from the basement. Then another man mentioned that he thought he saw a hatch beneath the ping pong table. As they continued talking about their trip beyond the WALL, the demolition man quietly got up out of his chair. One of the explorers noticed and asked why he wasn't having any pizza and that he was welcome to take his share. The demolition man did not accept the offer. Instead he said as he walked off the ship, seems like there is a need for me Afterall, and he walked into the fog toward the direction of the WALL, pulling his sled full of dynamite c4 semtex breaches and Flashbangs. |
Inspired by [this comment](https://www.reddit.com/r/insanepeoplefacebook/comments/7m7ncs/flat_earth_family/drs6s3l/) from /r/insanepeoplefacebook. | [WP] The Earth is flat, and NASA is guarding a giant ice wall in Antarctica. Beyond that wall is more continents and oceans that only the elite inhabit. A group of explorers sneak past the wall and discover the rest of the world. | A flat poem.
I am sorry, but this is a mess.
I digress.
I must unsubscribe from this tribe.
Many tings abound
that show
the earth is round.
Flat earth? But why only us?
The moon is round and bound.
Mars our closest next door.
They even say more.
Round
We are only flat one?
Insanity and vanity
Attention starved bores. W | They pushed the WALL and it feels like paper Aurelius said. With ahuff and apuff the WALL came down. It fell over like a paper wall. The demolition man went home. He said seems like you don't need me and my job here is done. I don't care about what is behind the stupid WALL.
So the rest of the explorers carried on. They followed the yellow dashed road and after walking a block they saw a city. Every store was a pizza chain. How fortunate, they thought. They walked in debating cheese or proportioning the pepporonis evenly and fairly and whether triangles or square cuts. They walked in and the cashier took their order. While they waited, they watched two guys that looked ordinary play ping pong against each other. After their pizza was ready, they carried it out and went back to their ice breaker freighter ship and one man asked whether the others heard the music in the pizza store and wondered where it came from. One of the other explorers commented how he thought it came from the basement. Then another man mentioned that he thought he saw a hatch beneath the ping pong table. As they continued talking about their trip beyond the WALL, the demolition man quietly got up out of his chair. One of the explorers noticed and asked why he wasn't having any pizza and that he was welcome to take his share. The demolition man did not accept the offer. Instead he said as he walked off the ship, seems like there is a need for me Afterall, and he walked into the fog toward the direction of the WALL, pulling his sled full of dynamite c4 semtex breaches and Flashbangs. |
Inspired by [this comment](https://www.reddit.com/r/insanepeoplefacebook/comments/7m7ncs/flat_earth_family/drs6s3l/) from /r/insanepeoplefacebook. | [WP] The Earth is flat, and NASA is guarding a giant ice wall in Antarctica. Beyond that wall is more continents and oceans that only the elite inhabit. A group of explorers sneak past the wall and discover the rest of the world. | Some language below
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/7nd83u/wp_the_earth_is_flat_and_nasa_is_guarding_a_giant/ds465yw/) is up!
[Part 3](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/7nd83u/wp_the_earth_is_flat_and_nasa_is_guarding_a_giant/ds5axu1/)
________________________________________________________________________________________
There are three options for a man with nothing: die in obscurity, die trying to obtain something of value, or die having obtained it. Kenith Redbone had died after a life of trying so that his sons might obtain that valuable something.
"We've got to go, Jesse! Crying over his body won't bring him back," Jack Redbone yelled trying to overpower the howling of the wind. His brother was still caressing the wrinkled face that was once his father. Jack trudged his way through the knee-deep snow to Jesse's side. Grabbing the back of his molded thermo-helmet, Jack forced his brother's gaze an inch away from the old man's ice-over eyes. "Do you see those eyes?" Jack's voice was hostile. "Do you see the hope that was once there?" Jack could feel the subtle jerk of the helmet in his hands as his brother shook his head. He pulled Jesse's head downwards, parallel to the bloody holes in his father's chest. Jesse's body lurched as he tried to free himself from his brother's grasp. "That's where his hope went, little brother," Jack said in a much more soothing tone. "He took that NASA fucker's bullets so we could keep going. That's what's left of Pops, not this frozen corpse."
Jesse stopped struggling. "Let's go, Jack. Please."
With a brief moment of hesitation to swallow the lump in his throat, Jack pulled his brother to his feet and brushed the snow from heat suit. "It looks like you'll have to refuel soon. You're down to two percent. What did I tell you about checking your suit?"
"I'm sorry."
"Of course, you are. I just wish they would've left his suit. We could've used the extra fuel cell. It's not like a homemade thermo-encapsulation suit is going to help them any. The compass is pointing this way." Jack lifted his left arm straight out. He turned one hundred eighty degrees. "So, we need to go this way. Those magnetic pole generators act strange outside of the Antarctic circle, so keep an eye on your compass, alright?" Jesse nodded.
With that, the brothers began their trek through the baron Antarctic wasteland to the ice wall. The frozen, hundred-foot-tall curtain between their world and the Brackdeere Oceanic Islands. The Outer Rim, as the Redbones called it, was a crackpot idea Kenith cooked up after years of looking at two-dimensional satellite images in a cubical at NASA. At least it was to the rest of the world, but to Kenith and his two sons, it was the promised land, a land flowing with milk and honey. The older Redbone spent what was left of his dark-haired years preparing for their exodus from the resource world known as the Antarctic circle, all the land inside the Antarctic ring; to the B.O.I., all the land outside of the ring.
___________________________________________________________________________________________
This is getting a bit long, and I have to go for now (Sooner football time and all), so I'm going to end this here and finish it on my own. If anyone is interested in the rest of it, I can upload it later. Thanks for reading!
EDIT: Added the language tag
EDIT: Grammatical errors
EDIT: Added another part. | They pushed the WALL and it feels like paper Aurelius said. With ahuff and apuff the WALL came down. It fell over like a paper wall. The demolition man went home. He said seems like you don't need me and my job here is done. I don't care about what is behind the stupid WALL.
So the rest of the explorers carried on. They followed the yellow dashed road and after walking a block they saw a city. Every store was a pizza chain. How fortunate, they thought. They walked in debating cheese or proportioning the pepporonis evenly and fairly and whether triangles or square cuts. They walked in and the cashier took their order. While they waited, they watched two guys that looked ordinary play ping pong against each other. After their pizza was ready, they carried it out and went back to their ice breaker freighter ship and one man asked whether the others heard the music in the pizza store and wondered where it came from. One of the other explorers commented how he thought it came from the basement. Then another man mentioned that he thought he saw a hatch beneath the ping pong table. As they continued talking about their trip beyond the WALL, the demolition man quietly got up out of his chair. One of the explorers noticed and asked why he wasn't having any pizza and that he was welcome to take his share. The demolition man did not accept the offer. Instead he said as he walked off the ship, seems like there is a need for me Afterall, and he walked into the fog toward the direction of the WALL, pulling his sled full of dynamite c4 semtex breaches and Flashbangs. |
Inspired by [this comment](https://www.reddit.com/r/insanepeoplefacebook/comments/7m7ncs/flat_earth_family/drs6s3l/) from /r/insanepeoplefacebook. | [WP] The Earth is flat, and NASA is guarding a giant ice wall in Antarctica. Beyond that wall is more continents and oceans that only the elite inhabit. A group of explorers sneak past the wall and discover the rest of the world. | Some language below
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/7nd83u/wp_the_earth_is_flat_and_nasa_is_guarding_a_giant/ds465yw/) is up!
[Part 3](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/7nd83u/wp_the_earth_is_flat_and_nasa_is_guarding_a_giant/ds5axu1/)
________________________________________________________________________________________
There are three options for a man with nothing: die in obscurity, die trying to obtain something of value, or die having obtained it. Kenith Redbone had died after a life of trying so that his sons might obtain that valuable something.
"We've got to go, Jesse! Crying over his body won't bring him back," Jack Redbone yelled trying to overpower the howling of the wind. His brother was still caressing the wrinkled face that was once his father. Jack trudged his way through the knee-deep snow to Jesse's side. Grabbing the back of his molded thermo-helmet, Jack forced his brother's gaze an inch away from the old man's ice-over eyes. "Do you see those eyes?" Jack's voice was hostile. "Do you see the hope that was once there?" Jack could feel the subtle jerk of the helmet in his hands as his brother shook his head. He pulled Jesse's head downwards, parallel to the bloody holes in his father's chest. Jesse's body lurched as he tried to free himself from his brother's grasp. "That's where his hope went, little brother," Jack said in a much more soothing tone. "He took that NASA fucker's bullets so we could keep going. That's what's left of Pops, not this frozen corpse."
Jesse stopped struggling. "Let's go, Jack. Please."
With a brief moment of hesitation to swallow the lump in his throat, Jack pulled his brother to his feet and brushed the snow from heat suit. "It looks like you'll have to refuel soon. You're down to two percent. What did I tell you about checking your suit?"
"I'm sorry."
"Of course, you are. I just wish they would've left his suit. We could've used the extra fuel cell. It's not like a homemade thermo-encapsulation suit is going to help them any. The compass is pointing this way." Jack lifted his left arm straight out. He turned one hundred eighty degrees. "So, we need to go this way. Those magnetic pole generators act strange outside of the Antarctic circle, so keep an eye on your compass, alright?" Jesse nodded.
With that, the brothers began their trek through the baron Antarctic wasteland to the ice wall. The frozen, hundred-foot-tall curtain between their world and the Brackdeere Oceanic Islands. The Outer Rim, as the Redbones called it, was a crackpot idea Kenith cooked up after years of looking at two-dimensional satellite images in a cubical at NASA. At least it was to the rest of the world, but to Kenith and his two sons, it was the promised land, a land flowing with milk and honey. The older Redbone spent what was left of his dark-haired years preparing for their exodus from the resource world known as the Antarctic circle, all the land inside the Antarctic ring; to the B.O.I., all the land outside of the ring.
___________________________________________________________________________________________
This is getting a bit long, and I have to go for now (Sooner football time and all), so I'm going to end this here and finish it on my own. If anyone is interested in the rest of it, I can upload it later. Thanks for reading!
EDIT: Added the language tag
EDIT: Grammatical errors
EDIT: Added another part. | A flat poem.
I am sorry, but this is a mess.
I digress.
I must unsubscribe from this tribe.
Many tings abound
that show
the earth is round.
Flat earth? But why only us?
The moon is round and bound.
Mars our closest next door.
They even say more.
Round
We are only flat one?
Insanity and vanity
Attention starved bores. W |
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